Enemy Unseen

BY
V.e. MITCHELL
POCKET BOOKS New York London
Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are either the product of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET
BOOKS
MEME-MA POCKET BOOKS, a division of
Simon and Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the
Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright (C 1990 by Paramount
Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of
[*thorn] Paramount Pictures.
This book is published by Pocket Books, a
division of Simon and Schuster Inc., under
exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.
All rights reserved, including the right
to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books,
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,
NY 10020
ISBN 0-671-68403-5
First Pocket Books printing October 1990
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
POCKET and colophon are registered
trademarks of Simon and Schuster Inc.
Printed in the U.s.a. to Jon
for believing I could write this-and for reading all its
incarnations more times than he cares to remember
Historian's Note
This adventure takes place shortly after the
events chronicled in Star Trek The Motion
Picture.
Captain's Log, Stardate 8036.2 While
on a routine star charting mission, the
Enterprise has been ordered to report to Starbase
15. When we arrive, we will receive orders for a
short-duration, high-priority mission. We will also
be dropping off First Officer Spock so he can
rendezvous with a transport to Vulcan. He will be
taking a two-week leave to attend the Vulcan
Academy of Science's Invitational Conference on
Extreme-Energy Physics and the Fine-Scale
Structure of the Universe.
Personal Log, Supplemental While I
would not normally envy Mr. Spock a leave on
Vulcan, in this case I suspect he is getting
the better part of the deal. I greatly fear our new
assignment will be a diplomatic one. I also have
grave dots about the temporary First Officer that
Starfleet has promised me. All I have been
told is that this is his final training assignment before
he is assigned as First Officer to the deep-space
exploration vessel USS Challenger, which is to be
commissioned next month.
LIEUTENANT COMMANDER UHURA acknowledged an
incoming call and turned to Kirk. "Captain,
I'm receiving a message from Starbase 15. It's
Admiral Chen." "On screen." Kirk
straightened in his chair. He remembered Chen
from Starfleet Academy, and she

had always been a stickler for appearances. She also
had a reputation for taking pleasure in handing out
unpopular assignments. This time, Kirk was
determined to remain impassive, no matter how
unpleasant the mission. A small-boned woman of
Chinese extraction appeared on the viewscreen.
She began speaking immediately. "Captain Kirk, as
you have no doubt surmised, your ship is being
assigned to transport the Kaldorni delegation
and a Federation negotiating team to the diplomatic
planetoid, La Paz. Detailed information is
being transmitted to you now. Your passengers will be
ready to beam aboard when you arrive. Chen, out." "Still
gives orders like she was on the frontier," the
navigator, Ensign Yeshua ben Josef,
muttered, directing the comment toward his navigation
console as he rechecked the coordinates for the final
approach to Starbase 15. Lieutenant Commander
Sulu glanced away from the helm controls and flashed
ben Josef a wide grin. "It pays. Sometimes you
only have power for two minutes of long-range
transmission. You have to make every word count." Kirk
ignored the exchange. "Mr. ben Josef,
how long till we arrive?" "Fifteen minutes,
sir." Kirk stood. "Mr. Sulu, you have the
conn. Inform me when we arrive. Commander Uhura,
relay Admiral Chen's information to my quarters.
I'd better find out what's so hush-hush before we
get to Starbase 15."
"Jim! Wait!" McCoy was still adjusting the
collar of his dress uniform as he hurried down the
corridor to join the captain. "What's this about a
diplomatic mission, Captain? Tell me it
isn't true." Kirk paused outside the
transporter room. "Sorry about that, Bones.
For the next few days, we're the diplomatic
shuttle service in this quadrant."

"More precisely, Captain, the Enterprise is
one-half of the quadrant's diplomatic shuttle
service." Spock, carrying a small duffel bag
at his side, arrived from the opposite direction.
"The Diplomatic Service's cruiser, Juan
Martinez, is the other half." "And just how do you know
so much about this?" McCoy said, bouncing on his toes.
"You're not even going to be on the ship for the next
two weeks." "That is correct, Doctor.
However, I still read the briefing tapes. I
consider it my duty to keep informed on the ship's
assignments."
"And just what is our assignment?" McCoy
gave Kirk a look that said "Let's see just how
good he is." Hiding a grin, Kirk turned away
from them and entered the transporter room.
"The Enterprise has been assigned
to transport a delegation from the United Worlds of the
Kaldorni Systems to La Paz for negotiations
with their counterparts from the Beystohn Amalgamated
League of Planets. While en route, a
Federation negotiating team will work with the Kaldorni
to establish the protocols for the actual
negotiations." Spock followed Kirk and
McCoy through the door without missing a beat. "Both
the Kaldorni and the Beystohnai have appealed to the
Federation to prevent a war between them over the rights
to settle the planet Yagra IV."
"Never heard of it," McCoy muttered, glaring
over his shoulder at the transporter room door as
it whisked shut behind him. He was already sorry he'd
started the discussion. From Kirk's amused
expression, McCoy suspected the captain was
enjoying his discomfort.
Spock ignored McCoy's
interruption. "Yagra IV is a high-gravity,
tropical world located in the Epsilon Carinae
system. It is approximately halfway between the
Kaldorni and the Beystohn home planets. Neither
group considers Yagra to be an ideal planet.
Its gravity is much higher than the Kaldorni
homeworld, while the climate is uncomfortably
hot and humid for the
people accustomed to the subarctic climate of
Beystohn. However, Yagra IV is one of the
few planets available for colonization that is within
reach of the spaceflight technologies of the
Kaldorni and the Beystohn League." "Was all
that in the briefing tape?" Kirk asked in
surprise. "I did some supplemental research,
Captain. The information is flagged for your attention."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I'll check it as
soon as I can."
"Captain, I have a request to make. In my
spare time, I have been working on the prototype of a
program that is intended to provide logical
advice for those who need it. It is based on an
experimental artificial intelligence system that
promises to revolutionize the way our computer
systems operate. Though the system is far
from complete, it would greatly facilitate the next
set of revisions if someone other than myself tested the
program." "Just what this ship needs." McCoy
rolled his eyes toward the ceilinand. "A
programmed Vulcan-in-a-box. -
"The program is not designed for this ship,"
Spock countered. "The ideal use for such a system
would be to advise personnel on small scout
vessels that do not carry the broad range of
specialists found on the Enterprise. And I
hardly think that the description Vulcan-in-a-box
is appropriate, Doctor. To date, I have
worked on the program for only 17.34 hours. That
is hardly enough time to provide it with the data links
to support a knowledge base equivalent to that possessed
by a very young human. I merely wished to ask the
captain if he would test the program's operation so
that I can make the modifications necessary to optimize
performance."
"Thank you, Spock. I will see what I can
do." Kirk turned to the Transporter Chief.
"Status report, Mr. Rand."
"Starbase reports our passengers are ready
to transport, 4
on your command," Transporter Chief
Janice Rand replied. "Mr. Spock can beam
down when he's ready."
Spock crossed the room and stepped onto the
transporter pad. "With your permission, Captain
Kirk."
"Enjoy your conference, Mr. Spock." Kirk
nodded to Rand. "Energize. And then start bringing
ourguests-aboard."
The familiar whine of the transporter filled the
room. Spock dissolved into shimmering energy and
disappeared. Rand reset the controls and beamed up the
first contingent from the base. Five people materialized.
A tall, heavyset man in his late fifties that
Kirk recognized stepped off the transporter
pad first. Joachim Montoya was dressed
entirely in black, except for the silver Federation
insignia on the left side of his tunic. His dark
eyes and his black hair shot with silver at the
temples emphasized his somber outfit. His gaze
flicked around the room before settling on Kirk.
Montoya extended his hand to the captain. "You must be
Captain Kirk," he said, smiling. "I've
heard a great deal about you. It's a great honor and
privilege to finally meet you."
"Thank you, Commissioner." Kirk's
response was guarded. The heartiness of
Montoya's greeting set his nerves on edge.
"The Enterprise and I are honored to be at your
service."
Montoya's smile never wavered. "Thank you,
Captain. May I present the rest of my party?"
He gestured toward two men and a woman who wore
Federation insignia. "My aides, Kristiann
Norris, Devlin Vreblin, and Paul
Zayle." As Montoya said their names, each nodded
to the captain. Norris was a slight woman of
average height, with medium brown hair, hazel
eyes, and plain features. Vreblin was short and
wiry, with a scar across his cheek and upper lip that
twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer. His dark
hair and eyes appeared to match his dour
expression, and Kirk hoped he would never quarrel
with the man. Zayle was tall, blond, and endowed with enough
good looks to make up for the shortcomings of his
coworkers. Kirk decided Zayle's
qualifications were more in his muscles than in his
brains, but conceded those credentials were impressive.
"And my wife of three months, Cecilia
Simons." Simons, obviously accustomed
to making grand entrances, glided forward and
dropped her traveling cloak. It billowed to the
floor and spread into a puddle of plum and
crimson. Zayle scowled as he retrieved the
discarded garment. Simons was tall and slender, with
cascades of midnight-black hair that tumbled off
her shoulders. Her scarlet dress flickered as she
moved, and her feral sapphire eyes positively
glowed. She flowed across the room and extended her
arms to Kirk.
"But, Yonnie," she purred, "there's no need
to introduce me to Captain Kirk. Jimmy and I
are old friends."
Kirk stiffened as he recognized her.
Cecilia Simons? he thought. Is that what she's
calling herself these days? "It's been a long time . .
. Cecilia." But not nearly long enough, he added
savagely to himself. "I wasn't expecting to see
you."
"But I was expecting to see you." Her voice
throbbed with passion. "I couldn't wait when Yonnie
told me the ship we were traveling on was commanded by my
old friend."
I11 just bet. Kirk bit his tongue to keep from
saying the words aloud. He wondered what she wanted
that was worth such an act. To keep from thinking
about that now, he turned to Montoya. "Commissioner,
I'll have a yeoman show you to your quarters."
Montoya nodded. "Thank you very much, Captain.
My aides and I will wait for the Kaldorni, but my
wife wishes to get settled as soon as she can."
"Of course." Kirk issued the order and as they 6
waited for two crewmen to load the party's
luggage on an antigrav pad, he was aware of
Simons studying him. The calculating expression
on her face increased his apprehension.
As soon as Simons left, Rand transported
the first of the Kaldorni. Four bronze-skinned men
wearing full leather battle armor materialized.
Their lacquered and burnished brass chest plates and
arm pieces gleamed brightly. They carried a
vicious-looking knife in each hand. Kirk sized
up their tall, muscular frames, and thanked his
lucky stars they were from a low-gravity planet. In
a fight, the difference in gravity adaptations would
tip the battle against the Kaldorni.
"Would you mind explaining, Mr. Commissioner?"
Kirk pointed toward the Kaldorni and their drawn
knives. The sight of so much weaponry did nothing
to improve his feelings toward the mission.
"An honor guard, Captain. No
high-ranking Kaldorni travels anywhere without a
suitable escort." Montoya flashed Kirk
another of his wide smiles. "The knives are
purely for ornamental purposes."
Kirk scowled inwardly. The knives looked
extremely functional to him. He wondered what
other details had been omitted from the information Chen
had given him on the Kaldorni. "I hope you're
right," he grumbled under his breath.
The four Kaldorni came down the steps and lined
up facing the transporter pads. "Energize," one
ordered in a deep, strongly accented voice.
Kirk nodded to Rand.
The transporter whined and six Kaldorni
males, dressed in heavy, floor-length cloaks,
materialized. Beneath their cloaks, the diplomats
wore richly decorated robes made of brightly
colored fabrics. The guards clanged their
knives together above their heads, then knelt before the
Kaldorni ambassador. Their weapons sliced
forward in swift arcs and came to rest, crossed, at
the ambassador's feet.
The ambassador was short and heavy, with a round 7
face and full, sensuous lips. His gray eyes
seemed pale and colorless against his dark
skin. With his slightest movement, the ambassador's
ornate jewelry jangled. He gave Kirk the
impression of being someone who relished life
extravagantly.
Kirk spoke first. "I'm Captain James
T. Kirk. Welcome aboard the Enterprise. his
The Kaldorni ambassador nodded curtly and
one of his aides moved to his side.
"Ambassador n'Gelen 1'Stror Klee
accepts your welcome for himself and those who attend
him. I am the ambassador's mouthpiece,
k'Vlay t'Stror, and will speak his thoughts to you."
"The Kaldorni consider it improper for a person
of high rank to speak directly to a person of lower
rank," Montoya explained to Kirk.
"By definition, nonKaldorni are of inferior
rank until their actions prove otherwise."
Kirk scowled and nodded an acknowledgment. Had
Chen sent him anything of importance about these people? A
group of status-conscious diplomats was the last thing
he needed-or wanted-aboard the Enterprise! "The
ambassador requests that all nonessential
personnel please leave the room," t'Stror said.
"He wishes to bring his wives aboard now, and it is
not proper for an outworlder to look upon them."
As if searching for extra people, Kirk looked around
the transporter room. Satisfied that a troop of
Klingons had not beamed in while he was watching the
Kaldorni, Kirk replied, "The only people I
see are senior Federation representatives here
to welcome you. We're hardly "nonessential
personnel."" "It is not proper for an outworlder
to look upon the ambassador's wives," t'Stror
repeated. "You will all leave this room now."
Kirk swallowed a retort. Spinning on his
heel, he led McCoy and the Federation diplomats
from the room.
"This mission is starting to sound like trouble," 8
McCoy said as the door closed behind them. Kirk
gave the doctor a sharp look; McCoy's comment
echoed his own doubts.
"Would you explain this business of armed bodyguards
and not speaking to persons of "inferior rank'?"
Kirk made no attempt to hide his anger from
Montoya.
"It's just their way of doing things, Captain."
Montoya smiled. "Their culture is deeply
rooted in the militaristic traditions of their past.
The Kaldorni are extremely proud of preserving
their customs as they reorganize their
society to conform with the demands of the future. In this,
they are much like the Japanese in the seventeenth
century, if you remember your Earth history. I
think you'll really like them, once you get used to how
they do things."
Kirk's frown was skeptical. "And I have two
weeks to "get used to them," as you put it?"
"I'm certain it won't take that long,
Captain."
A work party appeared with an antigrav pad just as
the door opened. The six Kaldorni women were
bundled in dark cloaks and heavy veils; their
only visible features were their uniformly wide,
pale gray eyes. "Escort the ambassador and
his party to their quarters," Kirk ordered. A
dark-haired woman separated from the work party,
acknowledged the order, and started down the corridor
with the Kaldorni delegation. Kirk turned back
to Montoya. "If you're ready now, I'll have
someone show you to your quarters." He signaled for
another crewman.
"We would be most grateful, Captain."
"Then if you'll excuse me, Commissioner, I have
some business on the bridge."
"Of course, Captain."
By the time he reached the bridge, Kirk had
relaxed considerably, although he was still irritated at
the inadequate background material he had received.
He headed for the communications station. "Uhura, get
me Admiral Chen. I want to speak with her
immediately. I'll be in my quarters."
"Aye, aye, Captain." Uhura's reply
bounced off Kirk's retreating back. As he
entered his cabin, the intercom whistled. He palmed the
switch. "Kirk here." "I have Admiral Chen,
sir."
"Put her on." As Chen's face appeared, her
proud, stubborn bearing reminded Kirk of her
steely determination and indomitable will. Somehow, he
doubted that he would like her answers to his questions.
"Admiral, may I request additional information
on our present assignment?" "What would you like
to know, Captain?"
"The information you sent us completely lacks
pertinent sociological and cultural data on the
Kaldorni. We need more information if we are
to avoid seriously offending these people."
Chen's mouth twitched as if she were suppressing a
scowl. "Commissioner Montoya is perfectly
capable of supplying all the information you
require. However, to make the mission run more
smoothly, we have prepared a supplemental briefing
tape for you. It is being sent over with your Acting
First Officer, and should arrive shortly."
"Thank you, Admiral. By the way, who will be my
First Officer while Spock is on leave?"
Kirk hoped his question sounded casual. So far, his
attempts to find out whom he was getting had met with
no success, and he was beginning to feel extremely
frustrated.
Chen acted as if she had not heard the question.
"Captain, I cannot overemphasize the importance
of your mission. We believe someone is trying
to sabotage the negotiations between the Kaldorni and the
Beystohn League. Also, there may be a spy in the
ambassador's party. You must prevent anything from
disrupting these negotiations. The stability of this
quadrant depends on it."
"Admiral, may I point out that the Enterprise
is an exploratory vessel. We are not
properly equipped for this kind of diplomatic
assignment." "Objection noted." Chen started
to say more, then signaled to Kirk to wait. She
spoke at length with someone off screen. "Make that
confirmed, Captain," she said, turning
back to Kirk. "Base Security has just found a
body. It's Kaldorni, but we don't know yet
if we will be able to identify the individual. So
it's verified-there is a spy aboard your ship
masquerading as a member of Ambassador
Klee's party."
"I see, Admiral." Kirk gritted his
teeth. This mission was sliding down the disposal chute
in a big hurry. "I also want to talk to you about
Commissioner Montoya's wife. On an
assignment this sensitive, I do not feel my
officers should be distracted by having uninvolved
civilian passengers aboard. I request that
Ms. Simons be beamed back to base before we
break orbit."
Chen shook her head. "That's out of the question.
Commissioner Montoya insisted on having her
accompany him. In addition, she has a daughter
serving on the Enterprise. A lieutenant named
Whitehorse. You wouldn't want to deprive your
crewwoman of her mother's company, would you?" "I'm
sure she'd never forgive me." Kirk thought the
sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, but Chen did
not react.
"If that's all, have a good day,
Captain. Chen out."
"Kirk out." He palmed the screen off and
slumped in his chair with a huge sigh of frustration.
"Lovely. Just lovely," he grumbled to himself.
Two weeks of being a shuttle jockey for an
ambassador who refused to speak to him; the
delicate chore of finding a spy and murderer among
said ambassador's staff; and, to top it off, no
escape from Cecilia Simons. McCoy's
prediction of trouble was starting to sound like a forecast for
radiation from a supernova. Kirk flipped on the

intercom; it was time to put out the blast warnings.
"Uhura, inform Geologist Whitehorse that her
mother is on board."
"Yes, sir. And, Captain, the transporter
room reports that the Acting First Officer has just
beamed aboard."
"Very well, Uhura. Have him report to my
quarters at once."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Within minutes, the door buzzer sounded. Kirk
looked up from the reports Spock had flagged for
him. "Come."
The door opened, revealing a short,
wiry man with a shock of bright red hair. The
newcomer paused in the doorway, his green eyes
twinkling like a mischievous leprechaun.
"Patrick!" Kirk bounded to his feet and
rushed to greet his old friend and classmate. Commander
Patrick Eugene Brady, his face split by an
ear-to-ear grin, swept Kirk into a bearhug.
"Patrick, how did you manage it?" Kirk
asked when he had recovered from the surprise. The
last Kirk had heard, Brady had been serving on
a small exploration vessel at the edge of
Federation space. The grapevine had said the
assignment was at least partly punitive-that
Brady's flair for practical jokes, second
at the Academy only to the legendary Finnegan,
had been the reason for his exile. The rumor went
on to say that Brady's scientific genius was all
that had saved his career. Apparently, Starfleet had
been reluctant to lose a man of Brady's
talents, in spite of his disrespect for proper
discipline. Kirk was sure the story had grown m
the telling, but knowing Brady, he suspected it was
based on fact.
Still grinning, Brady dropped into a convenient
chair while Kirk returned to his seat.
He flipped a briefing tape across the desk
to Kirk. "A man's got to learn his job somewhere.
Some of the top brass don't like my methods, but
they've decided I've earned another chance."
Brady shrugged. "They say I need a 12
month's training on a Constitution-class
cruiser before the Challenger's commissioned next
month. "So Captain, I'm here to learn."
"This is a switch-you admitting there's something you
don't already know." Kirk laughed. "You know, I
think I might enjoy teaching you something, for a change."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I do already know
you're expecting trouble on this mission. Want
to tell Uncle Patrick about it?" "How much do you
know?"
"Beyond the basics? I was in Admiral Chen's
office when she found out about the spy. What else I
should know?"
"Commissioner Montoya brought his wife with him.
I am-somewhat-familiar with the woman. She always
brings trouble with her by the cargo pod." "Is this the
person McCoy said gave you such a warm greeting?
She must be some lady."
Kirk snorted. "She's no lady," he shook
his head. "I don't know what she's ap to this
time. That's always the problem; you never know until it's
too late." He picked up the briefing tape.
"I suppose I'd better look at this. As your
first assignment on the Enterprise, arrange a
briefing for all department heads in two hours
to discuss our assignment. In particular, we need
to review the information Starfleet sent us about the
Kaldorni, discuss its impact on ship's
operations, and decide how it will affect the welcoming
dinner this evening. After that's arranged, report
to Sickbay so McCoy can do a physical for your
medical records. I'm sure you didn't let
him do that earlier."
Brady rose. His face was a study of wounded
virtue. "I plead innocent, Captain Kirk.
Do I look like the kind of person who would disobey
regulations and skip my required physicals?"
"Brady." Kirk's voice rose in warning.
"Aye, aye, Captain." Brady managed
to imitate a scared midshipman almost until he
reached the door. 13
Chapter Two
MUCH To KIRK'S SURPRISE, the formal
diplomatic dinner for the Kaldorni went off
well-after the seating arrangements were adjusted
to conform with their standards of propriety. Ambassador
Klee required his own table, since the Kaldorni
refused to accept anyone aboard the Enterprise as
Klee's equal. However, by arranging small tables
around the ambassador and by placing Klee's
spokesman in a central position, the required
social forms were observed while maintaining a
convivial atmosphere. The ship's dietitian and
her staff outdid themselves to create a menu that
fulfilled the requirements of a formal affair while
observing the dietary restrictions for individuals of
three different species and a dozen cultural
backgrounds. In addition, the briefing room had
been redecorated on short notice to resemble the
terrace of a Kaferian villa. Someone had found
several murals that suggested distant mountain scenery.
Sulu had raided Hydroponics for two dozen
ever-flowering nightplum bushes, which were banked against the
walls. The blossoms filled the air with their
sweet, heavy fragrance. Tiny pinlights
decorated the bushes, lighting the room with a dim
golden radiance. Simulated candles, powered
by larger pin- 14
lights, picked out gleaming highlights on the
plates and tableware. The setting seemed
to relax the mixed party of Kaldorni,
diplomats, and ship's officers. Kirk could not
remember when he had been at such a lively and
entertaining formal event. Halfway through dinner, he
even found himself discussing the Kaldorni custom of
avoidance with Ambassador Klee. Most of
Klee's remarks were in Kaldorni and were
translated by his "mouthpiece" t'Stror, but
sometimes the ambassador bypassed his interpreter.
Even then, Kirk noticed, Klee still spoke as
if t'Stror were repeating his words. "Would t'Stror
indicate to Captain Kirk that he has taken an
unnecessarily limited view of our practice of
avoiding direct speech with those of inferior rank.
One must retain the respect of one's inferiors, and
how can one do so if one is too familiar with them?"
"I haven't noticed any lack of respect
among my crew, and by definition, the captain of a
starship is the highest ranking person aboard ....
t'Stror, would you please relay that?"
"But t'Stror will convey to Captain Kirk that he
does not keepeahis crew for life. He is
permitted to dismiss a crew member who is
unnecessarily disre- spectful. When one is
born to a ruling position of one's people, one
has charge of one's people for their entire lives. So
one must demarcate who is leader."
"t'Stror, please tell the ambassador
I'll consider his point, but I prefer to talk with
my people."
Klee's response was in Kaldorni, and
t'Stror had to think before he translated it. "The
ambassador says your system may work for you-though
he seriously doubts it-but we have all the time we
need for discussion on Kaldorn. And if we used
your system, what would happen to all the younger sons of
younger sons, who have no employment? Besides being born
to rule on Kaldorn, one must protect one's
status through useful service. If this person could not
serve
Ambassador Klee and be his humble mouthpiece,
where would he be?" t'Stror paused before adding, "With the
honor comes the responsibility to serve. He is
correct; were I not his mouthpiece, I would be
nothing-lower than the lowest no-caste because I would
lack a means to serve."
"I'll think about what you've said."
Kirk took a mouthful of his dinner and scowled at
the flavor. It tasted like twice-heated,
unflavored soya base. He knew that
Starfleet Medical had recently recommended a
new food base for the synthesizers, lower in fat and
higher in protein than the old base, and that Dr.
McCoy had offered to field-test it on the
Enterprise. Kirk sighed. Every time the food
bases were changed, the dietitian had
to recalculate the flavoring and supplement balances
for each item prepared by the synthesizers.
Obviously, the program for Kirk's veal aristini
would have to be modified again. Kirk glanced across the
room at McCoy, who was engaged in a spirited
debate with Lt. Tenaida, the Deltan Science
Officer-in-training. McCoy appeared oblivious
to the problems the captain was having with the new food
base. Kirk grimaced and took another mouthful of
his dinner. The health of starship crews on long
voyages was a perpetual concern for Starfleet
Medical, and they were constantly modifying their
dietary and exercise recommendations to assist all
personnel in maintaining optimum physical
condition. An occasional "off" meal was small
price to pay for progress, Kirk supposed, but
sometimes he wondered why the new food bases were not
supplied with fully tested recipe databases
instead of just formula guidelines. The ship's
dietitian insisted that it was because each individual
food processing system had a personality
acquired from long-term exposure to the preferences of
its users, but Kirk sometimes wondered if that
wasn't how Starfleet's dietitians assured
themselves of job security.
To take his mind off his dinner, Kirk looked
around the room. Opposite him, Patrick
Brady was listening to Cecilia Simons with an
interest he usually saved for practical jokes or
his next shore leave. Kirk felt a momentary
twinge of jealousy at the sight of someone paying so much
attention to Simons. It was a reflex habit he
had thought was long gone. Of all the women Kirk had
ever known, few had affected him as deeply as
Cecilia Simons-both for good and ill. She
possessed an uncanny, erotic magnetism, an
almost psy- chic awareness of every man's deepest
desires, and her manner promised immeasurable
fulfillment. Half the men in the galaxy would
gladly surrender their souls for a few hours of
Simons' company; a large majority of the other
half, Kirk was sure, already had.
Cecilia Simons liked handsome men, fancy
clothes, expensive jewelry--and anyone
who would provide her with them. If she had
restricted her activities to her personal
entertainment, Kirk would have worried less. However,
Simons reveled in political intrigue, and
Kirk knew her current involvement with Commissioner
Montoya boded ill for the mission. He was confident
some interested faction had purchased Simons'
services, although he wondered who could afford her
price. Even if he knew, Kirk would have trouble
preventing Simons from interfering; she worked
by indirection-a subtle word here, a convenient encounter
there. When everything was analyzed, the evidence showed
only that she was present at key times and places
before a disaster. If a twentyyear string of
coincidences ever became grounds for conviction,
Cecilia Simons would be sentenced to spend the rest
of her life in rehabilitation. Even then, Kirk
was certain she would seduce her way to freedom in
less than six months.
The dinner ended early when the Kaldorni
ambassador excused himself to spend the rest of the
evening in his quarters with his wives. Commissioner
Montoya took the opportunity to leave with
Simons,
although to Kirk she appeared reluctant
to retire so early. "The captain knows the lady
Simons?"
Kirk looked around, startled. "Oh-t'Stror.
I thought you left with the ambassador." He took a
deep breath, trying to put aside the disturbing
memo- ries. "I knew her a long time ago.
She hasn't changed much."
"She has been-how do you say it?-most
cooperative in helping me to learn the human
language and customs. I could not serve my
ambassador and my people nearly so well without the
lady's help." The interpreter punctuated his
words with quick, rhythmic gestures that sketched
patterns in the air before him. Kirk watched his
hands, trying to isolate the subliminal cue the
movements suggested. t'Stror's body was shaped like
one of the algae globes in Hydroponics, squat
and shorter than any of the Kaldorni except the
ambassador himself. He moved easily and appeared
to have little difficulty in adjusting to the Enterprise's
gravity field, even though it was much stronger than that
of his home planet.
"Are your quarters satisfactory?" Kirk
asked. "Is the heavier gravity bothering anyone?
I'm sorry we didn't have enough warning
to equip your living quarters with independent gravity
fields."
"We understand the difficulty, Captain, and we
find the accommodations to be most excellent. The
ambassador in particular is pleased with the arrange-
ments provided for himself and his wives. I believe
the lades are finding it troublesome to move with the greater
gravity on Enterprise, but they will learn. Myself,
this is my seventh trip off our planet, and I have
learned to enjoy the change muchly." t'Stror's
smile was guileless and his green-gray eyes beamed
with pleasure. "Now I must excuse myself so that I
may be available if my ambassador needs me."
He bowed his head slightly, while extending and
rotating his left wrist in a gesture of
leave-taking.
Brady joined Kirk as t'Stror moved away.
"You got over your distrust of the Kaldorni in
record time, Captain."
"You know, as much as I hate to admit it,
Montoya was right about them. They really aren't so bad
once you get to know them. That avoidance thing looked like
it was going to be a real headache, but the ambassador
explained how it fits into their society. It isn't
just a matter of status consciousness."
"Tenaida said that some of the North American
Indian tribes used to practice a form of
avoidance between married men and their mothers-in-law, if
that brings it a little closer to home." Brady fell
into step with Kirk, and they left the room.
"Tenaida told you? When did he come up with that,
I wonder? It seems a little out of his field."
"Apparently, he did some supplemental
research after the briefing this afternoon."
"That's interesting." Kirk's features relaxed
into a smile. The young Deltan was turning into a
Science Officer worthy of the confidence Spock
placed in him. Too often, trainees for such
positions took a long time to realize just how broad
their responsibilities were. "And speaking of
Tenaida, where is he? The dinner ended so early,
we could get in a short poker game before bedtime."
Kirk chuckled. "He asked what we humans
saw in the game, so McCoy and I have been teaching
him. Want to join us?" "Sure. But I don't
know where he went. He disappeared as soon as the
ambassador left. Oh, there he is." Brady
pointed down the corridor. The Deltan's slender
form pushed through a cluster of people talking in the
corridor. Tenaida was carrying a tray of
food. "I thought you just finished dinner, Tenaida."
Brady greeted the Deltan scientist with a
sardonic grin as the two senior officers caught
up with him. "If you keep eating like that, the doctor
will put you on a diet."
Tenaida was shorter than Kirk and moved with the
powerful grace of a highly trained athlete. The
corridor's lights gleamed off the olive skin of
his bald head. At Brady's words, he lifted
one thick eyebrow in a gesture copied from
Spock. His dark eyes danced with amusement as he
tilted his head to look at the Acting First Officer.
"I doubt that the doctor will pay much attention to my
food consumption, Commander Brady. My latest
physical was well within the norms for my race and
age."
Kirk scowled. Sometimes Tenaida was a little too
human. If he neglected the minor physical
differences comthe completely hairless skull, the almost
subliminal muskiness of Deltan pheromones, the
too-muscular movements of Tenaida's slender
body-Kirk would swear Tenaida was human. "In
addition," Tenaida continued, "the food is for
Lieutenant Whitehorse. She has been working
since midafternoon on developing a model
to account for the discrepancies in the data we obtained
for the Shansar system. I promised to help her with the
computer simulations when the dinner was over." "I
wouldn't think she'd need help with the computer,"
Brady said. "Her record file says she's
half computer herself!" "She is an extremely able
scientist. However, the Shansar readings are
unusual, and we had completed only the preliminary
scanner runs of that system before the ship was called
to Starbase 15."
"Are you sure it isn't the girl you find
interesting? You're even taking her dinner." Brady
turned to Kirk, his eyes twinkling. "What do you
think, Captain? Doesn't it look like he's gone
soft on her?" "Enough, Mr. Brady." Kirk
knew Brady's teasing was not serious, but he doubted
if Tenaida understood the rules of the
all-too-human ritual. Tonight, the dinner, although
enjoyable, had taxed his own patience for the bantering.
At the moment, he did not
even feel up to pursuing the usual debate on
the definition of preliminary, a term he had found
most scientists used until they had studied a
phenomenon for at least three decades. He
turned to Tenaida. "Good luck with your
simulations. If your results are interesting enough,
perhaps Starfleet will let us make an additional
survey of the Shansar system after we finish this
assignment."
"That would be most satisfactory." Tenaida
nodded farewells to Kirk and Brady, and strode
away, balancing the tray with absent-minded grace.
Kirk suspected that Tenaida's mind was already lost
in the realm of higher mathematics.
"Jim, I know I haven't been on this ship
all that long, but he seems to be spending a lot of
time in the geology lab. I've always wondered about
the Deltans and their celibacy oaths. You don't
think he's making a move on Whitehorse, do
you?"
Kirk shrugged. "Romance isn't against the
regulations. Besides, he probably enjoys speaking
his own language for a change."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Dr. Chapel mentioned it the other day. She said
Whitehorse is the only other person aboard the
ship who speaks Deltan without an atrocious
accent." "Is that so? I suppose it would be hard for
him to always have to speak a foreign language."
Brady ran a hand through his thick, red
hair. "When most of the crew is human, sometimes
it's hard to remember that the others don't share our
common heritage. At least, not from birth."
"And Tenaida speaks English so well, you
don't remember it's not his native language."
Kirk sighed. "Well, it looks like we won't be
playing poker tonight. McCoy prefers to play with a
larger group."
The two officers headed down the corridor and
separated to go to their respective cabins. As his
door closed, Kirk felt a sense of relief
wash over him, as if 21
he had just locked out the day's problems. He
supposed he was being optimistic to think he could
avoid all of them until morning.
The door to the geology lab swished shut behind
Tenaida. The room lights were off, except for a
single spot of brightness over the workstation in the far
corner. He paused while his eyes adjusted. The
lab was a crowded, irregularly shap ed room with
inner and outer walls curved to match the space
available. The room was about seven meters square,
but most of the space was occupied. Storage cabinets
down the lab's center divided the space into two
narrow work areas; loose specimens and
sample crates dotted the floor in random
piles. Four computer stations occupied the forward and
aft walls, and the outside wall was filled with the
daunting array of processing equipment needed
to prepare samples for geochemical analysis.
Janara Whitehorse bent over her computer
console, entering data and running simulations to check
the accuracy of her model. When Tenaida entered,
she looked away from the screen, unwrapped her
legs from the central column of her chair, and
dropped to the floor. She was a small, compact,
olive-skinned woman with dark hair twisted and
piled on top of her head. Her black,
loose-fitting jumpsuit was covered by a
blue-gray overtunic, and her boots leaned against
the far wall. Janara padded across the room, neatly
avoiding the piled specimen containers, and took the
food tray from Tenaida. He watched her carry the
tray back to her station, thinking that her walk reminded
him of the controlled prowling of a halfsized nahgre.
She pushed the tray onto an empty stretch of
counter and levered herself up to sit beside it. Tenaida
joined her, nibbling on a green apple, while she
devoured the rest of the food.
"Thank you, kai, was she said when the last
bite was gone. "I needed a break." She dropped
to the floor
and stretched. Without her boots, the top of her
head was even with Tenaida's shoulder. "Let's see
how the latest simulation came out. I still haven't
been able to write a function that describes the
observed density profiles." "Did you account for the
chemical anomalies in the outer planets?" When
they had discussed the problem yesterday, Janara had just
gotten the results of the second batch of
analyses. The numbers had agreed with earlier
results, ruling out the possibility that there had been
an error in their scanner data.
"That's the problem. It's almost as if I have two
separate solar systems here. If I model the
deviations in the outer system correctly, the mu
factor increases without limit for the inner planets.
And if I limit the term to fit the observed data
for the inner system, I can't get a reasonable fit
for the outer planets. I was just about to scrap the whole
thing and start over. Why don't you look at it first?"
She entered a command and the lines of Vulcan
script began marching across the screen. Janara
had spent almost two weeks programming the human
designed computer to accept the Vulcan
symbology, and afterward Tenaida asked himself why he
had
neglected the project. No one had yet found
a way to program Federation computers to operate with the
intuitive, multiphasic structures common
to Deltan systems. The rigid and logical
structure of the Vulcan system, and its
mathematical precision, allowed for a limited
approximation of the Deltan phase-logics and
aided in the solution of otherwise intractable prob
lems. However, translating a problem into the appro
priate Vulcan constructs often seemed as
difficult as solving it in the imprecise human
system. Tenaida shook his head; the reason he had
not reprogrammed the science banks was that he knew
he would be
reassigned when his training was completed. He had
not felt he should take the liberty of reprogramming
the computers unless he was permanently assigned

the Enterprise, especially when the ship's
Vulcan Science Officer had not already done it.
Tenaida studied Janara's equations, searching for
errors in her model. Finally, he froze the
screen on a set of fourth order
differential equations. "Are these the terms that are
causing the difficulty, kaia?" Janara nodded.
"Depending on the limits I impose on those
equations, I can force any answer I want.
Except the right one."
"I'll examine your equations more carefully and
explore ways of restricting those terms. Would you
reexamine the data for possible modifications in the
equations themselves?" When she nodded again, he scrolled
to the beginning of the file and started working on the first
equation.
"Enter."
The door slid open and McCoy entered. He
held one hand behind his back. Kirk palmed off his
viewscreen.
The doctor crossed the room and held out a
bottle of Saurian brandy. "How about something
to wash away the taste of the diplomatic
courtesies?" "Doctor's orders?" Kirk
grinned and reached for a couple of glasses. McCoy
uncorked the bottle and poured. Picking up his
half-filled glass, Kirk slid downward in his
chair and stretched his legs out, relaxing. The brandy
exploded in his mouth and slipped smoothly down his
throat. As a pleasant warmth spread through
him, Kirk felt the tensions of the day recede. "I
was listening to Commander Brady talking with your friend,
Cecilia Simons, over dinner. She'squite a
lady."
Kirk turned the words over in his mind, trying
to guess what was behind the implied question. "That's one
way of putting it."
"I'd be interested to hear your story. You seemed
upset when she came aboard."
"Upset?" Kirk shook his head. It took more
effort than he expected to keep his tone casual.
"Surprised, maybe. I haven't seen her for a
long time, and I certainly didn't expect her
to beam aboard my ship."
"How long, Jim? Long enough so it won't affect
your judgment? My interest is professionalanything
that affects the captain of this ship is my business."
McCoy smiled to soften his words.
Kirk gulped a mouthful of his drink. "So that's
why you're serving the fancy anesthetic." He
toasted McCoy with his glass. "All right,
Bones, this round is yours.
"Cecilia Simons and I were lovers-I'm
sure you guessed that. It was a long time ago, and I
was young and foolish. So young and foolish I
thought someone who had just been promoted to second
officer of the scout ship Aeolus might have something
to offer a woman who was celebrated as one of the most
beautiful and fascinating females in the galaxy.
"You know, even then, she was known for that .... But what
I wanted and what she was after were two entirely
different things. We were chasing some Aldebaran
pirates, and she came on our ship as a courier.
Only, it turned out that she had-shall we say-an
interest in the Aldebarans, and interfered with the ship's
operations at the wrong time."
Kirk fell silent, reliving that long-ago
night on the Aeolus. It had been early morning,
about 0100 ship's time, and the watch should have been his.
Instead, Kirk was in Sickbay, incapacitated
by stomach cramps and nausea. He and Simons had
spent the evening together, savoring a romantic dinner.
The dessert, served just before Kirk was scheduled to go
on duty, was his special favorite-brandied
chocolate cheesecake topped with Cerian
cherries, whipped cream, and fudge sauce. Before
he had finished his serving, Kirk began vomiting.
Within minutes, he was so sick he had to be carried
to Sickbay. The doctor diagnosed the cause of
his illness as a fast-acting virus
that had somehow gotten into the food synthesizers.
When he recovered, Kirk tried to learn more about the
cause of his illness. He discovered that the virus
resembled ones that had been developed to inject
malignant cells with anticancer drugs, but the
pathologist's report indicated this particular
strain had been modified to deliver a severe,
extremely fast-acting strain of influenza. By the
time Kirk was supposed to be on the bridge, he was
completely incapacitated.
Meanwhile, the bridge was staffed with a skeleton
crew for the night shift. In spite of their orders,
the mission so far had been uneventful, and boredom
was diminishing everyone's alertness. The duty officer,
guessing how Kirk's evening had started, decided not
to disturb him when Kirk failed to appear. He thought
Kirk would be grateful and could return the favor
at a later date. When the sensors picked up the
first anomalous readings, the bridge crew wasted
precious seconds trying to reach Kirk. The young
doctor who was treating him had not thought to notify the
bridge of Kirk's condition until she heard the
duty officer page him. At first, no one on the
bridge could interpret the sensor readings. As they
finally identified an alien vessel off the
ship's starboard side, the intruder opened fire.
By the time the Aeolus responded, her shields were
severely strained. The captain arrived in time
to save his ship, but the intruder escaped.
Kirk sighed, returning to the present. "We
almost lost the ship because of her, Bones. I was the
only officer with previous deep-space experience
assigned to that watch, and somehow Simons knew it.
Later, I found a life support belt hidden in
her luggage. I don't know what her escape
plan was, but she was prepared for the ship's
destruction. "Of course, we couldn't prove it
wasn't coincidence, but such coincidences follow her
like a sehlat after prey." Kirk downed the last of
his brandy. "Does 26
that answer your questions about my sordid past,
Doctor?" McCoy stared into his glass for a long
moment. "I reckon it does. Although I don't
rightly see how Miz Simons could be as
schizophrenic as you describe her."
"Maybe she's just a good actress." Kirk
picked up his empty glass, examining it as if it
held McCoy's answer. "Actually, Bones,
I've been asking myself that one for a long time. If you
figure it out, let me know."
"Certainly." A slow grin spread across the
doctor's face. He climbed to his feet and
reached for the bottle. "That's the right attitude,
Jim. A healthy dose of questioning always keeps things
in perspective."
"Always, Doctor?"
At the door, McCoy paused. "Well, almost
always." He made good his escape before Kirk could
pursue the subject. Kirk st ared at the closed
door, wondering if he really had fooled
McCoy. He doubted that he had the proper
perspective on Cecilia Simons. He
wondered if he ever would. After a moment, he reached
over and flipped on his computer. He had promised
Spock he would test his program; he could hardly
devise a more human test for its logic than
consulting it about Cecilia Simons. It took him
a few moments to locate the file. When he
accessed it, Spock's image filled the screen.
"Captain, since you are viewing this, I will
assume you are about to test my program. It is
designed to function as a decision-making aid, and
to provide information and logical advice to those who
require it. I must emphasize that this version is
extremely preliminary, and that I have not had
time to implement all of the features I wish
to include in the final program. In addition, I have
not yet integrated all of the real-time response
modules into the program design. Therefore, some of the
Enterprise's information systems are not yet
available to the program
because I have not had the time to modify their access
formats to accommodate the new artificial
intelligence system. However, I will be most
appreciative of any comments you wish to make. The
program is activated by the word
"Assistant.""
For a moment after Spock's image faded, Kirk
just stared at the screen. He had not realized how much
he depended on Spock's advice until he
watched the tape. Then he straightened in his chair.
"Assistant, access computer files on our
passenger, Cecilia Simons. Question Does her
presence on this ship endanger our current mission?"
A series of messages flashed across the screen,
telling Kirk which files the computer was accessing.
After a minute or so, the word "Done" appeared.
"No information found to connect Cecilia Simons with
our current mission. Past record indicates a
67.3 percent probability that such a
connection exists but cannot be proven. There is a
97.45 percent chance of her disrupting the ship's
normal operation in some way."
"How will she accomplish this?"
"Insufficient information. Data indicates a
random factor in her behavior and methods that cannot be
predicted by logical means."
"What can I do to prevent this?"
"Your options in this matter are extremely
limited, and all have a high probability of
resulting in unfortunate consequences to you
personally." "What?" Kirk stared at the computer in
disbelief. Controlling Simons would result in
unfortunate consequences for him? Clearly, the
program had more problems than Spock had thought.
"Assistant, please elaborate on your last
statement."
"Option 1 Confine her to her quarters. Option
2 Have a Security guard accompany her at
all times. Option 3 Confine her to the brig.
Option 4 Return her to Starbase 15
by shuttlecraft. With any of these 28
options, unless you have solid proof that she has
done something to justify your suspicions, you will
antagonize her husband. Commissioner
Montoya will complain to his superiors and
to Starfleet. The most probable outcome is that you will
be relieved of command and severely disciplined."
"Wonderful. Just wonderful." Kirk stared at the
computer for a moment, shaking his head. Spock's
program seemed to have included every possibility in that
list. Then a thought occurred to him. "By the way,
Assistant, did you consider murder in your list of
options?"
"I did not." The computer's voice sounded
mildly offended, and Kirk wondered if it was only
his imagination-the program sounded suspiciously like
Spock. "Murder is illegal and no civilized
being would consider it an option. In addition, you would be
sentenced to a thirty-year term in rehabilitation for
your crime."
"I see." Kirk reached over and turned off the
computer, wondering what grade he should give
Spock's program for that test. Probably the
same one I give Sock when I don't like his
advice-" A "for efort, F for pleasing the
captain. He allowed himself a rueful grin,
realizing that difference was exactly why Spock's
abilities complemented his own so well. Any
decision that satisfied them both would be the
best decision possible in a given situation.
The woman rose silently and checked the sleeping
man on the bed. The drug was strong; he would sleep
for several more hours. Satisfied, she slipped from the
room and padded down the deserted corridor to keep
her rendezvous. The alien fascinated her. Though his
passion matched hers in their physical joining, she
remem bered no male who was so indifferent to her
attrac tions outside the sleeping chamber. She
returned to 29
him as a moth to the flame to learn the dangerous
secret of his immunity.
Except for the sounds of fingers coding data into the
computer or the occasional verbal command, the geology
lab had been quiet for hours. Tenaida and
Janara were immersed in the intractable equations and
spared no energy for conversation.
A low moan broke Tenaida's concentration.
Janara was slumped over her console, massaging her
forehead.
"Shan Janara, is something wrong?" When she
failed to answer, he repeated the question with more urgency
in his voice, trying to penetrate the distraction.
She straightened, fingers still rubbing her temples.
Slowly, her eyes focused on Tenaida.
"Something . . . a wild animal, maybe. A
predator, prowling the ship." Her fingers rubbed
harder, as if the pressure would focus the image.
"It wasn't clear enough to isolate."
"How long has it been there?" Tenaida asked.
Janara's telepathic powers were formidable, but
largely untrained. When the Deltan Mentors had
recognized the synergistic potential of her combined
human and Deltan genome, they had monitored
Janara's development carefully. Her powerful
psychic abilities had given her an exceptionally
keen awareness of others' physical and mental
ailments, and she had been marked for possible training
as a healer. That changed when her mother took her and
fled Delta Four just before the girl's seventh
birthday. Janara spent the following years learning
to suppress her abilities enough to function around
nontelepaths, and to control her half-Deltan
physiology sufficiently to keep from disturbing those
around her. The turning point came when the legal
guardianship of the thirteen-year-old girl passed
to her maternal grandparents. Ursula and Tom
Many-Sleeps Whitehorse 30
provided the stability and security missing from the
girl's life since her departure from
Delta.
Tenaida knew that, since joining Starfleet,
Janara had spent most of her leave time among
Deltans, learning more about herself and her unique
gifts. Even so, Tenaida doubted if more than
half a dozen people on the Enterprise suspected her
true heritage. Her long dark hair-whether
engineered at fertilization or implanted after birth,
Tenaida did not know-was an effective
camouflage. No human expected her sober mien
to conceal the strongest telepath born on Delta
Four in the last fifty years. "How long?" she
echoed Tenaida, shaking her head to clear it. "I'm
not sure. It slipped up on me. Several hours,
I think. It's still there, in the back, but not as strong
as that one flash." Janara shrugged. "I guess
it's just someone in a dreadful mood."
She stared at her screen. Tenaida watched her
for a few moments, then returned to his equations.
She would have to solve the problem in her own way. He
was again immersed in high-order differential equations
when she interrupted him.
"Shan Tenaida," she asked, her voice
barely above a whisper, "do you have any boretelin?"
His eyebrow lifted in a questioning gesture.
"Boretelin? My mother sent me a substantial
quantity last month." Tenaida's empathic
rating had been in the lowest percentile-grouping for his
age-mates. As a result, he had been
surprised when he opened the last box of
Delta-produced nutritional supplements his mother
had sent him. In addition to the usual items, he
had found several bottles of the psi-suppressant,
boretelin, a drug developed on Delta Four
to aid untrainable psi-sensitives in blocking the
inputs they could not screen out.
Janara took a deep breath. "Please thank
your mother for me the next time you speak with her."
Tenaida nodded as he understood his mother's reason
for sending the drug. Janara's mental powers 31
combined the normal Deltan ability to receive
images from other minds with a rare and powerful, though
erratic, human ability to sense thoughts or
feelings. At times, Janara needed boretelin
to cope with the mental distress of constant input from
untrained minds. "I'll return with your
medicine." "Thank you, Shan Tenaida." She
lowered her head to the counter, shielding her eyes and
ears with her arms. He left the lab, heading for his
quarters. It took him fifteen minutes
to return with the medicine and Janara wondered why it was
taking him so long. This far into the night shift, the
corridors and turbolifts should be virtually
empty.
Finally, the door opened. Tenaida crossed the
lab and set a small, square bottle on the
counter beside Janara. He noted that she did not
appear to have moved in the time he had been gone.
"Shan Janara," he said. When she did not
respond, he shook her shoulder to get her
attention. She stirred and sat up, looking around the
room as though only partially aware of her
surroundings.
"Shan Janara, snap out of it," he ordered.
Janara rubbed her hand across her eyes, trying
to clear her mind of the impressions that flooded it.
Her hand groped for the bottle and she fumbled two
brown, oval tablets from it. She swallowed the
pills, washing them down with the last mouthful of cold
tea from the cup sitting on the counter by her workstation.
Tenaida watched the tenseness melt out of her slight
frame as the medicine took effect. Janara
picked up the square bottle and turned it over and
over in her hands, rubbing the rough surface with her
fingers. Finally she set it back on the
table. "Normally, I can shut them out. Why is it
I hear them so strongly tonight?"
"Perhaps you require additional training, kaia. was
She sighed. "Perhaps, Shan Tenaida. Perhaps."
She reactivated her computer console and resumed
work on the geochemical data for the individual
planets. At 32
first, her keystrokes were slow and stumbling, but as
Tenaida listened, her speed gradually returned
to normal. With a sense of relief, Tenaida
turned his attention to the equations on his screen.
The woman stole into the deserted briefing room.
Although the room was dark, she ordered the lights down
again when the sensors detected her presence and
increased the illumination. She felt her way to the
table and slid into a chair, pulled out her compact comm
set, and entered a command. The set squirted a
brief pulse containing her message. Moments
later, the red "Receiving" indicator lit up. She
held her breath for the interminable few seconds needed
to receive the high-speed transmission. When the light
went out, she hid the comm set under her clothing and
left the room. Unless the night-shift communications
officer was monitoring the planetary broadcast
frequencies, no one on the Enterprise
should detect the transmission. However, she had no
intention of waiting there to be caught. Later, when she
knew she would not be interrupted, she would decode the
transmission and discover its contents.
The door opened and the slender figure of the
Deltan Science Officer marched onto the
bridge. The night shift bent to their tasks, trying
to appear more diligent than the available work
justified. Although Tenaida was only temporarily
assigned to the Enterprise, Captain Kirk would
listen to his reports of any shortcomings as
carefully as he listened to Spock. The evening shift
bridge crew wanted Tenaida to give Kirk a
flawless report. The Deltan glanced around the
bridge. The command chair was occupied by a black
male of medium build. The navigator was a
slender male with dark, curly hair and pale skin,
and the communications officer was a chunky,
olive-skinned female. Tenaida took his seat
at the science station and activated the 33
sensors. After ten minutes of checking his
displays, he stiffened. He tapped the control
pads, transferring the information to the main screen. A
swirling glow, twisted in angry patterns, filled
the viewscreen. "Lieutenant Jacobs,
my sensors are detecting a previously uncharted
gas cloud. I recommend that we change course
to bypass it."
"Navigation, do you confirm that?"
"Negative. comationo, wait. I'm getting
dopplers on something now. I've never seen readings
like this before."
"Recommend that we change course to the heading the
computer is feeding to navigation," the Deltan said.
Jacobs clenched his suddenly sweaty hand around the
arm of the command chair. In his experience, unexplained
phenomena usually created more prob- lems than
suggested by first impressions. He doublechecked the
readings on the viewscreen. He had only moments
to decide what the Enterprise should do. "Laysa,
where's Captain Kirk?"
The communications officer signaled Kirk's
quarters. After a moment, she said, "He is not
responding to his intercom." She entered another
command. "The circuit appears to be malfunctioning."
Jacobs checked the screen again, estimating how
long until they reached the gas cloud. The distance was
shrinking fast. "Ensign Carly, change course
to Lieutenant Tenaida's heading."
"Aye." The navigator entered the command
into his console. The scene on the viewer slid to one
side as the Enterprise moved off on its new
heading. Tenaida entered a string of commands into his
console. Then he pulled a tape from its slot and
stood. "I have ordered the computer to take additional
readings on that phenomenon. For now, my observations
are complete. I'll report to the captain and tell
him what happened."
"Thank you, sir. Lieutenant Laysa, tell
Engineering 34
to trace the malfunction and reroute Captain
Kirk's communications. Also, have them check the
intercom unit in the captain's quarters as soon as
he comes on duty in the morning."
"Maintenance order logged," she said, her voice
mingling with the sound of the door closing behind Tenaida.
JANARA AND TENAIDA pored over the output
from the latest version of their model. Condensed to a few
lines of mathematical symbols, their night's work
seemed insignificant. They had improved the fit
between theory and observation, but both scientists felt
they were far from solving the problem. "That term still
increases without limit if we use anything
approximating the actual data." Janara taped
the troublesome equation with her forefinger. "I just
don't see what we've missed."
Behind them, the door whisked open. Neither looked
to see who entered. "Copy that file to my work queue
and I'll study the problem later, kaia, was
Tenaida said. "However, I am on duty in
twenty-seven minutes." "Of course," Janara
replied. Tenaida's unspoken message was that he
needed the remaining time before his shift for his personal
needs. When he turned to leave, Cecilia
Simons was standing in the doorway. "Excuse me,
madam." But Simons did not move and Tenaida
had to squeeze around her to get out of the room. As he
passed her, she gave him a look of pure
hatred.
After the door closed behind Tenaida, Simons
sauntered forward. Her face wore an exaggerated
smile.
"Janie, darling, aren't you going to say hello
to your mother?" Janara's back stiffened. She had not
expected Simons to look for her while she was on
duty. After a deep breath, she turned to face the
older woman. "Mother, I had no idea you were on the
ship."
"I left twenty messages in your mail
file. You'd have known if you'd bothered to read
them."
Janara counted slowly to ten in Deltan,
Vulcan, and finally Apache before she replied.
"I've been working on a problem since yesterday
afternoon and haven't had time to check my mail."
"But surely, darling, they must let you sleep
sometime."
"I work the night shift, Mother. I prefer it."
Janara clenched her hands into fists behind her back,
trying to control her impulse to throw something.
"I suppose you also prefer to associate with that
Deltan animal. And encourage him by speaking the
inhuman mumbo jumbo they call a language."
Simons shook her head and rolled her eyes with the
melodramatic exaggeration of a third-rate
actress. "My only daughter. What's the
universe coming to? I tried to bring you up right, but you
reject everything I ever taught you." Janara
ignored her mother's theatrics and replied in a
monotone. "Shan Tenaida is the acting science
officer on this ship, and therefore my superior. I will
speak whatever language I choose. You've told
me often enough your experiences on Delta Four were not
the most exciting of your life, but I don't share
your distaste for the planet. The last time I
visited Delta, Shan Tenaida's parents were
gracious enough to ask me to stay with them." She paused,
remembering the warmth they had shown her and how much she
wished she could have grown up in so loving an
atmosphere. There were still many aspects of the Deltan
half of her heritage that she did not understand, but
Tenaida's siblings and cross-cousins had
been eager to help her. Not for the first time, Janara
found herself wishing she could be part of such a close
family group. With a shake of her head, Janara
pulled herself back to the present. She parted the hair
on the side of her head, revealing the scars from the
implant surgery. The surgeon Simons had
hired to alter her daughter's Deltan appearance
had been neither especially skilled nor especially
careful. "Finally, Mother, you may think you tried
to bring me up properly, but you're the only person
in the galaxy who does. If you had cared for me at
all, you would have left me with my father on Delta."
"How dare you!" Simons hissed. "You
ungrateful monster! If you have any shred of
decency or respect for your mother left, you'll
request an immediate transfer to another ship!" She
paused to regain control of herself. Forcing her most
disarming smile, she continued in a soothing
tone, "I'm only trying to do what's best for you,
darling. Won't you please humor your dear mother in
this?"
"No."
"Jane, I'm warning you-was
"Mother, would you please leave? I'm still on duty
and you're interfering with my work."
"Darling, I'm only trying to protect you from that
Deltan monster. Transfer off this ship."
Janara separated the strands of her dark hair
to emphasize the scars. "In case you've
forgotten, Mother dear, I'm part Deltan, too."
Simons' hiss of indrawn breath told
Janara she had gone too far. Her mother's fist
caught Janara on the side of the face and knocked
her head against the edge of the console. She slumped to the
floor, unconscious. Simons stormed from the
room without looking back.
Kirk was humming a lively tune under his breath
as he strode down the corridor. He knew it was
going to be a good day. The Kaldorni delegation and
Commis-
sioner Montoya's negotiating team had
settled into the briefing room with a minimum of trouble.
To assist them, Kirk had assigned a
yeoman to record the proceedings and retrieve
needed information from the ship's computer. The only
glitch was when the Kaldomi refused to allow a
Universal Translator in the room. Kirk
sympathized with Montoya on that issue, but on the
whole, he was relieved to have fulfilled his
diplomatic responsibilities so easily.
Kirk was feeling thoroughly pleased with himself as he
stepped onto the bridge. Although he was a few
minutes early, the people assigned to the day shift were
already at their stations, gett ing briefed by their counterparts
who were going off duty.
"Status report, Mr. Jacobs?" Kirk
descended the stairs and crossed to the command chair, still
smiling. He looked up at the main viewscreen and
froze. "What's our course?"
Jacobs touched a couple of switches. "Bearing
124 mark 5, at warp factor six-as per
Lieutenant Tenaida's orders, to avoid that
uncharted gas cloud. He reported that you confirmed
the new heading, sir."
A cold finger of uneasiness poked through Kirk's
cheerfulness. "Give me a full report,
Jacobs."
"Lieutenant Tenaida came on the
bridge to check the sensors. After a few minutes,
he began picking up some strange readings. We
changed course to avoid a previously uncharted
gas cloud. Then, when you didn't respond to your
intercom, Lieutenant Tenaida carried a full
report to you. He later relayed your approval for
our current heading and speed."
"When did this happen, Lieutenant?"
"About 0330 hours, sir."
Behind them, the turbolift opened and Tenaida
entered the bridge. Kirk turned, beckoning to the
scientist. "A word with you, Tenaida, if you
please."
Tenaida came down the stairs and stopped beside
Kirk. "Yes, Captain?"
"Why did you tell Lieutenant Jacobs you
had reported the course change to me, when you
hadn't?"
Tenaida's forehead wrinkled with a puzzled frown
at Kirk's tone. "What course change are we
discussing, Captain?"
"Lieutenant Jacobs reports that you changed
the ship's course last night to avoid an uncharted
gas cloud. And that you then reported this to me and got
my approval for the new heading." Repeating
the accusation made Kirk feel as though he were
talking to "a computer with faulty inference
circuits. "I took no such actions." The
Deltan's frown deepened, and his face flushed with
agitation.
"Begging your pardon, sir." Jacobs
straightened to attention. "You came on the bridge
to check your equipment, discovered the gas cloud, and
fed the new course information into my navigation console,
sir."
"That is not possible, Lieutenant Jacobs.
I have not been on the bridge since late yesterday
afternoon."
Kirk studied the two men. Neither appeared to be
lying. He knew Tenaida's agitation was a sure
sign of his veracity and Jacobs" conviction blazed
like a navigation beacon. There was only one way
to settle the problem. Kirk turned to the
communications station. "Commander Uhura, pull the
ship's log for 0330 hours this morning."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Let's take a look at the evidence."
Kirk and Tenaida crossed to the communications
station. Uhura played the tog extract on the
display screen above her console. They
watched the scene, then Kirk reran it. After the
second time, he stepped back, shaking his head. The
images left little room for doubt. "Tenaida, it
looks like you. And it sounds like you. Can you explain?"
"No, Captain. Until twenty-five
minutes ago, I was in the geology lab with
Lieutenant Whitehorse, working on the mass
distribution equations for the Shansar system."
"Will she verify that, Tenaida?"
"Yes."
"Uhura, run an identity check on that log
extract."
"Yes, sir." Uhura activated the
program. A series of graphic displays,
curved lines, and varicolored bars chased each other
across the screen. The final image was a jagged amber
histogram. Uhura tapped it with her finger.
"Inconclusive, sir. The computer says it may
or may not be Lieutenant Tenaida."
"Run it again, Uhura. A dozen times, if you
have to, but get me a definite answer. And find
Lieutenant Whitehorse. I want to speak with
her immediately."
"Yes, sir."
"Captain?" Tenaida's voice sounded
strained and his face was a dull beige from the shock of
seeing the log extract.
"Yes, Tenaida?" Kirk had to struggle
to keep his voice level. Something he did not understand
had happened on his ship, and he did not like the
answers he was getting. He did not know Tenaida
well, but Spock did. And Spock spoke as
highly of Tenaida as Kirk had ever heard the
Vulcan speak of anyone. Kirk trusted
Spock's judgment implicitly, but the
contradictory evidence was beginning to raise doubts
in his mind.
"Do you wish to confine me to my. quarters until this
is resolved?" The Deltan stood rigidly at
attention, as if Tenaida were fighting his own battle
between appearances and reality.
Kirk felt the decision click into focus. He
believed Tenaida when he said he had been in the
geology lab. But if the Deltan were up to something,
Kirk wanted to be able to keep an eye on him.
"No. Carry on with your duties, Tenaida."
"Thank you, Captain."
"Mr. Sulu, change our course back to our
original heading and reduce speed to warp two."
"Aye, aye, Captain." The
helmsman entered the command. The stars slipped across the
viewscreen as the great ship swung to its new
heading.
Kirk dropped into his chair, scowling. The
"top-of the-universe" feeling he had had when he
entered the bridge was gone, leaving him let down and
irritable. He was still trying to account for the computer's
indeterminate answers when Uhura interrupted his
thoughts.
"Captain, Dr. McCoy wishes to see you in
Sickbay. He says it's about your request to see
Lieutenant Whitehorse."
"What does he want, Uhura?"
"He didn't say, sir. Just that he needed
to see you in Sickbay." "Tell him I'm on my
way." Kirk heaved himself out of the command chair. "This
had better be good," he muttered to himself as he left
the bridge.
"All right, Bones. What's this all about?"
Kirk's grim expression told the doctor all
he needed to know about his captain's mood. McCoy
pointed toward the examination room. Kirk walked
to the door and looked over at the figure on the bed,
not believing what he saw. When McCoy entered the
room to check his patient, Kirk followed.
Janara Whitehorse's slight form seemed lost
under the blue thermal blanket that covered her.
Kirk shook his head to dispel the illusion and moved
closer to the diagnostic bed. Janara was
unconscious. The left side of her face was
swollen and a large bruise covered her eye; the
other side of her face was also scraped and
discolored.
"What happened?"
"The lab technician found her when he went on
duty. She's got a mild concussion and assorted
bruises and scrapes. As for what happened,"
McCoy shrugged, "your guess is as good as mine.
I could wake her up and ask, but I'd prefer
to let her come out of it on her own. Her hybrid
physiology responds unpredictably to most of
our drugs."
Kirk gave the patient a long, accusing look
and strode into McCoy's office. For the moment, the
timing of Janara's injury felt like a personal
affront. He needed her testimony to support
Tenaida's story, and this accident could not have happened
at a worse time. "How soon will she regain
consciousness?" McCoy shrugged. "Could be fifteen
minutes. Could be five hours. It's hard
to tell with this type of injury. Is it important,
Jim?" "Perhaps." Kirk glared at the door of the
examination room, willing Janara to waken. When that
produced no results, he reached for the intercom.
"Tenaida here," the Deltan's voice replied from
the speaker. "Tenaida, was Lieutenant
Whitehorse alone when you left her?" "No,
Captain. The commissioner's wife was with her."
"I see." Kirk felt a cold suspicion
starting to grow. "Is something wrong, Captain?"
"The lab technician found her unconscious when
he arrived for his shift. She looks as though someone
tried to put a fist through her cheekbone." Kirk
gave Tenaida a few seconds to respond to the
news, then concluded, "Kirk out."
He sprawled into the chair by McCoy's desk.
"Bones, you tell me. In the middle of the night,
someone who may have been my Acting Science Officer
enters the bridge, detects an uncharted gas
cloud, and alters our course to an arbitrary heading
to avoid it. Tenaida claims he wasn't on the
bridge last night, but the only person who can
verify his story is unconscious when I go to question
her. Should I feel paranoid?" "It sounds like
you've got the grounds for a case. Are you
going to ask Ms. Simons what happened?"
Kirk closed his eyes. Just the thought of confronting
Simons made him feel tired and depressed.
He shook himself to break the mood. "I'll ask, but
I'm not sure it will do any good. She'll just lie,
if it suits her purpose."
"That sounds like you think she's the one who hit
Lieutenant Whitehorse." McCoy kept his
tone neutral.
"It wouldn't be the first time, Bones. As far as her
daughter is concerned-well, Ms. Simons may
tell the truth on some rare occasion, but I haven't
heard of it yet."
"Her daughter? Am I following you, Jim?"
"I think you are. Cecilia Simons, or
Deirdre Connell, or whatever other name she
calls herself, is Janara Whitehorse's mother. And
there isn't a female more unsuited to motherhood in the
entire galaxy!" "If Whitehorse's injuries
are evidence for your conclusion, I'd agree with you.
But what are you going to do about it? And how do you know so
much about the situation?"
"Do about it?" Kirk gave a short laugh.
"First, I'd have to have something more than my suspicions
to go on. As for how I know so much about the
situationremember how she almost caused the destruction
of the Aeolus? Well, our captain had had-shall we
say-previous dealings with Ms. Simons, and he
told me about them to explain why he wasn't going
to put the incident in my record. His story
included how he'd gotten the courts to declare
Simons an unfit guardian for her
thirteen-year-old daughter. Physical abuse
had a lot to do with it."
"But you don't have any hard evidence to back up
your suspicions." "That's right." Kirk gave the
doctor a tight, humorless grin. "But I'll
bet you a bottle of Saurian brandy that Simons
shows up here any minute with a story about Tenaida
knocking her "poor little daughter' around, an d about how
she got lost trying to find someone to help." Kirk
stood, stretching his arms over his head to ease the
tension in his back muscles. "I'm going to get some
coffee. Call me the minute Whitehorse
regains consciousness. And she's not to have any
visitors until after I talk with her." He
smiled to apologize for his next words. "I'm
afraid that's an order, Bones."
As Kirk was leaving Sickbay, Patrick
Brady fell into step beside him. "Why so
worried, Captain? Didn't the little geologist
confirm Tenaida's alibi?" Kirk shook his
head. "McCoy won't say when she'll be able
to talk to us, either."
"And meanwhile, you'll act as though Tenaida's
innocent, in spite of the log extract?" Brady
lifted an eyebrow in a perfect replica of
Spock's favorite gesture.
Kirk shrugged, wondering if Brady had ever
met the Vulcan. "Let's say I'm keeping an
eye on him for the moment. Besides, we couldn't get a
positive identification from that recording. And a man
is presumed innocent until proven guilty."
"I grant you that. But I looked at the
recording, too. I'd say it was as close to proof
as you're likely to get."
"The analysis disputes that. Unless Uhura's
gotten a better determination while I was in
Sickbay."
Brady shook his head. "If anything, her later
results were even worse. She was muttering at the
computer in Swahili when I left. At least, I
guess it was Swahili, though I heard an
occasional "malfunction' or "reprogram.""
"Swahili? That sounds like real trouble. Which
also means that log extract isn't proof. Or
anything close to it. Uhura should have gotten a 99
percent certainty level on her first identity
check. We've got Tenaida's complete files,
and it was a clear recording. Something fishy is going
on." "Why are you so sure your acting science
officer isn't behind it?" Kirk paused for a moment.
"I'm not sure. I don't have enough information to guess
what's going on or who's responsible. At this
point, it could even be one of your practical
jokes." Kirk grinned to show the 45
suggestion was made in jest. "So, until I
get more information, I want to keep all my options
open."
"Then that's why you didn't put Tenaida in the
brig."
"Well, partly. Besides, like I said, I need
evidence. Why don't you help Uhura with that log
extract? If she's swearing at the computer in
Swahili, things are serious. Somebody better
get up there before she decides to reprogram the
computer one circuit at a time."
"Is that "reprogram" as in "disassemble'?"
At Kirk's nod, Brady's eyes widened in
mock fear. "I'm on my way,
Captain. Starfleet's computer systems are
unreliable enough when the Vulcans have been working on
them. I'd hate to see them after they've been worked
on by someone who speaks Swahili with such
viciousness."
"Let me know what you find, Mr. Brady.
And the sooner, the better." "You got it,
Captain." Brady broke into a trot to catch up
with a crewman who was approaching the turbolift.
Kirk watched, shaking his head, then turned in to the
recreation lounge to get his coffee.
Much to Kirk's relief, the rest of the morning
passed without incident. When lunchtime came, he was
more than ready to turn the bridge over to Sulu.
On his way to get lunch, he stopped by Sickbay
to check on Janara, but McCoy reported no
change in his patient's condition. "She's still
unconscious, Jim. What I said before still goes.
I'll give her a stimulant if you absolutely
insist, but-was
"But you'd prefer not to." Kirk sighed. "Let
me know when there's any change, Bones."
Kirk entered the dining area and punched his order
into the food synthesizer. The machine hummed for an
unusually long time as it searched its
instructions. Finally, the door slid open,
delivering a tuna salad 46
labeled with Kirk's name. Frowning, he dropped
the plate onto his tray. The label was the
dietitian's way of telling him that she intended
to see that he followed his prescribed nutritional
schedule.
"You don't look like you care for salads,
Captain." The speaker was Kristiann Norris,
who was removing her lunch from the adjacent dispenser.
Kirk gave her a wry grin. "Well, let's just
say there are other foods I prefer."
"I know what you mean. The worst thing about
traveling on a spaceship is that my diet card
always calls for exactly what I should have." She
laughed. "Who wants to eat only what's good for
them?"
Kirk found himself smiling in response to her
cheerfulness. "You're right, of course."
Kirk pointed to an empty table on the side
wall. Norris nodded, and they worked their way across
the crowded room to reach it. "How are the negotiations
going?" Kirk asked when they were seated. She
answered between mouthfuls of her cheese-andsprout
sandwich. "Don't know. Of course, it's
really too early to say yet, and all we're
supposed to do right now is establish protocols and
agendas for the actual peace talks, but-"She took
a sip of her juice. "Well, you get a feeling
for these things, and this one feels like we're getting
absolutely nowhere. Like trying to pin down a handful
of fog."
Kirk found himself attracted by Norris' friendly,
open manner. He realized his initial evaluation of
her, based on her plainness, had been mistaken.
"May I ask what you do on the negotiating
team?" "A little bit of everything, actually.
Mostly, I work with computers. I try to find the
relevant information in the reports covering the
situation we're working on. Or run simulations
to see how a particular course of action would turn
out. Also, I work with languages and computer
translators." She took another bite of her
sandwich. "It bothers me that the Kaldorni don't
want a Universal Translator 47
in the room. I can't quite explain it, but I get
the feeling we're missing something important about the
whole situation. Maybe the translator would give
us the key.
"Hey, I'm being terribly rude,
jabbering away about my job and not letting you get in a
word edgewise."
Kirk grinned and shook his head. "I asked the
questions, remember? But if you insist, I'll give you
the captain's tour of the Enterprise this evening, so I
can have my turn."
Norris' face lit up with a big smile.
"I'd love it. Are you sure you've got the time?"
"I'll make the time." Kirk started to say more,
but was interrupted by an intercom page. He went to the
panel and pressed the control. "Kirk here."
"Kirk," Uhura's musical voice floated
from the speaker, "Dr. McCoy said you wanted to know
when Lieutenant Whitehorse regained
consciousness." "Tell McCoy I'm on my
way. Kirk out."
He returned to the table, looked at his
half-eaten salad, and drained his coffee cup.
"If you'll excuse me, Ms. Norris, duty
calls."
"Only if you promise to call me Kris,
Captain," she said, giving him another warm
smile. The remark should have sounded flirtatious, but
she made it sound sincerely friendly.
"All right, Kris. Until this evening."
"How do you feel?" McCoy asked his patient.
He checked the diagnostic panel above Janara's
head and saw the readings he had expected. Janara
winced at the sound and raised a hand to probe her
swollen cheek. "Head hurts," she murmured,
exploring the injury with a feather-light touch. "I'm
not surprised. You got a nasty knock there. What
happened?" McCoy looked from the monitor panel
to Janara's face. The hard line of her mouth told
McCoy that she would not surrender her story
willingly. Janara's fingers, still checking her
injuries, circled down to her jawbone. "Ran
into a wall."
"More like pushed, I'd say. Is there a law against
talking to your doctor?" A hint of annoyance
crept into Janara's voice. "Just ran into a
wall." McCoy's exasperation sharpened his tone.
"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I don't mean to go
throwing my weight around, but I need to know who hit
you." "I'm clumsy. I tripped and fell over
some specimens," Janara replied with more spirit.
"I've seen you do vari-grav gymnastics.
Deltans make very poor liars. Almost as bad as
Vulcans."
"So, I'm only half Deltan."
This time McCoy was sure of the twinkle of
amusement in Janara's eyes. Realizing she could
continue the verbal fencing for an hour, McCoy
feigned a show of resignation. "You're right. You
don't have to tell me. But don't you think
Maintenance should replace that section of wall with one
that isn't so mean?"
Janara's mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile.
Finally, unable to control her reaction, she started
giggling. The movement jolted her injuries. She
winced and grabbed for her temples. "Ooooo, I
don't think I want to do that."
"You're going to have a headache for a while, I'm
afraid. So just lie there and be careful."
"Then you certainly don't want to hear about the
wall that hit me, Doctor. It might raise my
blood pressure." Janara's voice was calm,
but her face had gone stiff from her efforts to control
a sudden flare of anger. The heart monitor
pulsed more rapidly.
McCoy made a big show of examining the
diagnostic panel. "Your blood pressure's so
low it barely registers."
"My normal reading."
McCoy gave the controls an unnecessary
adjustment. "Look, Janara, you don't have to tell
me, but if I don't know what happened, I can't
help you prevent it from happening again."
Janara heaved a sigh that seemed to start from the
soles of her feet. She turned her head away,
studying imaginary patterns on the ceiling panels
to keep from meeting the doctor's eyes. McCoy
had quit expecting an answer when Janara finally
spoke. "I had a fight with my mother." She fingered
the bruise on her cheek. "As usual, I lost."
McCoy thought about several responses, but they
all seemed inappropriate. Finally, he just
waited for Janara to continue. Eventually, she did.
"Mother tried to pull a concerned parent act and
Ptell me how bad off I was having a Deltan
as my superior. So I reminded her of some basic
facts she conveniently forgets."
"She hit you because of facts?" McCoy had
to struggle to keep his incredulity from registering in his
voice. "I think I'm missing something here."
"Hardly." Janara's voice was flat.
"There's not much to it. After my mother married my father,
she discovered certain peculiarities of Deltan
culture. Like the fact that Deltans place a
high value on honor, loyalty,
family obligations-respectable things like that.
Expediency is more my mother's style, and she's
addicted to her pleasures .... Anyhow, she got
bored when she found that life on Delta Four
involved more than an endless orgy. Of course, she
couldn't accept the responsibility for having made
the wrong decision when she hooked up with my father, so
she converted her resentment into hatred of anyone who
reminded her of him. Which is to say, all
Deltans. "I reminded her that I was half
Deltan and she hit me." Janara grinned
ruefully. "You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you?"
"You're taking this very calmly." In Janara's
place,
McCoy figured he would have tossed Simons out
an airlock years ago. Janara gave a short,
humorless laugh. "What would you have me do, jump up
and down and throw a temper tantrum? My mother is a
sick, twisted woman, and for that type of person, the
worst reaction is no reaction. Besides, Doctor,
I spent seven years growing up in her sole
custody. You may not believe this, but there just aren't
many ways left for her to hurt me." "I still think
something should be done, if the situation is as bad as you
say."
"Name me something that hasn't been tried,
Doctor." The sudden bitterness in Janara's
voice surprised McCoy almost as much as her
indifference had a moment ago.
"Nice bedside manner you've got there,
Bones." Kirk pushed himself away from the door
frame and moved toward them.
McCoy searched the captain's face for a moment
to gauge his seriousness. "How long have you been
eavesdropping, Jim?"
"Long enough." Kirk's expression was bland and
controlled, giving away no secrets.
"The whole time," Janara said. McCoy looked
from one to the other, suspecting a conspiracy between them.
Kirk shook his head, denying McCoy's
suspicions. "She was having such a good time giving
you the runaround that I didn't want to interrupt. And
since she's obviously recovered enough to answer a
few questions, would you please leave us?"
McCoy scowled, but left. On his way out, he
palmed the door switch and it slid shut behind him.
Kirk paced the confines of the small room, trying
to decide how to ask his questions. Now that the moment of
truth had arrived, he realized he was worried that
Janara's answers might not be the ones he
wanted to hear. He stopped pacing and faced her.
"Lieutenant Tenaida said he was with you in the
geology lab last night. When was he there?"
Janara's right eyebrow lifted in curiosity, but
her answer was as calm as if Kirk questioned her in
Sickbay every other week. "He came after the
diplo- matic dinner was over, around 2100 or
2130. He brought me a tray of food, so you should
be able to get the time from the food synthesizer logs.
We worked on the density distribution equations for the
Shansar system until he left to prepare for his
duty shift."
"Did he check any instrument readings on the
bridge last night?" Kirk turned away from her,
resuming his pacing. Suddenly, he realized how much
he wanted to hear her give him the right answer, the
answer that would confirm his-and Spock'sopinion of
Tenaida.
Janara's other eyebrow lifted in surprise
at the tension in Kirk's voice and at the apparent
irrelevance of the question. "To the best of my knowledge, no."
"Lieutenant Whitehorse, can you account for
Tenaida's actions during the entire third shift?"
Kirk stopped in the middle of the floor, waiting for
her answer.
"Yes, Captain. We were working on the Shansar
model the entire time." "Thank you,
Lieutenant." He turned, slapped the control
to open the door, and strode from the room.
Waving a farewell to McCoy, Kirk headed for
his office. The interview had left him with a vague
sense of dissatisfaction that he could not immediately
identify. Janara had given him the answers he
wanted to hear, but he could not escape the nagging.
feeling that he had asked the wrong questions. He wished
Spock was around to spot the flaws in his
all-too-human logic.
"Is there someone you are expecting to return to this
seat?" Kristiann Norris looked up from the
remains of her sandwich. "No, Speaker
t'Stror," she replied. "Captain Kirk was
sitting there, but he left."
"Would it be annoying to you if I were to join you?"
"Of course not. Be my guest. But aren't you a bit
late in getting lunch?" t'Stror shrugged, a
gesture copied from his human colleagues. "I had
to escort my ambassador to his quarters so he
could spend some time with his ladies before the afternoon sessions
begin. And one must observe the courtesies when one
is with one's master's family."
"Master? I thought he was your employer." She
hesitated for a moment to phrase her question carefully.
"Speaker, would it be impolite to ask exactly
what your relationship is to the ambassador?"
t'Stror stared at his lunch. His tray held a
bowl of unidentifiable green mush and a glass of red
juice. He toyed with his spoon, stirring his soup
without tasting it. Finally he looked up at
Norris. "I cannot explain well. The words I do
not have. He is my employer, yes. But also he is
my master, my overlord. I serve, and he has
absolute power in ordering my behavior." The
short Kaldorni cocked his head to one side. "But
he must have responsibility, too, when he gives
orders, because he has the power. If his judgment is
wrong, he may lose the right to command. Especially
if he repeats a mistake."
"You mean, if he makes a bad decision, he
may lose his job as ambassador?" t'Stror
nodded, a curious bobbing gesture to each side of his
body. "He loses his job of ambassador, his
voice in the affairs of clan Stror, his
honor-name Klee. The honor-name is most
important to us. It is very bad if one proves
to be not responsible in the job one holds.
One could lose wives and land if he is judged
unworthy, because how could any woman bear off- spring
to such a man?"
"I'm sure I wouldn't know." As soon as she
said the words, Norris knew she should not have let her
personal feelings register in her voice.
"Offense was not intended. It is that, for us, the
having of wives and the making of heirs are
controlled by the status of a person, and by the ability
to defend against the dangers of our world. If one
loses one's position, he is no longer able
to protect his wives. Then they would wish to be with a
person who can offer them food and clothing and give their
children a place in our society."
"It sounds confusing." That line, at least, seemed
safe. "No, it is simple. Everyone has his
place. When all have places and fit in, everything
works easily. Maybe you don't see the places
where each person fits."
"I guess I don't. Could you explain it
later? It would help me to advise Commissioner
Montoya if I understood you better." She
smiled, hoping to con- vince him that her interest was
sincere. "And I do want to understand." "I would be
most honored to explain in any way I can.
Your people, they do not understand about
The-Way-of-All-Things, and my ambassador cannot
decide correctly when the balance is wrong."
t'Stror lowered his voice. "May I trust you with a
large secret? It is also important for me that
we make a good decision. My ambassador has
promised he will arrange a first wife for me if I
advise him suitably."
"That sounds like a great honor for you," Norris
said evenly. She hoped he could not read her dislike
for the way he discussed women as though they were
property. Still, the Federation team ned this kind of
information on Kaldorni attitudes. So far, they
had volunteered little enough on their culture. She
excused herself and stopped by her room to record some
notes on the conversation before returning to the briefing
room for the afternoon session.
Kirk entered his office and dropped into the chair
behind the large oval desk. He usually preferred
to conduct ship's business in the informal atmosphere
of his quarters, but he felt his next chore should be
performed in a more formal setting. After taking a few

moments to collect his thoughts, he activated the
intercom. "Uhura, locate Cecilia
Simons and send her to my office immediately."
"Aye, aye, Captain." Uhura's voice
carried a perplexed note. "Thank you, Uhura.
Kirk out." He thumbed the intercom off, annoyed
at Uhura's curiosity. Even granted that their
present assignment was not very exciting, the last thing
he needed was to have the crew watching him and their
passengers for any interesting gossip to lighten the
tedium. While he waited for Simons, he
called up the day's reports to review. He
expected she would try to demonstrate her control
of the situation by taking her time to arrive, and his
prediction was correct. When she entered, he waved
toward a chair. "I'll be with you in a moment."
She flowed toward him, her translucent indigo
gown swirling around her body and shimmering
to transparency under the harsh lights. The smell of
her musky perfume permeated the room. She
circled the desk and wrapped her arms around his
neck. Her breasts felt soft and warm where they
pressed against his shoulder. Against his will, Kirk felt
his body responding to the contact. "It's been such a
long time, Jimmy. I can't tell you how glad I
am to see you again."
Her throbbing voice evoked a flood of
dangerous memories, and a surge of desire
swept through his body. Slapping the computer off, he
spun his chair to face her. Startled, she loosened
her grip on his shoulders, and he stood before she could
tighten it again. He backed away to break the contact
and summoned his anger as a shield to protect himself.
"Ms. Simons," he said in as icy a tone as he
could muster, "would you please refrain from such
behavior? I have a serious matter to discuss with you."
"And I'd like to talk about old times, Jimmy."
Her voice was low and sultry. She ran her hand
down the front of her gown, smoothing it against the
curves of
her body. "Surely, you can't have forgotten . .
. everything." "Forgotten?" Kirk swallowed,
feeling hot and tense. The brief moment of contact
had reminded him of the exquisite pleasure she had
once given him-and the price he had almost paid for it.
"No, I remember entirely too well. So
consider this a fair warning-I don't intend to put
up with any of your tricks on my ship."
"But, Jimmy-was Like a viper, she struck,
locking her arms around his neck before he realized her
intentions. She kissed him savagely. The
pheromone- laden musk of her perfume went
to his head like a strong drink. He forced himself
to resist the traitorous response of his body.
Twisting clear of her embrace, he pushed her
away.
"I said I wanted none of your tricks," he
said in a voice that shook with anger and with other emotions
he did not want to acknowledge. "And I meant it!"
"But, Jimmy-was She glided toward him, her
arms reaching out to embrace him again. He grabbed her
wrists and jerked downward. The movement pulled her
off balance and she dropped into his chair.
"There will be no-absolutely no-repeats of that
last performance. If you try, I'll confine you to your
quarters." Kirk took a deep breath to steady his
voice. The thought of how easily he could surrender
to her heightened his anger. He forced his mind back
to business. "Furthermore, I want you to leave your
daughter alone."
"But, Jimmy, you can't believe-was She shifted
position, leaning back and extending her leg
to attract his attention. Her gown pulled tight
across her full, rounded breasts.
Kirk gritted his teeth, resisting the flood of
desire she stimulated. "Lieutenant
Whitehorse told me what happened this
morning. I'm ordering you to stay away from her-unless
you want to spend the rest of the trip in the brig. Do
I make myself clear?"
Simons lowered her head and studied Kirk through
fluttering eyelashes, looking for a clue to the enigma
he presented. This was a different James Kirk from
the brash youth she had known, and Simons was no
longer sure how to manipulate him. So far, his
resistance to her tactics was nothing short of amazing.
By now, he should have been begging for permission to serve
her. "After a blow on the head like that, you could hardly
expect my poor Janie to tell the truth about who
hit her. She's probably scared to death he'll
retaliate."
"I warned you," Kirk repeated. "I do not
intend to put up with any of your tricks. And that
goes double for your anti-Deltan bigotry!
Deltan males may have a reputation for violence
under extreme provocation, but it's not their
exclusive territory. If you know what I
mean."
Simons raised her head and glared at Kirk.
He returned her look without the slightest sign of
yielding. She sighed in defeat. "I understand you,
Captain Kirk."
"In that case, I won't take any more of your
time." Kirk felt the tension drain from his body as the
overwhelming riptide of desire ended as suddenly as
it had begun.
Simons crossed the room. At the door she
paused. "You haven't heard the last of this," she said
in a freezing tone. Before he could answer, she
swept from the room.
Kirk sank into his chair, letting its contours
absorb his weariness. His chronometer told him the
interview had taken only a few minutes, but he
felt as though it had drained him of a day's worth of
energy. He activated the computer screen and
retrieved his reports, but his mind was still on
Simons. The affair with her was far from settled.
He just wished he could anticipate her next
move.
Ambassador n'Gelen I'STROR Klee was
worried. His entire career, and possibly his
family and reputation, was riding on his ability
to conclude an agreement favorable to his people. The
ambassador had spent most of his life serving his
clan and his world, and all his experience had been
required to procure his position in the current
negotiations. Failure on this assignment
would mean the loss of the status he had used to obtain
the appointment. The difficulty was that the Federation
commissioner seemed unwilling, or perhaps incapable, of
understanding even the most basic concepts about
The-Order-of-Things.
He stretched farther out on the bed and allowed his
youngest wife to massage the tense muscles in his
back. In the last few days, she had softened and
ripened. Soon, the family would need to discuss the
best configuration for the child her body was preparing
to initiate.
His third eldest wife fed Klee pieces of
cheese and fruit from the plate she held. The
cheese was synthetic, and he considered rejecting it with
an angry comment about the discord of such constructs.
However, a brief meditation showed him that more disharmony
would be created by such an action, for it would disturb the
serenity of his wives without creating a counterbalancing
harmony. Such an action would be irresponsible.
While he nibbled his food, Klee tried to divine
new ways of explaining That-Which-Is to Commissioner
Montoya and those he represented. To any
Kaldorni, the natural flow of the Universe was as
obvious as the rising of a planet's primary at
dawn. To deny either was to fly m the face of
all logic, and the resulting disharmonies could
destroy not only the individual but also his entire
clan. Commissioner Montoya seemed incapable of
understanding that the natural order of the Universe
dictated the planet Yagra IV should be settled
by the Harmonious Unities of the Kaldorni Way.
Perhaps the fault was his, Klee thought. Maybe
he should have requested to converse with a different
representative of the Federation. Montoya could know
little of harmony when he claimed so discordant a
female as sole wife. Hot-Fire-Woman,
who burned all she touched, must surely have disturbed
the commissioner's harmony, perhaps beyond the point where he
could regain his balance with respect to the Universe.
Her influence was spreading even further, Klee was
sure, for he had noted the times and places of his
mouthpiece t'Stror's language lessons, and
knew that spoken communications must be only a small
part of the curriculum.
When Kirk stepped onto the bridge, he knew
immediately that something was wrong. The star patterns on the
viewscreen had changed, and the ship was traveling at
much too great a speed.
"Sulu, what's our course?"
"One-two-four mark five, at warp
six. As per your orders, sir." There was a note
of surprise in Sulu's voice.
"My orders?" A red haze washed over
Kirk's vision. Someone was interfering with his ship,
issuing counterfeit orders in his name. For a moment,
all he could think of was getting his hands on that person
and throttling him. Kirk took two long, shay
breaths, trying to control his temper. After a few
seconds, his anger faded. "When did I order this
course change, Mr. Sulu?" he asked in a
deceptively quiet voice.
"About an hour ago, sir. Commander Brady
came up here after Commander Uhura gave you Dr.
McCoy's message. He said you'd ordered him
to make the change." "But I went straight
to Sickbay. I haven't seen Mr. Brady
since I ordered him to analyze that log
extract," Kirk said, half to himself. He shivered
with an unwelcome premonition. He stared at the
viewscreen, feeling his anger rekindle. "Get
Commander Brady up here at once."
Brady entered the bridge and automatically
looked at the screen. He frowned and moved
to Kirk's side. "It seems we have a serious
problem, Captain." Kirk snorted.
"You have a gift for understatement. Right now, I think
I'd even be glad if you told me it was one of your
practical jokes. However, I suppose you're
going to tell me you didn't order this course
change?" "I've been in my quarters, working on the
tapes of the first course change. I haven't been
on the bridge."
"And everyone here is convinced it was you?" Kirk
looked around the bridge. Uhura, Sulu, and ben
Josef nodded. "Uhura, play back the log
recording of that. I want to see it for myself."
"Yes, sir."
Kirk watched Brady enter the bridge. He
requested a status report and ordered the course
change. Then Brady left the bridge. If
seeing was believing, the fourth time through the scene should have
convinced both Kirk and Brady. The person giving
the orders looked and sounded exactly like the first
officer. But Brady kept shaking his head. "I
never left my quarters. I know I wasn't on the
bridge."
BRADY SHOOK HIS HEAD, obviously still
trying to break the sense of unreality that gripped him
as he watched himself ordering the course change.
Kirk studied his friend's face as the scene
repeated on the monitor. After a few moments, he
was convinced that Brady's astonishment was genuine.
Therefore-to borrow Spock's favorite
phrase-logic dictated that, unless Brady had
become a much better actor since his days at the
Academy, the course changes were not an
elaborate practical joke he was playing on his
old friend. "Uhura, run an identity check on that
recording."
The computer took a long moment to answer the
communications officer's query. Kirk was almost ready
to send for Maintenance by the time Uhura looked up from
her board. "Indeterminate, Sir." She tapped
the amber histogram on her screen. "Shall I run
it again?" "No." Kirk released a breath he had
not realized he was holding. Brady's expression
reflected the same shock and angry puzzlement
Tenaida had shown watching the r ecording of "his"
actions earlier. Kirk took another look at
Uhura's screen and realized what had been bothering
him all morning. Having two different
impersonations within twelve
hours-of both the ship's first officer and of its
science officer-was disturbing. Even more troublesome was
the accuracy of the impersonations. When the
computer tried to identify the individuals in the log
extracts, it had compared the recordings with the ship's
master files on Brady and Tenaida. Many things
could cause the computer to report an anomalously
low correlation between a single recording and a person's
master file damage to the vocal cords might
distort voice patterns, physical injury or the
passage of many years would alter the physical
characteristics, and various other factors could distort
physiological parameters. But Kirk could think
of no way an impostor could make a recording that
came this close to reproducing the data stored in
another person's file. Starfleet Security would
want an answer to this problem, but it would take them
three weeks to get an expert to the Enterprise.
And Spock would be away on leave for another two
weeks. Meanwhile, something strange was happening on
his ship, and he wanted to know what. When he broke
it down into those terms, Kirk's decision was
obvious. His only difficulty was that the people best able
to solve the mystery were the ones accused
by circumstantial evidence of committing the offense.
"Give Brady and Tenaida copies of both
log extracts. And get the records officer on
it, too," Kirk told Uhura.
"Hopefully, the three of them can figure out what's
going on. Also, notify Security Chief
Chekov, so he can take appropriate action."
Whatever that is, Kirk added to himself. "Right away,
Captain." Uhura copied the log extracts
onto a tape and gave it to Brady. The first
officer crossed over to Tenaida's station. They
talked for several minutes before the records officer,
Marg Layton, notified them she was free to work
on the problem with them.
Kirk took his place in the command chair. His
mind twisted around the problem of the course changes,
trying to figure out how they could have occurred. The
answers that fit his meager facts displeased him. One
possibility was that Brady and Tenaida had been
under mental control when the course changes were made.
Coercion might produce the discrepancies in the
identity checks, but the captain wanted to believe
Brady when he said he had been in his quarters all
morning. Kirk and Brady had been friends for
twenty-five years, and Kirk knew when Brady
was pulling his leg. Brady's reaction had convinced
Kirk that he had not made the course change, even
under duress. Also, since Whitehorse had
corroborated Tenaida's alibi,
Kirk assumed the Deltan had not ordered any
course changes, either. The other possibility was
even worse. If Brady and Tenaida were not
responsible, someone else aboard the Enterprise
was-someone who could make himself look enough like the ship's
first officer and its science officer, and who could sound enough
like them, to fool almost anyone. In fact, I would have
sworn it was Patrick, Kirk thought. He shuddered
at the possibilities opened up by having doubles for
both Brady and Tenaida aboard the ship.
"Captain?" Brady's voice interrupted his
thoughts. "Yes?"
"Are you going to change course?"
Startled, Kirk checked the screen. He had
been concentrating so hard on the problem of who had
ordered the course change that he had not yet
corrected the actual mischief, even though he had
been staring at the viewscreen. "By all means.
Mr. Sulu, return us to our original heading and
reduce speed to warp factor two. Again."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Ben Josef entered the course change into his
navigation computer to calculate the coordinates.
After a
few moments, he passed the new heading
to Sulu, and the helmsman brought the ship around to its
assigned course.
Watching the stars drift across the viewscreen
suggested sbmething else to Kirk. "Mr. ben
Josef, those course changes didn't put us near
any habitable star systems. When you get a
minute, would you correlate the headings and see where
they were taking us? Give your results to Commander
Brady or Lieutenant Tenaida."
"Aye, sir."
"Commander Sulu and Ensign ben Josef. One more
thing." Kirk paused for emphasis so everyone would
know how serious the order was. "Until we get
to the bottom of this, you are to make no course
changes unless both Commander Brady and I order
itsimultaneously. Is that understood?" "Yes,
Captain."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The navigator and the helmsman exchanged
relieved glances. Kirk could not blame them.
Having all
ode iven b the two senior officers was the only
r rs " hey recautloncd take to keep the
mysterious
P intruder from issuing still more troublesome
direc tives. And even that measure could be
circumvented by someone with sufficient determination.
Kirk gri maced. It had started out to be such a
lovely day.
Cecilia Simons was frustrated and bored.
Her role as Joachim Montoya's pretty
laygirl wife was becoming tiresome, and, to compete
her dissatisfaction, anyone she wanted to talk
to was occupied and unwilling to interrupt his work
to entertain her. She had even gone to Sickbay on
the pretext of visiting her daughter, but McCoy
had refused to let her see Jane. Not that she had
any real interest in the girl. Simons had always
made an extravagant show of being a good mother, but
five minutes with her half-Deltan daughter was
all it ever took to drive the best intentions from her
head. When Jane-Anne was a child, her 64
silent, sober mien and precocious intelligence
had been a constant irritation to her mother, and Simons
could not remember ever being free of the conviction that her
daughter was reading her mind. The child's hysterical
protests that she would never willingly eavesdrop on
another person's thoughts had failed to convince
Simons that the mental voyeurism was accidental;
she was certain Jane could have avoided using
her powers if she had wanted to. Simons was also
sure that her husband's family had encouraged
Jane to spy on her mother because they thought Simons was
not a suitable consort for her husband.
As an adult, Jane-Anne managed to be an
even greater aggravation than she had as a child.
Simons felt her daughter's use of her
Deltan calling name was intended as a direct
insult, and she redoubled her efforts to initiate
Jane into the joys of being a human female. In
response, Jane-Anne retreated even farther
into the Vulcan-like discipline that most Deltan
sensitives observed when constantly surrounded
by humans. The campaign had resulted in several
confrontations such as this morning's, and Simons
blamed them on Enterprise's Deltan science
officer who, she was sure, was trying to seduce her
daughter into returning to Delta Four.
Simons poured her family woes
into t'Stror's ear when she found him finishing a late
lunch. The rotund Kaldorni listened
sympathetically as he shoveled down his soup.
"I don't understand it," she concluded her tale.
"She's always been fascinated by Deltan mindreading
tricks and the Deltans" alleged
ability to empathize with others. It's just a circus
act, of course, but she must think this Tenaida can
teach her something about that. I suppose it was
inevitable, considering he's the first Deltan she's
ever been around." "This mind reading of the Deltans-is
it something of importance to them?" t'Stror asked.
Simons dismissed the idea with a contemptuous 65
wave of her hand. "Who knows what's important
to a Deltan? They spend a lot of time on it, but
they also worry about so many other trivial matters."
"That is not to the Deltan mind an exclusive
habit. Does the mind reading concern them because there are
many that possess this trick?" Simons scowled.
"How should I know about Deltans? All the ones I
knew could do it. I wish Janie would stay away from
them. Such tricks could be dangerous."
A calculating expression crossed t'Stror's
face. He scraped the last spoonful of green
mush from his bowl. "The lady Simons should not worry
herself so much about her daughter. It grieves this humble
person to say so, but this child can have no honor left if
she must disobey so lovely a mother. In our world, such
an offspring is rejected from the protection of the
clan."
"That's not usually the way we humans do
it."
t'Stror shoved his chair back and stood. "I
am expected to attend my ambassador now for the
continuation of our work aboard this vessel." He bowed
slightly, extending and rotating his wrist in the
Kaldorni gesture of leave-taking.
Simons stared at his back as he waddled out the
door. What was she going to do with the rest of the afternoon?
Kirk had destroyed the possibility of any
casual dalliance she might have initiated by filing
pictures and capsule biographies of the ship's
passengers on the bulletin boards and the ship's
news circuit. Much to Simons' disgust, her
file listed her as Montoya's wife of three
months, which resulted in respectful treatment from every
crewman. If there was anyone on the ship who had not
seen the damaging biography, he was so buried in his
work that Simons would be unable to find him. After wandering
the ship's corridors for the better part of an hour,
Simons discovered the library lounge. Her
boredom evaporated. Access to a computer 66
terminal that could not be traced to her was almost as
educational as spending the afternoon with a crewman.
Simons entered the unoccupied room and chose the
console farthest from the door. She activated
it, using an access code she should not have known.
Three hours later, Simons logged off the
computer and left the still-deserted lounge. @ddity the time
Montoya finished with his day's work, she was
lang uishing in their quarters, claiming to be bored
to tears with the Enterprise's selection of erotic
entertainment tapes.
"Captain?"
"Yes, Tenaida?"
"I have just finished checking Mr. ben Josef's
results. His projections show the intruder's
course changes would have taken us into an uninhabited
region of space."
"Would you check those calculations again and also search
for the closest planets?"
"Yes, Captain." Kirk knew the Deltan
could make the computer perform as if it were an extension
of himself; Spock was the only person the captain
knew whose skills exceeded Tenaida's. Kirk
envied the ability, knowing that his own considerable skills
with the computer were eclipsed by the Deltan's, and would
never approach the Vulcan's.
A yeoman appeared at the captain's side.
He took the noteboard she handed him, scanned the
fuel consumption report, keyed his
initials onto the form, and gave the board back
to her. She handed him another datapad. He glanced
at it and nodded. "That will be all, Yeoman."
The second board summarized crew
activities for the past week-merit notices,
reprimands, project summaries, and other
miscellaneous matters. Last were the requests that
required Kirk's attention. The 67
final item was a transfer application from
Janara Whitehorse. Kirk scowled. The
request made no sense. He bounced to his feet
and strode for the door. "Mr. Sulu, you have the
conn. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my
quarters." Kirk called up the complete file on
his console. Whitehorse's formal request gave
no more information than the summary had, but on the
recording, her movements were stiff and her speech
seemed unusually stilted. The recording showed no more
personality than did the featureless beige
background behind Whitehorse. Frowning, Kirk
keyed on the intercom. "Uhura here."
"Uhura, find Janara Whitehorse. I
want to see her at once."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Thank you. Kirk out." He turned
off the intercom and sat back in his chair. After this
morning, he could see why Whitehorse might want
a transfer, but the first place she could leave the ship
was at Starbase 15, when the Enterprise returned
there to pick up Spock. Considering that most of
Whitehorse's problems were caused by her mother,
Kirk felt he should talk with Whitehorse before he
approved her request. The door buzzer
interrupted his thoughts.
"Come."
The small half-Deltan woman crossed the
room with an effortless stride and stopped in front of
Kirk's worktable. "You asked to see me,
Captain?" "I'd like to discuss your transfer
request."
She blinked in surprise. "I did not request
a transfer."
"I have it right here."
"I made no such request."
"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I have here a
transfer request from someone who looks and sounds like
you. Do you doubt my word?" "I merely state a
fact I have not asked for a transfer.
Furthermore, it would be futile to request a
transfer 68
merely to escape my mother. I could not leave the
ship before this mission is finished."
Exasperated, Kirk played the message.
Whitehorse watched it with detached interest. About
halfway through the recording, Kirk glanced from the
screen to her impassive face. Puzzled, he
looked back at the screen, then froze the image.
The face on the monitor was as skinned and bruised
as the woman facing Kirk, but where Whitehorse's
left eye was swollen nearly shut, the image on
the screen showed a blackened right eye. "My
apologies for disturbing you, Lieutenant," Kirk
said when he recovered from the surprise. "That was all
I wanted."
She turned and left the room. Kirk studied his
screen a little longer, then dropped a tape in the
slot and copied the message. Brady, Tenaida,
and Layton could examine another mysterious
recording while they were analyzing the extracts from the
ship's log.
Janara Whitehorse stared at her computer
screen, trying to make sense of the paragraph she had
read five times. Her head ached abominably, in
spite of the painkillers Dr. McCoy had given
her-and the medication interfered with her concentration.
She shuddered as a crewman, still upset from a fight
with his lover, passed her door. When she tried
to push away his images of anger, her mind was slow
to respond, as if her brain had been packed with
cotton. McCoy had said she should rest, but if she
tried to sleep with her mental barriers down, she
knew the random thoughts of other crew members would
induce nightmares of monumental proportions.
She picked up the bottle of boretelin and
turned it over in her hands, feeling the rough, knobby
texture of the glass. The drug offered a
temporary escape from unwanted telepathic
intrusions, but it was not the answer to her problem.
Tenaida was right; she should seek additional
training-on Delta Four or, perhaps, 69
even on Vulcan. However, the requirements of
her job left few opportunities to take the
extended leaves she needed to pursue her study of the
Deltan mental sciences or the Vulcan
disciplines for mind control. There had to be an
answer to the problem, but today it seemed more elusive
than usual. Her computer screen went blank, and
she realized how long she had been staring at it. She
rubbed her forehead, trying to clear away the fog.
Her mind was too sluggish to work on
technical material, but perhaps she could review the
beginner's vari-grav gymnastics routine that she had
promised to teach Uhura.
Vari-grav gymnastics was a Deltan
elaboration on the human sport of gymnastics.
Moves from similar activities originating on a
dozen Federation worlds had been synthesized into a
coherent whole, with challenge added by performing in a
changing gravity field. Vari-grav gymnastics
was an ideal form of exercise for spaceship crews
because it provided maximum physical conditioning for the
space and equipment used. Beginning routines were
uncomplicated, with moderate shifts in gravity and
clear-cut musical cues, but advanced routines
became extremely complex and forced the performer
to rely on subtle clues to signal the changes.
For Uhura, Janara had chosen a simple
routine called "Birds in Flight." The gymnast
worked between two sets of uneven parallel bars; with the
gravity drops, the performer soared upward as if she
were a bird, using her momentum to carry her from one
set of bars to the other. "Birds in Flight" was a
good beginners' routine because it used a few basic
moves to excellent advantage and gave the student
an immediate sense of accomplishment. Also, it
was easy to modify as the gymnast's skills
increased.
After forty-five minutes, Janara decided her
coding was correct and stored the program. She
crossed the room and stretched out on the bed, allowing
her mind to replay the routine over and over. She was

following the swoops and dives of her mental
gymnast when she drifted to sleep.
Brady, Tenaida, and Layton entered the
bridge and crossed to the captain's chair.
Layton, a tall, angular woman in her
midfifties, stopped half a step ahead of the other
two. "Captain, we have finished analyzing the
computer log extracts."
Kirk searched Layton's face for clues.
Her expression was neutral, but behind her, both
Brady and Tenaida appeared tense. "All right,
Commander. What have you got?"
"I think we should discuss it in a more private
location."
"Very well." Kirk bounced to his feet and
headed for the door. "Mr. ben Josef, you have the
conn. Layton, Brady, Tenaida, come with
me." "Aye, aye, sir." Ben Josef
signaled his backup and took the command chair as the
senior officers left the bridge.
Kirk controlled his impatience until they were
seated around the computer console in his quarters. "All
right. Let's have it."
Layton dropped a tape into the input slot and
stepped back, gesturing for Tenaida to explain the
analysis. Kirk moved his chair closer to the
screen. The image of Brady ordering the course
change appeared. Tenaida cut to another block of
data; the image shrank to half-size and a group of
crimson and scarlet sine curves filled the top
of the screen. "This," Tenaida pointed at the
overlapping curves, "is the identity pattern the
computer generated from the recording." He entered a
command and the computer superimposed a group of blue
sine curves over the red curves. "The blue shows
the identity pattern stored in the computer's memory
for Commander Patrick Brady."
Kirk studied the two templates. Large
sections of pattern were identical, indicating how
closely the
double resembled Brady, but other parts of the
composite degenerated into a random assortment of
lines.
"There is an 81.7 percent correspondence between
the two arrays." Tenaida's voice was flat,
almost a monotone, as he recited his statistics.
Brady propped his chin on his hand and stared at the
screen with a look of intense concentration, as if he
could force the answers from the data by sheer force of will.
"As we all know, 80 percent is too high for the
resemblance to be chance or a good makeup job. But
it's too low a correlation for me to have made that
recording."
"That's correct. Given normal
circumstances."
Kirk brushed his hair off his forehead. The
temperature in the room seemed to have jumped
upward. "All right, Tenaida," he said. "What
does it do with your double?"
Tenaida called up similar information for the log
extract that showed him recommending the course
change. The random, nonoverlapping areas were more
pronounced and appeared more chaotic to Kirk. "The
match isn't as good," Kirk concluded after studying
the orange and green curves on the screen for a
moment.
"Seventy-three-point-five percent. However,
we found an interesting correlation when we
combine the two files." Tenaida ordered the computer
to merge the two sets of composite identity
patterns. "I see what you mean." After Kirk's
mind work ed its way beyond his initial impression of
technicolor spaghetti, he saw a chilling
pattern in the data. The parts of the curves that
matched neither Brady's nor Tenaida's
identification patterns were nearly identical.
"Could the same person be responsible for both
course changes?"
Although he maintained an outward calm,
Brady's fingers tapped a complex rhythm on the
table. Tenaida stared at the screen, refusing
to look toward the 72
captain. Kirk realized he had just put his finger
on the problem. Lieutenant Tenaida responded,
"There is a 96.4 percent correlation in the parts that
don't match either Commander Brady's or my
personnel records. However, the computer needs a
larger data sample to determine with certainty that
both recordings were made b the same person."
Insufficient data. Kirk cringed, realizing how
much risk to his ship might be involved in
collecting sufficient data. "What about
Lieutenant Whitehorse's transfer
request? We know she didn't record that." Under
the table, Kirk clenched his hand into a fist, struggling
to control his impatience. Tenaida always presented his
data in a detailed, logical sequence, building
an incontrovertible chain of evidence to support his
conclusions. That slow approach was fine for abstract
scientific results, but just now, when the safety of
his ship was involved, Kirk found it difficult
to endure.
Tenaida displayed the composite identity
profile made from the recording and from
Whitehorse's personnel file. Miniature
reflections of the screen shone in the Deltan's dark
eyes. "Eighty-nine-pointsix percent overlap."
"How does that match up with the overall composite?"
Kirk leaned closer to the screen to get a better
view.
Tenaida combined the Brady/tenaidastintruder
profile with the image of Whitehorse and her double.
The divergent sections merged with the composite intruder
profile.
"Analysis, Tenaida?" Kirk straightened,
feeling his tension wind tighter as he waited for the
answer.
"Still insufficient data to reach a
positive conclusion about the impostor. However, this
lowers the probability to 1.7 percent that the
correlations are caused by chance."
"In other words," Brady said, "the data
isn't good
enough to meet your professional standards, but if the
captain insisted, you'd say those recordings were made
by the same person."
Tenaida weighed the statement to make sure he
would not get trapped by a hidden flaw in Brady's
reasoning. "Correct."
"Would you speculate about this individual?"
Kirk asked. Tenaida stared across the room,
frowning slightly as he considered the confidence
limits he could place on conclusions drawn from such
a small sample. "You realize, of course, that
I don't have enough information to give you an unassailable
answer."
When he heard that, Kirk felt himself relax.
In spite of Spock's lessons on never
revealing conclusions until they were proven facts, the
Deltan had convinced himself to share his conjectures.
"Of course, Tenaida. If we had the facts,
we wouldn't need speculations."
The tension in Tenaida's shoulders
eased. "Very well. Commander Layton, Commander
Brady, and I discussed the possibility of the
recordings being made by someone skilled in
biocosmetics and image projection. Commander
Layton believes this adequately explains why
we can appear to be in two places
simultaneously. However, I must point out the
extreme difficulty in bringing the necessary
biofabricator aboard undetected, and of tapping
into our restricted databases to obtain the
high-quality voice patterns required for the
vocal enhancer.
"Given these difficulties, I believe the
evidence suggests that we are dealing with someone who can
control the minds of others so completely that they are not
even aware of what is happening. The person
behaves so close to normal that it is virtually
impossible to distinguish the individual who is being
controlled from that person acting on his or her own. The
major weakness in the intruder's system is that the
person's identity pattern while under the intruder's
control corresponds in significant
percentage to the intruder's identity pattern."
"Is that possible?" Kirk murmured, trying
to accept the Deltan's conclusion. "And
doesn't Lieutenant Whitehorse's recording
contradict your idea?" "My hypothesis does
seem improbable." Tenaida frowned. "However,
I see no other way to explain how these recordings
can come so close to our identity patterns without
achieving complete correspondence. As for
Lieutenant Whitehorse's recording, I
believe the image reversal occurred when the
message was being transmitted. The recording was
made against a neutral background, which eliminates
the visual clues that would identify the error. Our
analysis revealed no other way to explain the
discrepancy." Kirk nodded. He had been thinking
along the same lines, but hearing Tenaida's
deductions reassured him that there was no major
flaw in his reasoning. "Any ideas on motive?"
"None, Captain. Inadequate information."
"There's one thing we'd better not overlook."
Brady's tone was grim. "Unauthorized course
changes, for whatever reason, are not friendly acts."
"Agreed." Frustrated, Tenaida shuffled his
computer tapes. "However, that does not tell us what
the person's motives are."
"I suppose you're right, Tenaida." Kirk
drew a deep breath, feeling the weight
of the negative conclusions. "So where should we look for
our intruder?"
"There are several possibilities."
"Rank them by probability."
"Given that the trouble started after we left
Starbase 15, it seems likely the intruder is
among the Kaldorni diplomats or the Federation
negotiating team."
"Admiral Chen can send us the records for
Montoya's party, so in theory we could identify this
person if he is with the Federation team. I'm willing
to bet that the intruder is hiding among the
Kaldorni,
probably disguised as the person Admiral
Chen's security personnel found on Starbase
15," Kirk said.
"That is a distinct possibility. We'll have
Admiral Chen send us the identity files for the
Federation negotiators and the Kaldorni
diplomats, of course, but someone could have altered those
records or transmit the wrong data. We will have
no way of knowing if the information we receive has been
corrupted." Brady leaned back in his chair,
frowning. He drummed his fingers against his leg, a
random motion that matched the skittering of his
thoughts.
"Let's also examine the alternatives,"
Tenaida said. "If the intruder is in the
commissioner's party, he might have spent many years
establishing his cover. In that case, you would also need
to consider members of the ship's crew as possible
suspects."
"However, we do have the files for everyone assigned
to the Enterprise, and we can be confident of the integrity
of those files." Brady leaned forward and tapped the
screen to emphasize his point. "The computer can
search those records for anything that matches our
piece of the intruder's pattern." Kirk looked from
one to the other, caught up by their rigid logic. In
spite of the disparity in their backgrounds, Tenaida and
Brady gave Kirk the feeling that he was listening
to one person talking in stereo. As Tenaida
talked, Kirk could see Brady taking the
Deltan's conclusions and relating them to the ship's
operations. Kirk found himself envying the lucky
captain that had either Brady or Tenaida
permanently assigned to his command. With that thought, he
brought himself back to the problem at hand. "Check our
records if you want, though I doubt it'll do
any good. Call it a hunch, but I
don't think the intruder is one of our people."
Kirk looked at the screen again and shrugged,
deprecating his reasoning even as he presented it.
"If it is, why would he wait until now to start
messing with the ship's operations? . . . No, I'm
betting this 76
person-whoever he is-came aboard with our
passengers, probably with the Kaldorni. But who
is he? And why does he want the course changed?
How are we going to catch him before he does something
else? And, for that matter, where does Lieutenant
Whitehorse fit into this? Requesting a transfer for
her is hardly what I would call disrupting
important ship's business. So why take the
risk?"
Brady shook his head. "Captain, by the time you
read the message, the intruder had released
Lieutenant Whitehorse and was far from the terminal
where the recording was made."
"True."
"And we don't know the answers for your other
questions-yet." "Somehow, I knew you were going to say
that." Kirk leaned back in his chair, feeling a
weariness born of frustration settle over him. If
he had something concrete to go on, some solid
information that would let him catch the intruder, he would have
been ready for action. But the waiting, the efforts
to accumulate enough information to guide his actions, really
drained his energy. "Well, at least we know where
to start. Tenaida, did you recheck where the course
changes were taking us?"
"Yes. The projected destination is in an
uninhabited region of space." "What planets
are closest to that heading?"
"I had the computer compile a list. The nearest
habitable planet has a 52.7 percent
probability of being the intended destination."
"Fifty-two percent? That's not very good." Kirk
rubbed his forehead. Such a low probability demanded
an explanation.
Tenaida shrugged. "I have too little information
to answer your questions properly, Captain. I
regret that I can do no better at this time." "I
understand, Tenaida. You may return to your
duties."
"Thank you, Captain. I will let you know if I
can extract any more information from these recordings." The
Deltan collected the data cassettes and left
the room.
"Well, Mr. Brady? What
next?"
The acting first officer propped his chin in his fist.
"I recommend we choose passwords so we can
catch the intruder if he tries to masquerade as a
command officer again."
Kirk nodded. They discussed what the intruder
might do next and tried to cover each contingency.
Finally, realizing how long they had been talking,
Kirk said, "Do you want to make sure our friend
hasn't done something else while we've been
busy?"
"An excellent idea, Captain. I'll be
on the bridge if you need me." Brady bounced
to his feet and strode from the room.
Kirk turned to Layton. "You've been
amazingly quiet through all this, Commander. What are
your thoughts?"
Layton slid into the chair Brady had just
vacated. "It was obvious you assigned me to watch
those two. In case."
Kirk nodded. "A commanding officer has to consider
every possibility." "Agreed." Layton paused,
considering. "I watched them run the analysis, and
I checked the tapes. Everything there tests out fine.
And both Brady and Tenaida seem like
themselves, as near as I can tell. Dr. McCoy would
be better able to answer that one, of course."
"Of course." Kirk gave Layton a long,
penetrating look. "So what's bothering you, Marg?
I can tell there's something here you don't like."
Layton shrugged. "I don't like their mind control
hypothesis. Neither of them recalls any mental
lapse where the incidents could have occurred. That bothers
me. Someone would have needed to exert a consider- 78
able effort to implant false memories to cover
his manipulations. Both Brady and Tenaida were
working when the ship's log says they made these course
changes. From the activity records on their computer
terminals, the intruder had to have worked very, very quickly."
Layton paused, breathing deeply. Kirk felt
a finger of worry tickle at the back of his brain.
In all the old mystery novels he had ever read,
the suspects always had alibis-and the alibis were always
worthless when examined carefully. were Tenaida's and
Brady's alibis equally worthless?
After a moment, Layton continued. "The
hypothesis they presented could have happened,
Captain, but I still have my doubts. I just can't
make myself believe it. Unfortunately, I
don't like my ideas much better.
"Tenaida mentioned his reservations about the use of
sophisticated bioenhancements. However, I still think
someone with good equipment and enough time could produce the
biocosmetic appliances to impersonate Brady
and Tenaida. I've even heard that Intelligence
has developed vocal enhancers that allow for very
accurate sound duplication. I'd prefer to think that
is what's happening, even though I dislike the thought
of the technology being in the wrong hands."
"I see." Kirk closed his eyes for a moment,
trying to balance Layton's opinion against everything
else he had heard. Any way he looked at it,
something was wrong on his ship, and he had no solid
explanation for what had occurred. All he could do
now was hope he could find an answer before something
serious happened. "Thank you for sharing your opinions,
Commander. I'll certainly keep them in mind. And for the
moment, would you keep a discreet eye on both
Brady and Tenaida? Until we get some solid
evidence, I can't honestly say either of them is
proven innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt."
"Understood, Captain."
"Is there anything else I've missed?" 79
"Not that I can see, Captain. I'll let you
know if I come up with anything." "Thanks,
Commander." After Layton left, Kirk stared at his
computer screen, wishing Spock and his logic were
available to help solve the mystery. Cer- tainly,
Spock was much more suited to the role of Mycroft
Holmes. The thought of Holmes reminded Kirk of
some questions raised by the previous discussion.
"Assistant, digest discussion of past hour.
What other possibilities could explain this
intruder's ability to impersonate command officers?"
"There are approximately 374 hypotheses that
could, under the right circumstances, explain all the
information to date. Shall I list them all?" "No, just
the most probable ones."
"The intruder could be one of the Fendarwi of Zeta
Pictoris IV, who are never seen unless
surrounded by a mental glamour that shows them to others
exactly as they wish to be seen. The intruder could be
using a holographic projector to create the
image he wants you to see. The intruder may
possess the ability to rearrange his body at will.
The intruder may be similar to the Mellitus of
Alpha Majoris I, differing in that it
solidifies when it is ready for action. The
intruder may be-was
"Enough. I was hoping you would suggest some
viable possibilities." "Given the information
available, all hypotheses are equally viable at this
time."
"What about biocosmetics? What information can you
locate on that?" "Biocosmetics is an
expensive and delicate process that requires a
biogen incubator with a dedicated computer. Each
appliance is grown from organic materials according to a
programmed template. In theory, it is possible
to recreate any person for whom sufficient information
exists to build a suitable template.
Enhancements such as advanced speech synthesizers will
allow duplication of vocal characteristics within the range
of normal human hearing. Also, memory chips can
be programmed to remind the person of appropriate
behaviors and mannerisms. The major
disadvantage to use of biocosmetics is that the
disguises are not reusable; when removed from contact with
human flesh, the appliances disintegrate within
minutes. Also, private possession of this
equipment is against Federation law."
"I see. Nowhere near impossible. Just
extremely inconvenient to use." "That is what the
available information would suggest."
"Can you make a logical evaluation of
Lieutenant Tenaida's and Commander Brady's
alibis?"
"Logic dictates that an alibi is of no
value unless an impartial witness was watching the
person every minute of the period in question. If this is not
the case, the alibi can only be used in general
terms to assign probability of suspicion.
Judged by this criterion, 95.34 percent of all
alibis are of no value in exonerating the
accused."
"I'm not interested in most cases. I asked for
your evaluation of this specific case."
"There is a 95.34 percent probability that
each of the alibis is valueless." "Assistant,
I want a logical assessment of the problem, not a
list of statistics."
"My logical assessment of the problem is that there
is a 95.34 percent probability that either or both
Lieutenant Tenaida and Commander Brady omitted
pertinent facts from their alibis."
Now we're getting somewhere, Kirk thought. "What
might these pertinent facts be?"
After a noticeable pause, the computer
responded, "I am unable to access that data at this
time."
With a sigh, Kirk flipped off the switch and
stood. It 81
was high time he made an appearance on the
bridge to make sure nothing untoward had happened
in his
absence. And, when his duty shift ended in half
an hour, he was looking forward to spending a relaxing
evening showing Kris Norris around the ship. He
hoped his mind would solve the mystery, if he
relegated the problem to his subconscious for a few
hours.
Kituc's Pr.arrs for his evening lasted until
dinner time. He spent an extra half hour in the
gym, practicing unarmed combat maneuvers under
plus-normal gravity until his muscles
rebelled. By the time he was ready for dinner, most of the
day shift had finished eating. He glanced around the
room, but saw neither Brady nor Tenaida.
As the synthesizer delivered his meal, he felt a
twinge of uneasiness. He needed to mull over the
day's events, and something warned him he would not get the
quiet he wanted here. The premonition seemed
silly, but he considered taking his dinner and eating in
his quarters. Laughing at himself for the irrational
impulse, he chose a table away from the
main group of diners. He did not really want
to eat in solitary confinement, and no one would
interrupt his thinking, since his crew would not disturb
him without cause.
"Do you mind if we join you?" Commissioner
Montoya's voice intruded on Kirk's thoughts.
"Not at all." Kirk looked up to see
Montoya and Simons standing across the table from him.
He forced a smile. Polite conversation with
Montoya did not fit his mood, and after this afternoon,
he didn't want to
talk to Cecilia Simons again for any reason.
Nevertheless, the couple took the chairs opposite
him.
Simons favored him with a smile calculated
to blister the paint off the walls. "Where have you been
keeping yourself, Jimmy? I was so looking forward
to talking over old times with you."
Kirk felt the smile freeze on his face.
Simons' words made it clear that she intended
to ignore her failure that afternoon, and that she would keep
after him until she got what she wanted. "A
captain's duties keep him busy most of the time.
There's more to running a ship this size than meets the
eye." "Surely your crew can run the
ship without you watching them every minute, Jimmy."
Her voice, low and throaty, played his nerves
like guitar strings. Her musky perfume evoked a
torrent of long-buried memories and feelings.
All of a sudden, the room felt very warm. He had
to struggle to keep his response neutral. "There
are certain decisions the captain must make."
"Well, I suppose you do have to watch some of your
officers more carefully than others."
Knowing what she was implying, Kirk felt her
words chill him like a bucket of ice water. "Ms.
Simons," he said in a frigid tone, "all my
officers are extremely competent, and I have
absolute confidence in their abilities." "But,
Jimmy, you know-was
Hoping to sidetrack the discussion, Kirk turned
to Montoya. "Commissioner, if I may change the
subject, how are the negotiations coming?" Montoya
smiled. "It's too early to tell, of cour se, but
I think we're doing quite well. There are
substantial differences between the parties in this dispute,
but we are making progress in outlining the areas of
difficulty and establishing the protocols for the formal
discussions."
"One of your aides said she was bothered
because you weren't using the Universal Translator."
Montoya raised an eyebrow in surprise, as
if questioning how Kirk had managed to become
acquainted with his staff so soon. "Ms. Norris
depends on her equipment more than necessary.
Ambassador Klee doesn't speak our
language fluently, but he has a fair grasp
of what is said. And t'Stror is invaluable. I
don't know where he learned English, but he must have
had an excellent tutor."
Simons ducked her head and developed an
intense interest in rearranging the food on her
plate. Kirk watched her obliquely, trying
to guess what she was hiding. She seemed
uncharacteristically relieved when McCoy entered the
room.
"Will you excuse me?" Simons asked. "I
want to talk to the doctor about my dear little
Janie's condition."
Kirk watched her retreat. She seemed very
anxious to escape from the table. "She's really
upset about her daughter," Montoya said, his
expression softening as he watched Simons cross
the room. He turned back to Kirk. "Have you found
out what happened? Ceci told me the
girl had an argument with your science officer."
Kirk studied Montoya's face, trying
to judge how he would react to the truth. The man
seemed reasonable and intelligent on most issues,
but from what Kirk had seen, Montoya's love for
his wife blinded him to her faults. Under the
circumstances, discretion seemed the wisest course.
"According to Lieutenant Whitehorse, she ran into a
wall."
"That sounds like she's protecting someone."
"Probably. But prying information out of stubborn
Deltans isn't exactly my specialty. The
only thing worse is trying to get something out of a
Vulcan." A puzzled frown crossed
Montoya's face. "Deltan? I thought we were
talking about Cecilia's daughter. Where do
Deltans come into that?" "Lieutenant
Whitehorse's father was a Deltan."
"Deltan? Are you sure? Cecilia never
mentioned
the girl's father, but I can't believe-I mean, the
way she feels about Deltans-I don't mean
to sound unduly skeptical, Captain, but are we
talking about the same person?"
"We are." Kirk ran a hand through his
hair. "I didn't realize she hadn't told
you."
"She hasn't, and that possibility never occurred
to me. Cecilia has always been quite irrational on the
sub tilde ect of Deltans."
Kirk smiled at the aptness of the description.
"I gathered she found her association with
Whitehorse's father somewhat-confining-and developed her
dislike of Deltans from that. His
"That explains a great deal. Thank you for telling
me. Captain. It's been difficult trying
to cope with her prejudices, but at least now I
see where they come from."
"I'm glad to be of assistance."
"Captain?" Montoya a took a deep
breath, then
plunged ahead, "May I ask you a personal
question?" "That depends on how personal it is."
"I was wondering how well you knew my wife."
Kirk took a mouthful of vegetables and chewed
slowly, stalling for time. He suspected that the full
truth was the last thing he should tell Montoya. "Not
that well, I suppose. She calls me her
"old friend," but I knew her for only a short
time, and that was over fifteen years ago. I
hope you don't think I would use the acquaintance
to intrude on your marriage." "Not at all,
Captain. It's just that you appear to have made a lasting
impression on her."
"She made one on me, too, Commissioner, but
it's not something I want to talk about." He was almost
relieved to see Simons returning from her discussion
with McCoy. She dropped into her chair, a disgusted
expression on her face.
"Dr. McCoy has completely forbidden me
to see Janie. Me! Her mother!" Kirk struggled
to hide his amusement at Simons' feigned
display. If he had not known better, she might

have convinced him her feelings were real. "The
doctor's orders were fairly inclusive, Ms.
Simons. He let Lieutenant Whitehorse out
of Sickbay on the understanding that she would spend the
next few days resting. With no visitors
allowed."
"But her mother isn't a visitor. She's
family." Montoya straightened in his chair,
ready to challenge anyone who would deny Simons
what she wanted. "The distinction is meaningless in this
context, Commissioner. Dr. McCoy
felt Lieutenant Whitehorse shouldn't do anything
for a day or so. She had a nasty bump on the head
and needs time to recuperate." As he paused,
Kirk felt inspiration strike. "Think of it this
way, Commissioner. If you had a bad hangover,
how many people would you want to deal with?" After a moment's
thought, Montoya relaxed and a smile spread across
his face. "Your point is well taken,
Captain." He turned to Simons. "Cecilia,
love, perhaps the doctor should have been more
diplomatic, but I think you should do as he asked.
It sounds like your daughter needs her rest."
Simons heaved a theatrical sigh. "If you're
sure that would be best, Yonnie. It's just that I
haven't seen Janie in so long-was Montoya
squeezed her hand. "I think you should listen to her
doctor. If it's only for a couple of days,
you'll still have plenty of time to visit." "I guess
you're right." Simons' voice was pitched to convey the
proper degree of resignation. "It just seems so
unfair."
Kirk glanced at his chronometer and was relieved
to note it was almost time to meet Kris Norris.
He forced his best diplomat's smile. "I hate
to leave such charming company, but I have an
appointment. If you'll excuse me." He rose,
picking up his tray to return it to the cleaning station.
"It's been our pleasure, Captain." The smile
that accompanied Montoya's words made Kirk
realize 87
that the commissioner's professional charm was beginning
to grate on his nerves. "I hope we'll have a
chance to talk again later."
"Perhaps." Kirk left them, trying to forget the
sight of Simons' molten farewell smile. It
promised many things, but he preferred not to explore
any of those possibilities.
"He didn't even offer to give us a tour of the
ship." Simons let her annoyance show in the
petulant tone of her voice. She had hoped to have
another chance to bring Kirk under her influence. "I'm
sure Captain Kirk's duties don't allow
him to be a tour guide for every diplomat that
travels on his ship." Montoya gave her hand a
reassuring pat. "Part of a captain's job is
to be a good host. Besides, he and I are old friends,
and he ought to be more pleased to see me." She ignored
Montoya's attempt to mollify her. From her
perspective, the day was going from bad to worse.
Unless she found a way soon to weaken
Kirk's control, her freedom to act on board the
Enterprise would be severely limited. The thought
left her in no mood for her husband's lesson m
diplomatic interpersonal relations. Montoya
looked at Simons in surprise. He had not
seen this sulky aspect of her personality before. A
cold shiver took him as he realized he had
contravened her expressed wishes more often in the past
two days than in the rest of the six months he had
known her. The implications of the thought disturbed him.
"Would you like to walk with me for a while?" he asked.
"I'm not as familiar with the Enterprise as Captain
Kirk, but I've been ignoring you too much this
trip, and I'd like to make up for my bad
manners."
She sighed and gave him a lost, helpless look.
"I suppose. It's just that I feel completely
useless when you're working. And Jimmy acts like I
had the plague."
"People change." Montoya tried to put as much

reassurance in his voice as he could muster. "A
captain's responsibilities must alter the way
he looks at the universe. The old friend you
remember may not exist any more."
Simons' use of the diminutive "Jimmy" seemed
incongruous when Montoya compared it with his own
perceptions of Captain Kirk. He was beginning
to wonder if the "old friend" had ever existed outside
his wife's imagination.
"Do you really think he's just too busy to spend
time with me?" "I don't know. You'd have to ask him.
But Captain Kirk's duties dictate many of his
actions ...." Montoya gave her an
affectionate smile. "Now, shall we take that walk,
or are you going to spend the evening feeling
neglected?" "If you're sure I won't be any
bother. . ."
He clasped both her hands in his. "This
assignment is extremely important, and it's
going to take a lot of my time. I'm sorry it
has to be that way, and I know it's terribly boring
for you-especially when you can't spend the time visiting with
your daughter like you'd hoped." He gave her a
lopsided grin. "But if I can't spend an evening
with my wife, there's something very wrong with the mission."
Simons allowed his pleading to soften her mood.
"All right, I accept. I shouldn't have let my
frustrations get the better of me."
Relief softened the tense lines around
Montoya's mouth. "That's better. And I
promise, I'll make it up to you for this trip as
soon as I can." She rewarded him with a warm hug
and a quick, passionate kiss. "Apologies
accepted, Mister Commissioner. I promise,
I'll try to be a good girl." He rose and
offered his arm to her. "Then shall we tour the ship,
Madame Commissioner?"
"I haven't heard a better offer all day."
She gave him a smile of rainbows and starflowers as
she linked arms with him.
Kirk met Kristiann Norris in the
corridor outside her quarters. She was leaning
against the wall, watching the comings and goings of the crew with
evident interest.
"Jim, I hope you don't mind me spying on
your crew." She accompanied her words with a grin.
"It's much more interesting than the walls of my
cabin." "No, I don't mind-as long as they
don't." Kirk felt an answering grin spread
across his own face. "But I expected you to be resting
after a hard day's labors at the conference table."
She wrinkled her nose when he said the word resting.
"My brain may have been working all day, but my
body was just sitting in a chair. Do you
suppose I could talk to the recreation officer about a
temporary locker assignment for the gym?"
"I think we could include that on our agenda. Shall
we start with the bridge?"
Although he made no effort to hurry, Kirk
finished the tour in an hour. Long experience had
taught him that most visitors liked to look at the
engineering section from the doorway, but did not
appreciate it if he took them inside and allowed
Scotty to explain the intricacies of the warp
drive engines or the structure of the dilithium
crystals and their role in power generation. For that
matter, Kirk himself was sometimes lost when his chief
engineer became involved with the details of his
favorite subject. Kirk was pleased when
Norris showed an aboveaverage interest in the
traditionally boring parts of the ship, but he did not
tax her patience with a complete tour of the support
services. Instead, he showed her the library
lounges, the gymnasium, and the swimming pool, and
they strolled through the botany section and the
hydroponics lab.
"Many of the crew come here when they want to relax."
He waved his hand at the plants surrounding them.
"It makes them feel more like they were on a
planet."
Norris looked at the vines spilling off their
trellises. "It would have to be a jungle planet.
I've never seen so much vegetation concentrated in one
place in my life."
Kirk laughed. "I know what you mean. I was
born in Iowa, and the plants there grow outward across
the land, not upward on top of each other. Still, we
haven't quite got enough space on the Enterprise for
cornfields. We have to fit the plants into the
smallest space we can."
"I see." They reached the end of the hydroponics
section. Kirk opened the door for Norris and
guided her to the turbolift. "Deck Eleven,"
Kirk ordered, giving Norris a warm smile.
"I saved my favorite part until last." The
forward observation lounge on Deck Eleven was
called the Captain's Lounge by the crew of the
Enterprise because it was Kirk's favorite location
for stargazing. It was the smallest of the ship's
observation lounges, so Kirk felt less as though
he were intruding on the off equals duty
activities of his crew than if he went to one of the
bigger lounges. They stepped out of the turbolift and
Norris froze, her eyes widening at the
panorama presented by the viewports. Kirk
stopped beside her, enjoying her awe-struck expression
as she absorbed the scene-the jewel-like stars showcased
against the black of space. With the ship on warp
drive, the view "through" the ports was actually a
holographic projection of what the
normal-space view would be. However, the computer
took the information for the projection from the main sensors,
and more than once, the realism of the scene had fooled
Kirk into momentarily thinking the ship had dropped out
of warp drive.
Kirk pointed out a half dozen major star
systems, then allowed Norris to enjoy the
spectacle without commentary. When her senses could
absorb no more of the view, she removed her nose from
the viewport and sat beside him.
"It's gorgeous." She sighed, overwhelmed by the
magnificence of the scene. Kirk felt the
peacefulness of the starscape soothe away the day's
worries. "Whenever I wonder why I'm in
Starfleet, I come up here."
Norris gazed dreamily toward the viewports.
"Mmmmm, this is enough to make me want to enlist.
Where's the dotted line for my signature?"
"Talk to the recruiter at your nearest
Starbase. He'll be glad to give you all the
details."
She laughed. "I'll just bet. Including how many
years it would take to work my way up to anything higher
than yeoman."
"Well, you weren't really expecting to get command
on your first ship, were you?" Kirk settled back in
his chair, enjoying Norris' companionship and the
feeling that he did not have to work to impress her.
"No, of course not." She was still watching the
starfield. "Actually, I think I have the job I
want for now. It's just that the stars are so gorgeous-was
Kirk's reply was covered by the opening of the
turbolift door. Footsteps crossed the
lounge, and two people approached their seats. Much
to Kirk's annoyance, it was Montoya and
Simons.
"Jimmy," Simons purred, "we've been
looking all over for you. A crewman said you were
giving a tour, and we wanted so much to join you."
Kirk rose, feeling his body stiffen as
Simons' words reminded him of all the day's
problems. "I didn't know you wanted to see the
ship. I would have arranged for a guide."
"But the captain's tour would have been so
much more interesting. And you couldn't possibly be having
a private party with little Krissy Norris.
She's hardly your type." Simons' tone
implied that she knew exactly the kind of woman
Kirk wanted.
"If you'll excuse me, Captain, I'll
return to my quarters." Norris stood, shoved
past Montoya, and rushed from the lounge.
"As a matter of fact, it was a private
party." Icicles dripped from Kirk's words.
Simons stepped in front of Kirk, blocking
his attempt to follow Norris, and hung her head
in mock contrition. "Please don't be mad at
me, Jimmy. I didn't mean to upset you."
Kirk heaved an exasperated sigh. He wanted
nothing more than to be rid of Simons, but the
available methods for removing her from the ship were
likely to have unfortunate repercussions.
"Permitting" her to take a space walk without a
life support belt contravened both the spirit and the letter
of his orders. Oh, well, he told himself, it's a
pleasant fantasy. And imagining potential
violence made it easier for him to hold his temper in
check.
"Captain." Montoya's voice
disrupted Kirk's reverie. "I have seen enough of the ship
for one evening. If you wish, I'll convey your
apologies to my aide for the interruption."
"I'd be most grateful, Commissioner."
Montoya turned to his wife. "Cecilia,
are you coming with me?" "If you don't mind,
Yonnie, I'd like to stay and look at the stars for a
few minutes."
"As you wish, my dear." Montoya gave her a
quick kiss and nodded a farewell to Kirk.
The moment the turbolift doors closed behind
Montoya, Simons flowed into Kirk's arms.
Pressing her body against his, she covered his face
with pas- sionate kisses. "My darling," she
whispered, nibbling his ear, "you don't know how hard it
is for me to control myself."
What she really wanted to control, Kirk thought
sourly, was him. Nevertheless, her scent and the heat of
her body against his were beginning to have an effect. Before
her charms could melt his resolve, he grabbed her
arms and pushed her away. "This is another time and
another place, Deirdre." He emphasized the
name to remind her of the negative side of
their former relationship. "Whatever was between us in the
past is dead and over. And I want no more
attempts to revive it."
She returned to him, slipping her arms around his
neck. "Are you sure that's what you really want?"
Kirk's anger flared. He pushed her away
again. "If you recall, I warned you that I wouldn't
tolerate any of your tricks on my ship.
Especially not that one. Did I not make myself
clear?"
"Oh, Jimmy." Tears gathered in her eyes.
"I didn't mean to make you mad at me. I
only thought-was
"Did I make myself clear?" he repeated.
Her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Very
clear, Captain."
"That's better." Kirk straightened his uniform.
"Now, before you start rehearsing a major case of
wounded pride, let me remind you that you are
traveling on my ship with your husband-and I can't
afford to offend him." Simons gave him a look that
said she pitied his innocence. "Marriage contracts
are made to be broken. Besides, Joachim doesn't
know everything." "You can think that, but I'm still not willing
to be a party to your adulteries."
"Jimmy, you have such a restricted view of
things." She examined his body knowingly, and a
sultry smile spread over her face. Kirk
scowled. "I warned you. And I'm getting tired of
repeating myself. If you don't stop this, I'll have you
confined to your quarters for the rest of the trip."
"Well, if you insist on being boring . . ."
She turned her back on him. Strolling to the
wall, she leaned against the viewport and stared out at
the stars. Her black hair blended into the darkness before
her. Kirk studied her, deciding her surrender would
last long enough for him to ask a few questions. "Satisfy
my curiosity-just between old friends. Why did you marry
Montoya? And how long do you intend to stay with him?"
She propped her chin on her arms and stared at the
starscape. Her voice sounded as cold and empty as
intergalactic space. "I married him because he had
money and wanted to spend it on me. And he was the
most interesting man around at the time." She gave a
short, tired laugh. "That wasn't saying much,
I'm afraid. As for how long I stay with him . .
. He insisted on a perpetual contract, but that
doesn't mean anything. When I find someone I like
better, I'll leave him."
"You mean, someone who has more money to spend on
you?" He knew that was only a small part of the story
but he did not expect she would tell him
anything approaching the full truth.
Simons stepped away from the viewport. The
light fell across her face, emphasizing her heavy
makeup. She gave Kirk a smile that told him
she was not fooled by his question. "As husbands go,
Joachim is a decent enough sort. But I like
excitement, and he doesn't supply very much."
Kirk recognized her performance for the work of art it
was. "I'd think at your age, you might be a bit
more interested in security. Your look s aren't going
to last forever." In this light, her makeup did little
to hide her years. Crow's-feet were beginning to web
her eyes, and the lines around her mouth were deeply
etched.
"My age? Just how old do you think I am?"
Kirk felt a brief flash of pity for her
effort to hide behind the illusion of youth. He shook his
head and said in a gentle voice, "Remember, you have
a daughter on my ship. I have access to her
personnel records." "Oh." She turned away
from him. "I should have known my daughter was behind all
this."
"I'm not sure what you mean by "all this," and
I don't think I want to know." Her words
rekindled Kirk's anger, and he had
to struggle to keep his voice level. "But your
daughter has nothing to do with what we've talked about
this evening."
He brushed past her, headed for the turbolift.
Halfway across the room, he looked back. She
was slumped against the wall, looking small and
lonely. He almost relented, but knew it would be a
monumental mistake. "Remember what I told
you-behave yourself or I'll confine you to your quarters."
She did not move, but he heard her muffled reply
anyway. "Understood, Captain."
He entered the turbolift. The solitude of his
quarters promised a welcome escape from his
tiresome passengers.
Kirk looked up from his reading when the door
buzzer signaled. "Come." McCoy entered. He
crossed the room and set a bottle of Saurian
brandy before Kirk. "If I'm not interrupting
anything, Jim, I thought I'd come pay off the
bet."
Kirk turned off the viewer. "I was just
relaxing. Now, what's with the bottle?" He took
two glasses from the cabinet and put them next to the
brandy. McCoy perched on the table, opened the
bottle and poured two drinks. "You bet
me a bottle of Saurian brandy that Cecilia
Simons would show up in Sickbay, claiming
Tenaida beat up Janara Whitehorse. Well,
she did, and you predicted almost to the word what she was
going to say."
Kirk sipped his drink and studied McCoy over
the rim of his glass. "That seems to bother you,
Bones."
McCoy frowned. "It's not that. It's just that, when
she was telling it her way, she believed it so
strongly that I could almost see it happening. That
doesn't make any sense."
Kirk nodded in agreement. "There's a lot here
that doesn't make any sense." "Oh?"
"Actually, I had a fascinating conversation with her
this evening-after I threatened to confine her to her
quarters." Kirk described the encounter in the
observation lounge. "How long do you think she'll
pay attention to your warning?" "For a while." Kirk
snorted. "Until she can figure out a way
to circumvent the intent, anyway. I'm getting
tired of her throwing herself at me every time I turn
around."
"I'm disillusioned." McCoy's eyes twinkled
with mischief, and his voice slipped into a
Southern drawl. "I thought you liked being assaulted
by beautiful women."
Kirk saluted the doctor with his glass.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Bones. And
my eye perceives very little beauty in that woman.
What's your opinion of her?"
McCoy swirled the brandy in his glass, watching
the eddy patterns in the liquid. Like his thoughts about
Simons, the fluid circled back to where it had
started. "She seems very disturbed. She's
extremely neurotic, possibly even
psychotic. Granted I haven't run any
medical tests on her to back up that
diagnosis-nor am I likely to get the chance to do
it-but I don't know what else to call it. She
sees the world exactly as she wishes it to be, and she
ignores everything that contradicts her view of things.
The thing is, she's so good at it that everyone around her
ends up believing it her way." "That's crazy."
"Maybe." McCoy took a swallow of his
drink. "But you've seen what happens to the people around
her. The men in particular. How do you explain
Montoya heading back to his quarters so Simons
can make an uninterrupted pass at you?"
"I was wondering about that one, myself. In the
meantime, what should I do about her?"
"I'll let you know if I think of anything."
McCoy drained his glass and set it on the table.
"If that's all, Jim, I think I'm ready
to turn in. It's getting late."
Kirk swallowed the last of his drink. "I think
you're right, Bones. It has been a long day."
After McCoy left, Kirk cleaned the
glasses and put the brandy away. Any other
chores, he decided, could wait until morning.
He went to bed, but sleep eluded him. The day's
events circled through his mind, and they did not inspire
relaxation.
"That didn't take long." Montoya was
surprised that his wife had returned to their quarters
so soon. He laid aside Norris" notes
on her noontime conversation with t'Stror. He had
been studying them for insights into Kaldorni
psychology.
"The captain had work to do, and I didn't feel
like stargazing alone." Simons sat beside him,
wrapped her arms around his neck, and nibbled
suggestively at his ear. "Of course, there are other
things we could do." "There are indeed." He took her
in his arms, grateful for the chance to show her that
he could put her needs before his work. "But why this sudden
interest? Fifteen minutes ago you were intent on
renewing your friendship with the captain."
"I finally realized what an awful bore he's
become. He even threatened to confine me to quarters
unless I behaved myself. So-"she blew softly in his
ear, "comI decided to behave myself."
"I approve wholeheartedly." Desire for her
flooded him, erasing all other thoughts. He cleared
his work off the bed, scattering notes and computer
tapes in his haste. She pulled him down beside her,
and they made love. It was only much later that he
remembered her words and wondered what Kirk had
meant when he ordered Cecilia to "behave" herself
and why Kirk would consider confining her to her quarters.
A nondescript ensign wearing an engineering
uniform strolled the corridors as if looking for an
acquaintance. He never spoke, but after several
hours,
he had covered every corridor on the Enterprise.
He memorized the locations of major departments,
ship's services, and escape routes. Finally, he
returned to the quarters assigned to his alter ego.
By the time the other's visitor appeared, the
nondescript crewman no longer
existed.
THE NEGOTIATIONS hit a snag late in the
third afternoon when Ambassador Klee's youngest
wife became ill. After giving lengthy instructions
to t'Stror and his other aides, Klee left. Almost
immediately, problems developed.
Montoya asked why Klee had not requested that
a doctor examine his wife and then gone to her when the
afternoon's session was over. t'Stror's face took
on an expression of blank incomprehension. He
cocked his head to the side and blinked his green-gray
eyes, as if asking Montoya to explain his
absurd question. "But the commissioner must understand it would be
the greatest insult for the ambassador not to attend upon
the lady himself. To send a person of lesser rank
than she-it would destroy the harmony of all of the
ambassador's wives. Surely the commissioner must
see this." Montoya's brow wrinkled with the effort of
trying to link the disparate concepts in t'Stror's
statement. "I'll accept your word for it, Speaker
t'Stror. However, I do not completely understand what
you mean by "harmony." Could I ask you
to explain it?" t'Stror tilted his head farther to the
side, studying Montoya as if he were a child who was
slow to learn his lessons. The Harmony
of the Universe was the
cornerstone of Kaldorni philosophy, but all
nonKaldorni seemed baffled by the concept.
"Explanation is not an imposition. But it is a
difficult idea to explicate-your language has
not the words for me to express myself." "We understand how
troublesome it is for you." Montoya gave the
Kaldorni a reassuring smile. "However, it would
help us if you'd try, within the limits imposed by the
inadequacies of our language."
"As long as the commissioner comprehends that the
terminology must be imprecise." t'Stror laid
his hands on the oblong table, fingers spread
to indicate speech in the declamatory mode. His
dark skin blended with the simulated wood tones of the
table.
"Of course. We appreciate your effort."
Without taking his eyes off t'Stror, Montoya
gestured to Yeoman Menon, who was operating the
recording equipment in the room's far corner. He
wanted to be sure she got multiple recordings
of this speech.
t'Stror launched into an involuted explanation
of the Kaldomi ideals of Harmony, Duty,
Respect, and Honor. As he listened,
Montoya realized the problem lay not in understanding the
individual concepts, but in untangling the
interrelationships and in defining the degree to which they
permeated the Kaldorm world view and determined
individual actions. Halfway through the discussion, the
commissioner glanced at Kristiann Norris. Her
expression-lips compressed in a straight line and
one eyebrow slightly raised-told Montoya she
thought t'Stror was omitting something from his explanation.
Montoya made a note to ask her later;
Norris" instincts on such matters were generally
accurate.
t'Stror finished his lecture. In turn, he
looked at each of the Federation team, daring them to question his
explanation. When no one accepted his challenge, he
brought up a new subject. "My ambassador
has requested me to ask why the commissioner insists the
rules we discuss for the meetings with the Beystohnai

must be so discordant. Surely it must be seen that
the harmony of the attendants is dissolved when equal
association for all negotiators is demanded."
Montoya straightened in his chair, sensing this was the
key issue in the discussions. "We of the Federation
feel that the-harmony-is destroyed if all
parties in a dispute do not have equal say in
resolving their differences." A beatific smile
spread across t'Stror's features. "Then my
instructions make it clear to me that I should terminate
this session. There can be no accordant determination from
a deliberation where the Harmonies of the Universe are
disrupted by the discordant fraternization with greatly
inferior persons." He stood, enjoying his moment of
power as the rest of the Kaldorni delegation massed
behind him. In a group, they walked out of the room.
Montoya watched the Kaldorni exit in
stunned silence. Vreblin and Zayle stared at the
far wall to avoid meeting the commissioner's eyes.
As the door closed, Norris murmured,
"Manifest Destiny."
"What?" Montoya was caught off-guard by the
seeming irrelevance of her comment.
"Their concept of Harmony. t'Stror didn't
put it in quite those words, but it resembles a human
concept called Manifest Destiny. It gives the
Kaldorni the perfect out. If our suggestions
prevent them from moving into the Yagran system or
obligate them to serious negotiations to limit their
expansion-they claim the proposal disrupts their
Harmony, and they can't discuss it any
further."
Montoya chewed on his lower lip. "Are you
sure about this?" Norris doodled a few lines on
her noteboard. "No. I don't have anything
to back it up except a feeling. But it fits the
facts we have so far." "Pretty skimpy
facts," muttered Vreblin.
"I agree. But they haven't been especially
generous in giving us useful information, either." Norris
held 102
up her hand to silence Vreblin's protest.
"Yes, I know they've talked a lot. But they
haven't included much solid data in what they've
said. I keep wondering if something is being lost in the
translation. I wish I had my Universal
Translator in here!"
"You always want your gadgets around," Zayle
said. Norris shrugged off the comment. Zayle disliked
the Universal Translator because he was unable
to master the complexities of its control language.
"Machines have their problems, of course, but they
don't deliberately misconstrue what is said."
Montoya gestured for silence. "Kris, do you
think t'Stror is intentionally mistranslating what
the ambassador says?"
"I don't know. t'Stror translates when the
ambassador can't express the concepts he wants
to discuss, and Ambassador Klee's English is
better in some areas than in others." She paused,
looking for a way to summarize her concern. "It
feels as though the emphasis is changed in the
translation-that maybe Ambassador Klee is
stressing one thing and t'Stror tells us he's more
worried about something else."
Montoya thought for a moment, remembering a
frustrating hour the previous morning when neither side
had been able to understand what the other was trying to say.
"Your instincts are often right, Kris. While the
negotiations are suspended, why don't you analyze
the transcripts for evidence to back up your
theory?" He turned to Yeoman Menon, who was still
behind the portable recording station. "Could Ms.
Norris get a copy of the sessions to date?"
Menon tapped her fingers against the side of the console.
"I'll need authorizations from both you and Captain
Kirk to release the transcripts. Once I have
those, I can get you a copy within half an hour."
"Good enough. I'll sign the authorization form now."
Menon entered a code into her console. The workstation
beeped twice and she handed Montoya a

datapad. Montoya scrawled his signature
across the pad while still talking to his aides.
"Kris has her assignment. The rest of us will get
some coffee and look for other ideas."
The three men left while Menon was shutting down
the recording equipment. Norris picked up her
noteboard. "If you don't mind, I'll tag
along so I can get those transcripts as soon as
they're ready."
"That will be fine." Menon picked up the signed
authorization form and led the way out of the briefing
room.
Kristiann Norris and Sushila Menon met
Captain Kirk in his quarters fifteen minutes
later. After listening to Norris' explanation,
Kirk signed the authorization without comment. He sent
Menon to copy the transcripts, but asked
Norris to stay.
"Planning to use the Universal Translator
on the recordings?" he asked, afraid she would not
talk to him after the way Simons had interrupted them
in the observation lounge.
"Not at the moment." A rueful smile played
across her face. "Commissioner Montoya
told the Kaldorni we wouldn't use the
translator on the recordings. However, there are
other ways to determine whether the translations we're
getting are accurate. It's slow, but I'll
probably start with a word frequency analysis.
If analogous words don't match up in different
parts of the discussion, I'll know something funny is
going on." She nibbled on the end of her stylus.
"I'll probably try analyzing facial
expressions, too, but that's trickier because
everybody's hiding something there."
Kirk chuckled. "Poker face."
Norris frowned, trying to place the reference.
"Oh. Yes." Her expression cleared. "And
gestures and facial expressions vary so much from
culture to culture . . ."
"Well, good luck. If you need help with the
ship's 104
computer, ask Lieutenant Tenaida. If my
science officer has some specialized programs
tucked away somewhere, Tenaida will know where they are."
"Thank you, Captain. I'll keep that in mind."
She turned to leave, but Kirk's voice stopped
her.
"Kris, I'd like to apologize for what
happened the other night. I hadn't intended to meet
those particular people."
She faced him again. "It's all right, Jim. I
assumed you wanted to renew your old friendship."
Kirk gave a short, humorless laugh. "No,
that's one old friendship I'd just as soon forget.
However, she's here, and I can't do anything about it-but
I should have apologized sooner for allowing the
interruption." "Actually, the apology should have come from
her. She's the one who was rude." Norris' eyes
flashed with anger and, in spite of herself, she let it
show in her voice.
"You don't like her very much." Kirk realized how
much of an understatement that was as soon as he'd said the
words. He decided that Norris' dislike for
Simons increased his respect for her.
"Why should I? She makes a complete fool of
Joachim, and he's the only one who doesn't see
it."
"She's made fools of a lot of men. Most
get their eyes opened eventually." Norris
frowned. "Eventually is pretty indefinite. And
usually too late." "I suppose," Kirk
responded evenly and then grinned. "Not to change the
subject, but would you like to wander through the
recreation deck for a while this evening? To make up for
my slow apology?" "I should spend most of the evening
working on the transcripts, but I'll need a break
sometime." Norris ruffled her hand through her short
hair. "Yes, a walk would be delightful. Will you
promise there won't be any interruptions?"
Kirk gave a chuckle. "That's a promise a
captain 105
can rarely keep. But I'll do everything that's
humanly possible." "Fair enough."
The door buzzer sounded. "Come," Kirk said.
Menon entered with the copy of the negotiation
transcripts. Norris took the tape. "I
think it's time for me to go to work. I'll see you
later, then." The door closed behind her.
It was black, an immense catlike being with
fifteencentimeter, saber-shaped canines thrusting
down from its upper jaw. Its topaz eyes glowed
with a savage hunger, a ferocious joy of killing.
It was hunting, searching its murky jungle
habitat for a particular quarry.
She clung to the tree branch high above the
jungle floor, terrifed the giant cat would scent
her. Its huge, ravenous form glided between the tree
trunks. Directly below her, it paused
and sniffed the air. Looking up, it stared at the
tree limb where she clung.
The cat sprang, an impossible leap that brought
it nearer, and nearer, and. . .
Janara cried out and woke. She was drenched in
sweat, and her heart was racing. Pulling the blanket
around her shoulders, she sat up. The familiar
furnishings of her quarters coalesced from the shadows,
but the image of the attacking cat still remained, as sharp
as if it were in the room. She slowed her breathing and
struggled to empty her mind of all thought. The cat
wavered, unable to focus on the nothingness. With a final
yowl of frustration, it vanished.
Janara reached for the pill bottle. Her hands
shook as she removed the top, dumped out a couple
of brown tablets, and gulped them down. Her
attacker was still searching for her, trying to reestablish
contact. She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it
slow and even, and on blanking her mind to the
telepathic intrusion. Slowly, as the boretelin
took 106
effect, the image of the sable cat faded from her
awareness. Half an hour later, she recalled her
consciousness and took stock of herself. She felt
tired and shaky, emotionally drained from
combating the psychic assault, and physically run
down from her previous injuries. Fingering her
bruised cheek, she felt that it was sore and
swollen, and the scraped skin was heavily scabbed.
Janara had considered using a healer's trance to mend
the damage, but, in the end, had confined her efforts to the
most serious injury-the part of her skull that had
struck the console. The superficial cuts and
bruises were healing nicely, even without the
accelerated cell growth that the trance produced.
However, it would be several more days before her face
returned to normal. Thinking of her mother, she was
grateful to McCoy's no visitors orders, which
had delayed the inevitable confrontation with her.
The walls of the room closed in on her, mocking
her with her mother's voice. Janara gritted her
teeth, fighting the illusion. If she stayed in her
quarters much longer, the confinement and the worry over
Simons' next move would be as taxing as the
activities McCoy had ordered her to avoid.
She looked at her chronomete r and was surprised
to see it was an hour into the evening shift. Uhura would
be working out in the gym now. Janara rolled from the bed
and padded to the wardrobe. After pawing through the jumble of
clothes, she found a chocolate wraparound
skirt and a light brown leotard that matched her
skin. She squirmed into the clothes and smoothed her
hair into place. McCoy would object to her doing
any gymnastics so soon after her injury, but
supervising Uhura's lesson would get her out of
her quarters for an hour.
She dropped a tape into the computer and recorded
Uhura's routine. Before turning off the machine, she
checked her message file. A brief note from
Tenaida 107
suggested modifications on the Shansar equations.
Uhura said she would be in the gym at the scheduled time
for a workout, and she invited Janara to come for a visit.
The rest of the messages were from her mother. Their tone
ranged from apologetic to threatening, from conciliatory
to enraged. Taken as a whole, they reflected
poorly on Simons' mental stability. Janara
knew her mother should be committed for intensive therapy,
but she had few illusions about Simons' willingness
to undergo treatment.
Janara transferred Tenaida's message to the
bottom of her Shansar calculations and erased the
rest of the file. Turning off the computer, she put the
tape in her pocket and headed for the gymnasium.
Kirk took the long route to Engineering,
his personal method of inspecting his ship. The
captain's meandering course through the upper decks
took an extra fifteen minutes, but gave him a
more accurate feel for what was happening on the ship
than a week's worth of status reports. He was
approaching the end of his inspection, on the port
side of Deck Seven, when he saw a man leaving
the briefing room. He froze, startled to see
someone wearing a captain's uniform. The spy!
Kirk broke into a run, but the noise alerted the
impostor, and he raced for the turbolift. Kirk
increased his speed, but was easily outdistanced. The
intruder seemed to move as if accustomed to a much
higher gravity. Kirk skidded to a stop at an
intercom panel. He called Security, but even
as he spoke, Kirk realized the effort was
futile. By the time the Enterprise's security people
could respond, the intruder would have more than enough time
to remove his disguise and dispose of the incriminating
uniform. Still breathing heavily from the run, a very
frustrated Captain Kirk continued toward
Engineering. It 108
was bad enough having a spy on the ship, but when the
intruder escaped him so easily, it added grave
insult to the injury.
"Damn!!" Kirk balled one hand into a fist and
smashed it into the other. "Damn this entire mission
to Teller's deepest Hell!!" Neither the gesture
nor the swearing helped his mood.
Cecilia Simons picked at her dinner,
trying to hide her frustration and her boredom.
Montoya was working, and she was wondering how to spend
her evening when t'Stror entered the room. He got
his food from the dispenser and brought his tray to her table.
"Is it permitted that I join the madame
commissioner?" he asked. "Of course! I was trying
to figure out what to do with myself. Joachim is off
somewhere talking with his aides, and no one seems to care
about me." "The lady should not be so unhappy because her
foolish husband ignores his duties to her. But should
I ask if it is permitted that I speak with you? The
Commissioner Montoya may be most unhappy because of
my actions of this afternoon."
"He didn't say. He doesn't control me,
anyhow, but he'd probably like me to spy on you for
him." Simons gave him a wicked smile. "And,
of course, you'll tell me all your secret
plans."
"I have no hidden schemes. My ambassador
commanded that I was to promote understanding. But the
Commissioner Montoya wished not to understand, so I had
no choice but to order our leaving." Between sentences,
t'Stror gulped large bites of his food.
Simons waved away his explanation. "That's
all right. I'm not interested in my husband's
cloak-anddagger games. I'm much more concerned about my
daughter telling me that she's been going off
to Delta Four to learn their mental spying tricks.
I can't imagine who could have gotten her interested in
that superstition again."
"I do not think I understand."
"Me, either. But I'm told she's been going
to Delta when she has time off instead of visiting
me. What else could she want there?" Simons
took a mouthful of her dinner while she calculated
the effect of her words on t'Stror. Would he
extrapolate the Deltan danger to mean Tenaida
and convince his ambassador to insist that Kirk banish
the scientist from the ship? After a moment, she shifted
her expression to one of concerned sympathy. "Why should
Yonnie be unhappy with you for following orders?"
"One doesn't know. But I have been told there is
an ancient human myth about a king who beheaded the
carrier of unliked news. It might be that the
commissioner would express similar
displeasure if he did not concur with the instructions of
my ambassador."
"Maybe." Simons had trouble visualizing
Montoya becoming angry under such circumstances.
"If so, he didn't tell me. He was more
worried about the reasons behind your orders. Also, he
didn't understand why the ambassador left in the
middle of the afternoon."
"The youngest wife of my ambassador was feeling
unwell, and it is proper that he should be with her. He
is most worried because another is now sick. May
I tell you a thing that you should not tell around the ship?"
"Your secret is safe with me."
"I think my ambassador's wives ate something
that is causing this illness. I do not know this to be a
certain fact, but I think the one who prescribed the
making of our foods may have written a wrong
ingredient into the directions."
"Is it serious? Who programmed the
synthesizers?" "One cannot know yet if it is
serious. One wonders, since it is this person's
belief that the Deltan scientist programmed the
machines." Simons suppressed a grin.
t'Stror had taken the bait. Now, if only he
could convince Ambassador Klee that
Tenaida had willfully misprogrammed the food
synthesizers! At the ambassador's insistence,
Kirk would have to confine Tenaida to the brig, and she
would be free of the Deltan's unwelcome presence.
t'Stror swallowed the last of his dinner. "But I
must attend my ambassador to see if he has
need for me to do anything. I hope that we may
arrange a language lesson for the usual time."
Simons gave him a brilliant smile. "A
language lesson is a fabulous idea. I'll
certainly be there."
"Until when I expect you." The short
Kaldorni stood and bowed. As he left the room,
he was calculating how much longer he could use
Simons. Soon, he knew, the dangers of
associating with her would outweigh the benefits of the
information she provided.
Uhura was doing warm-up exercises when Janara
got to the gym. She looked up from her leg
stretches. "I was afraid you weren't coming."
Janara started checking the control unit for the
gravity generators. "Dr. McCoy won't let
me do any work until tomorrow, so I've been climbing
the walls from sheer boredom. But he forgot to put
teaching gymnastics on the list of forbidden
activities, so I figured my sanity required
that I help you with your routine."
Uhura laughed. "I don't think the doctor will
agree with your logic, but what he doesn't know
can't upset him."
"It's an easy routine. I can sit by the control
console and tell you everything you need to know."
"Good! Those exercises you gave me are tricky
enough. I don't want to grab onto something I
can't handle."
"Actually, the routines are easier than the
exercises because they're more structured."
"Does that mean more like dancing?"
"That's what most people say. The routines are
choreographed to fit the music, so dancing is
probably
the best comparison." Janara dropped the tape
into the machine and activated the animation display.
"Come watch what you'll be doing."
The screen showed two sets of uneven parallel
bars. The outline of a female figure was shown in the
third position. When the music started, the animated
gymnast swung herself into a handstand on the lower bar.
From there, she worked a series of spins and transfers
between the lower and upper bars. Numbers in the
screen's lower corner counted the elapsed time and
displayed the timing and magnitude of the gravity
shifts. Most were small, but they were timed to add to the
momentum of the gymnast's spins. The routine became
more complex, adding twists and handstands to the basic
pattern. As the music swelled to a crescendo, the
figure whirled through a triplet of rapid spins and
released the upper bar. The gravity dropped to half
its previous intensity. She executed a double
somersault while her body arced toward the second
set of bars. The animated gymnast caught the bar
and swung around it. Carefully timed increases in the
gravity subtracted from her body's momentum. After
another series of twists and handstands, the music
returned to its main theme, and the gymnast started the
routine over. Janara stopped the computer. "That's
it. There are some variations later so you won't get
bored, but once you master the first section, you've got
it." Uhura slipped a net over her dark hair.
"Some of those moves look familiar."
"Suspiciously like the exercises you've been working
on, I'll bet." Janara shifted the tape from the
animator to the control unit. "That wouldn't have
anything to do with the fact that you taught me the
exercises, would it?"
"Trade secret." Janara gave the equipment
a final check. "You teach a few exercises, then
put them in a routine. It makes the student think
learning is easy." 112
"I should have guessed. Just like music lessons.
Or studying a new language."
"Sa me principle. If you're ready, we can
start. I'll prompt you, and we'll drill the first
half minute of the routine until you get it."
"Sounds good." Uhura took the center position
near the lower bar of the left-hand set. She flexed
her knees, ready for the first move, and Janara started
the music.
Uhura was a quick learner. Twenty minutes
later, Janara added to what Uhura was practicing.
Her second time through the initial minute, the
gravity generators on the far wall cut on
sharply for two seconds. The unexpected lateral
acceleration jerked Uhura's body out of position on
the upper bar. Before she could recover, a 250
percent increase from the floor generators slammed
her across the lower bar. Stunned, Uhura slipped
toward the floor. Janara slapped the override
panel, lowering the gravity in the workout area
to one-tenth of ship's normal. Even so,
Uhura cried out as she hit the floor. Janara
punched the emergency button to summon a medical
team. The response indicator lit. Janara
locked in the override signal and went to Uhura.
"What happened?" Uhura whispered. Her face
had an ugly grayish tinge from shock.
"Don't talk now." Janara passed her hand
over Uhura's torso, about six centimeters above
the skin. "You've got five broken ribs. I
don't know what's wrong with the machine. But I will
find out, if I have to take it apart circuit
by circuit."
Uhura closed her eyes. Her breathing was
rapid and shallow. Janara frowned, worry gnawing
at her as she watched the other woman. Every breath
pushed against the broken ribs, and only luck had
saved Uhura from a punctured lung. Janara
probed the injury again, trying to evaluate the
danger. Her training in the healer's art was limited,
and she hesitated to
practice her erratic skills where her senses
could not evaluate her work. Much to her relief, the
medical team arrived before she was forced to a decision.
McCoy entered at a run. He passed his already
activated tricorder over Uhura's
body. "Broken ribs and shock. Immobilize
her, and get her to Sickbay immediately." Lowering the
tricorder, he turned to Janara. "What
happened?" "The controller jumped the gravity. She
hit the bar at about two-and-a-half go's."
McCoy glanced at the bars. "She's lucky it
wasn't her head."
"Yes."
With a force bar immobilizing her torso, the
medics moved Uhura to the stretcher. McCoy
started to say something to Janara, but changed his mind and
followed the stretcher from the room. Janara pulled the
access cover from the gravity control unit and began
running the diagnostic programs.
Captain Kirk and Kristiann Norris
strolled casually through the hydroponics lab. The
exuberant foliage and the dim lights that signaled
nighttime for the plants made it seem as though they had
been transported to a jungle planet. The air
was scented with the sweet fragrance of miraberry
blossoms. Norris took a deep breath,
letting the romantic illusion dispel some of the day's
tension. She had been telling Kirk about her
attempts to unravel the Kaldorni linguistics
without using the Universal Translator.
The intercom whistled for the captain. Kirk,
irritated at having the peaceful interlude
interrupted, pushed his way through the tangled vines
to reach the intercom panel. An impatient scowl
darkened his face as he listened to the message, but
puzzlement had replaced annoyance by the time he
rejoined Norris.
He gave her a rueful grin. "I seem
to remember saying that a captain can never promise
an evening without interruptions. I'm sorry, but
duty calls."
Norris glanced at her chronometer. "I should
be getting back to work, anyway. Is anything wrong
with the ship?"
"No. Someone was injured in the gym an hour
ago, and her coach wants to discuss the accident with
me." His mouth twisted into a perplexed frown. "I
don't know what I can do about it, but she insisted on
speaking with me." "Well, I enjoyed the walk and the
break in my work. I'm sorry you have to go so soon."
"A commanding officer's work is never done." Kirk
smiled an apology. "Maybe we can finish our
walk some other time." He left Norris at the
door and hurried to the gym.
When Kirk entered the room, Janara's
head and upper torso were buried in the control console
for the gymnastics gravity generators. She wriggled
out when she heard his footsteps. Kirk wondered how
her normally impassive face could appear so
grim. She straightened, waiting for him to reach her.
"All right. What's this all about?"
She gave him a terse account of the accident and of
her attempts to locate the problem. She had found
no program errors on the tape and no
mechanical failures in the control unit.
"All right. You've told me what didn't
cause the accident. Now would you mind telling me
what did?" A small voice in the back of
Kirk's head warned, You're not going to like it,
James T. Kirk.
Janara displayed a block of program code
on the screen. Kirk studied the lines. He
rarely worked with the programming system used
by vari-grav controllers, but he recognized a timer
series and a subroutine call keyed to the timer reading.
"Does that do what I think it does?"
Janara nodded. "After fifteen minutes of
running time, it searches for a handstand sequence in the
routine. That triggers the override program, which
throws out some large and unexpected changes
in the
gravity values. It's an extremely
dangerous piece of work."
"Who's responsible for this?"
She scrolled to the beginning of the file. Kirk
turned cold as he read the passcode. Shaking,
he reached for a chair and dropped into it. "That's
impossible," he said, staring at the cipher he knew
almost as well as his own. The spy had switched
tactics; from unscheduled course changes, he had
graduated to attempted murder using Tenaida's
identification code. Janara recorded the
program and gave the tape to Kirk. She put a
second copy into her pocket along with the cassette
of Uhura's routine. Kirk turned the tape over
in his hands, staring at it as if it were about
to metamorphose into a poisonous snake. He would
have been less upset if the spy had used Kirk's
own cipher. At least, then, he would have known the
programming he was looking at was impossible.
Finally, he forced himself from the chair. Halfway to the
intercom, it whistled, paging him. "Kirk here."
"Captain, our course headings are being overridden
by someone in Auxiliary Control. We can't change
them back from here."
"Have Scott, Brady, and a Security team
meet me there on the double. Kirk out." He left
the gym at a dead run.
Kirk slammed into the door of Auxiliary
Control. The recoil threw him into Security
Chief Pavel Chekov, and the collision knocked
both men off their feet. By the time they had recovered,
the rest of the Security team had arrived. Scotty
pushed his way forward to the door's control panel.
He triggered the scanner that should have opened the door
for the captain, but nothing happened. The override
sequence for the lock also did not work. Scott shook
his head. "It's controlled from the inside. I can't
open it from here."
Chekov pointed to two of his men. "Pfeiffer,
Johnstone, please escort Mr. Scott through the
air ducts. And keep watch for the intruder. He
may try to escape by going out that way."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Scott beckoned to the guards, and they headed for the
maintenance hatch. The ventilation system would give the
three men a back door into Auxiliary Control.
Kirk hoped they would catch the intruder before he
escaped. After what felt like five hours
to Kirk-but was only that many
minutes-Scott opened the door. "He was gone before
we got here," the chief engineer said. Kirk stepped
inside. Johnstone was scanning the room with his
tricorder, searching for clues. He paused when the
captain joined him. "Pfeiffer is checking the air
ducts. The intruder might still be in there." "Good
thought." Privately, Kirk figured the intruder
would have no more trouble escaping than he had had getting
in undetected. The spy's timing and his knowledge of the
ship's schedule were too good for the captain's peace of
mind. Kirk turned to Chekov. "Get some extra
men and check the surrounding corridors.
"Brady, will you help me deactivate our
friend's overrides?" "Right away, Captain," said
both officers in unison. Kirk went to the control
console. A few moments' work recovered the
intruder's program from the navigation bank. He
read the altered course information in amazement. "Warp
factor six, at bearing 124 mark 5. Our friend
is certainly persistent."
"I'm not sure if that's good or bad," Brady
said, reading the, screen over the captain's shoulder.
Kirk frowned. "How much trouble will it be
to bypass this until we can trace all the
subroutines?"
Brady called up the specifications for the
affected systems on the adjoining console. Scott
leaned over his shoulder, following the schematics as
Brady 117
accessed them. The spy's program had overridden
the primary control functions, but it had ignored
all the backup provisions. "It won't be too
difficult, Captain," Scott said. "The
intruder isn't familiar with the design of the
system."
"At least that's one thing he's not an expert on.
Mr. Scott, would you and Mr. Brady isolate
what he's taken over and make sure he hasn't
planted any booby traps in the system?
Notify me when we can correct our heading."
"Aye, Captain."
Kirk went to the intercom. "Bridge, Kirk
here. Would you find Lieutenant Tenaida and have him
report to my quarters at once?" "Yes,
Captain."
Halfway through the door, Kirk stopped and
turned toward his security chief. "Mr. Chekov,
until we catch the saboteur, I want a guard
posted here at all times."
"Yes, sir."
Tenaida was waiting when Kirk reached his
quarters. They entered, and Kirk handed Tenaida the
copy of t he program from the vari-grav control unit.
"I want your reaction to that." He dropped into his
chair, watching Tenaida through narrowed eyes.
The slender Deltan slipped the tape into the
computer. As he read, Tenaida's face flushed with
agitation. He ran through the program a second
time. "It's crude, but effective. Very
effective."
"Would you mind explaining?"
"This program is compiled from pieces of other
programs. Whoever assembled it didn't need to know
how to program the vari-grav computer. He just
spliced together assorted parts of van-grav routines
already stored in the ship's computer."
"Why is your identification code on the
program?" "It must have been removed from one of my
files and linked to the program." "That doesn't
answer my question. How did someone get your code?"
"My cipher is on many files in the computer's
memory. The intruder might have randomly selected
a file with my code on it, or he could have searched
for a common identifier. There are illegal
programs that can retrieve both the
public and the private portions of a passcode. The
alternative is that someone has penetrated the
computer's master file of code listings." "I
don't like that last option. Would you get together with
Commander Layton and make sure it can't happen-just
in case?"
"Of course."
Kirk straightened, feeling the knots of
worryinduced tension dissolve. Relief washed through
him. Kirk, the person, had never doubted
Tenaida's innocence; beyond his own judgment of the young
Deltan was Spock's high rating of Tenaida's
character and abilities. In addition, Kirk could not
believe anyone would be stupid enough to put his own
passcode on a program intended as a murder
weapon.
However, Kirk, the commanding officer, could not afford
to assume anyone was innocent, and he had needed
to watch Tenaida's reactions to know that the Deltan
was not withholding information. Even so, he decided to have
Layton keep a closer watch on Tenaida.
There was still a chance the intruder was using some form of mind
control on Tenaida. If that was the case, Kirk
hoped that Layton would find evidence soon
to support the theory. "This must be more of our
visitor's handiwork. And we had another example
a few minutes ago." He told Tenaida about the
latest course change. "Mr. Brady and Mr.
Scott are working on the problem now. I'd like you
to help, in case there are any booby traps
waiting for us when we change our course."
"Of course, Captain." Tenaida started for the
door. "And, Tenaida, let me know what you find
as soon as possible."
"I will, sir."
After Tenaida left, Kirk got himself a cup
of coffee and sat quietly, thinking. He was sure
there was a clue somewhere that he had missed.
Three hours later, Tenaida finished checking the
computer system. After recording the intruder's
program for further analysis, he erased it from the
computer's memory. With the system cleared, Scott
reactivated the bypassed circuits. Brady
ran the diagnostics program on the navigation
units a last time, then left to complete the ship's
course corrections from the bridge. Tenaida
called Kirk's quarters. Several seconds
passed before a sleepy voice answered.
"I am sorry to disturb you at this hour,
Captain, but I have the report on the
intruder's course-changing program."
"Come up immediately."
By the time Tenaida reached the captain's quarters,
Kirk had struggled into a rumpled uniform and combed his
hair into a semblance of neatness. Never- theless, he
still looked half asleep.
"What have you got?"
Tenaida gave him the program to read. Kirk
dropped the tape into the computer and scanned through the
file. "Just like the other one?" he asked finally.
"Similar. The program was assembled from
pieces of the ship's standard operating routines. The
person had to interpret what each program module
did, but he did not have to be able to write the code.
Once I determined that, I had no trouble
deactivating the program without setting off the
booby traps. However, it took some time to be
sure I had not missed any subroutines before I
purged the program."
"You got it all?"
"Yes."
"Good. Our next step is to catch the intruder.
Do you have any ideas for doing that?"
Tenaida frowned, his eyebrows forming a dark line
across his face. As yet, he had seen no
clear pattern to the spy's behavior. "I have no
practical suggestions at the moment."
"I keep thinking I'm missing something terribly
obvious." Kirk sighed, feeling a weariness that had
nothing to do with the late hour. He had never been good
at waiting, had always preferred action. This
inactivity-this vigil for a hostile intruder to become
overconfident and make a careless mistake-was
testing his patience to the limit. "If you come up with
any ideas, let me know."
"Of course, Captain." Tenaida pulled the
tape from the computer. He wanted to study the
program for any clues that might help identify
the spy.
Kristiann Norris looked away from her
computer screen. It was almost two in the morning. Her
stomach growled. She stood, stretching her cramped
back muscles. That much hard work deserves a
reward, she thought. She put the computer on standby and
left the room.
The corridor was dimly lit, simulating a
planet's night. The reduced illumination cast
intriguing light and shadow patterns on the walls and
left many of the doors in patches of darkness.
In the recreation lounge, she paused before
the selector panel, debating with herself. Finally,
she entered the override code Captain Kirk had
shown her and ordered a large fudge sundae with all
the trimmings. When the panel opened, Norris stared
at the result-the sundae was positively huge!
A couple of such concoctions a month would add padding
to anyone's waistline. Grinning to herself, Norris
picked up the tray. Several people were on the other
side of the room, and
Norris felt a twinge of guilt over such an
extravagant indulgence. She would feel less
self-conscious eating in a more private location.
She was halfway to her cabin when she heard a door
open. A familiar figure slipped out of a room
ahead of her. Norris stepped into the shadows, hoping
Simons would not see her. The other woman seemed
more concerned with acting like she belonged outside the
Kaldorni's quarters at two in the morning than
she was with looking for observers.
Norris did not move until Simons was out of
sight. She checked which cabin Simons had come from,
then hurried to her own quarters. While she was eating
her sundae, her mind was trying to answer the question
what was Simons doing in t'Stror's cabin at
two in the morning?
KIRK'S MIND DRIFTED as Tenaida
explained to Brady and Security Chief Chekov
how he had analyzed the spy's computer programs.
Kirk still felt he was miss- ing an obvious
clue, but he could not isolate it. A change in
Tenaida's voice brought Kirk's attention back
to the discussion. "After comparing the two programs I was
given last night, I have concluded that they were
assembled by different people."
Kirk had not expected that. "Explain," he
ordered. "The programming styles differ
considerably. Whoever constructed the course change
program was much less familiar with the workings of our
computer system."
"Does this mean we have a second spy aboard?"
"I don't know. The spy could have brought both
programs aboard with him. Most of those code
blocks are standard throughout the Federation. The pro-
grams themselves need not have been assembled on the
Enterprise-only the passcodes are unique to this
ship."
"That figures. Have you determined where those course
changes would take us yet?"
"No. The vectors are still too random. The
proba- 123
bility is only 62.9 percent that the closest
planet to the projected intersection point is the
intended destination. However, I found something disturbing,
given the ship's present assignment."
"Which is-?"
"When I added the vector from last night's
course change, the planet Yagra IV was fifth
on the list of probable destinations."
"It was?" Kirk asked, not liking the cold
premonition Tenaida's words invoked. When he
looked at Brady and Chekov, he realized they were
sharing the bad feeling. "Disturbing is an
understatement."
The intercom sounded and the captain reached for the control
switch. "Kirk here."
"Dr. McCoy wants to see you in Sickbay
when you're free. He also asked for Lieutenant
Tenaida, if he's available," Communications
Specialist Palmer's voice said.
"Did he say why?"
"No, sir, he didn't."
"All right, Ensign. Tell him we'll be there
shortly. Kirk out." Kirk turned to his
security chief. "What's your report on
protecting the ship's vital areas, Mr.
Chekov?"
"I have people stationed at all the key stationsEngineering,
Auxiliary Control, the central computer area, and
Environmental Services-everything. Also, I have men
roving all the corridors. Everyone in Security
has been warned to expect double shifts until we
settle this." The sound of Chekov's voice, more
heavily accented than usual, seemed to hang in the
air even after he had finished speaking.
"That sounds good to me. Mr. Brady, is there
anything else we should do?" Brady shook his head.
"As much as it pains me to say it, Captain, I
can't think of anything more. I'll let you know if I
do."
"In that case, I'll see what McCoy
wants." Kirk stood and led the other three men from
the room.
Joachim Montoya paged through Kris
Norris' report a second time. "Those numbers
pretty well prove someone's been lying to us.
What does the translation say?"
Norris ruffled her short brown hair,
wondering if she should admit she had already
translated the recordings. Montoya's question
implied that he as- sumed she had. "I
got some pretty interesting results from the
transcripts. Unfortunately, my equipment
seems to be going sour, but the sense of the discussions
is clear."
"Let's have it."
Norris slid another tape into her computer.
Although she could have used the Enterprise's system,
Norris preferred her own equipment, since it
already had the software she needed for her work. "I
copied the most interesting parts, but we can go over
everything, if you wish."
Montoya shook his head. "I'd like to see what
Ambassador Klee told Speaker t'Stror before
he left the other afternoon."
"I figured that." The screen filled with the
images of the Kaldorni ambassador and his
assistant. Norris switched the audio output
through the Universal Translator. An apparent
malfunction was giving t'Stror a low, guttural,
but definitely feminine, voice. Ambassador
Klee's voice was unaffected. Montoya
concentrated on the computer's translation of their words.
"Can they not be made to understand the importance of
preserving the Harmony of the Universe?" Klee
asked. "In so many ways, I have
difficulty in comprehending how they can act when they
seem so far from the Center of Balance. Tell me,
my Speaker, should we have asked to converse with a different
representative, one who is not so contaminated
by the Hot-Fire-Woman? I do not know how
to communicate my thoughts to this
Black-Silver-Man." Montoya pushed the
Stop button. "Hot-FireWoman?
Black-Silver-Man?" "Proper names, I
think. The translator had fits over them. My
guess is "Black-Silver-Man' is you, because
of your clothes. But I don't know what the other name
means."
Montoya reactivated the computer.
"My ambassador has great patience,"
t'Stror said. "The Federation commissioner is like a child
who must be shown the Ways of Harmony. But like a child,
often he does not want what is right and so must be
punished in order that he will learn."
The ambassador raised his right shoulder in
negation. "One may punish one's own children to guide
them in the paths of Correctness. But it is not
permitted to discipline the dependents of another being.
This creates more Disharmony than the original actions
of the child."
"My ambassador is wise in all things. I
request that I may be punished for my discordant
suggestions."
"If one learns from a mistake, discipline is
not necessary. Correction is needful only when the
offense is repeated."
"Your forbearance does you honor, my
ambassador."
A Kaldorni entered the room. Klee listened
to his message, then turned back to t'Stror.
"There is illness among my wives. They request
that I attend the youngest and lend her strength to combat the
disunity. It is necessary for me to perform the purification
rituals so that she may be receptive to the
medicines. I desire that you remain here and instruct
the Federation commissioner in the ways of That-Which-Is.
We cannot continue with these discussions until understanding
exists between our two peoples." "I hear your
wishes, my ambassador, and will 126
comply." t'Stror bowed his head and extended his
wrist. The farewell gesture was made to Klee's
back as the ambassador hurried from the room,
flanked by his honor guard.
Montoya stared at the screen, chewing on his lower
lip. "There's a significant difference
between that conversation and what t'Stror claimed his
instructions were. Are you sure the malfunction
didn't change the translation?"
"I don't think so. The problem appears
to affect only the voice assignment circuits.
However, when I was getting the transcripts,
Captain Kirk said his science officer might have some
specialized analysis programs. I thought
I'd check that out."
"The Deltan? I don't know. Most of
Starfleet's high-level analysis programs
are Vulcan. But if he has something useful, see
if it will help." "I'll check it out right away."
"All right, Christine. What's the emergency?"
McCoy was still tugging his blue tunic into place as
he entered Sickbay.
Dr. Christine Chapel pointed toward
McCoy's office. "I'm not sure, but I
didn't think you should keep him waiting."
A short, wide figure in nondescript
brown robes sat with his back to the door. The
Kaldorni turned when McCoy entered the room.
"Ambassador Klee," he said with surprise.
"This is an honor. How may I help you?"
Klee inclined his head in an off-center
nod. "The doctor McCoy is too kind to one
who is humbled to beg as the lowest no-caste. There
is illness among my wives, and I have not the
skills to perform the rituals correctly and
remove the disharmony so that they may be healed. It
is felt by my wives that the discord would be less for
me to beg you to attempt your methods of healing than
that my failure should cause the death of my mates."
McCoy tried to interpret Klee's actions in
terms of his culture. By abandoning his jewelry and
talking to McCoy and Chapel, Klee
demonstrated the status he had lost when he failed
to cure his wives by traditional Kaldorni
methods. McCoy reached for his tricorder. "Mr.
Ambassador, is it all right to examine your
wives now?"
"If there were any objection, I would not be here,
honored doctor." "My mistake. Would you
escort me to your quarters?" The Kaldorni were one
deck up from Sickbay. Klee was silent while
he led McCoy to the quarters. They entered the
rooms, and for a moment McCoy thought the environmental
controls had malfunctioned. The temperature was
almost as hot as the ship's sauna. "That pointy-eared
Vulcan would enjoy this," he muttered
to himself.
Five women were in the sleeping area, with three of
them trying to assist the two on the beds. McCoy
heard someone vomiting in the bathroom. McCoy
activated the tricorder. When the women moved
away from the beds, the shimmering of their colorful,
full gowns resembled the rainbow flash of
butterfly wings. Even in their quarters, the women
wore veils. The woman on the nearest bed was
curled into a tight ball around the cramping pains in
her stomach. Her forehead was filmed with perspiration,
but her body shivered violently under the blankets that
covered her. McCoy passed his tricorder over the
woman and frowned at the readings. He repeated the
scan and then tried a different woman. His frown
deepened when he got similar readings on the
second patient. "Mr. Ambassador, I need
to move your wives to Sickbay so I can treat them
properly."
The Kaldorni argued briefly in their own
language.
When Klee turned back to McCoy, he had
shrunk several inches into himself. "It is the wish of
my wives that we do whatever you believe is necessary.
The one among them who is most skilled in
the medical arts was the first to become ill."
McCoy went to the intercom and called for help
to move the patients. As their co-wives helped them
onto the stretchers, Klee asked McCoy,
"What is it you fear may be the cause of this
discordant event?" "I need to run some tests, but
I think they ate some contaminated food. It would be
best if your people don't eat anything until I
check it out." "All our food since we arrived
has come from the preparation facilities of this ship.
We have not noticed anything discordant."
"I'll have the dietitian check the synthesizer
program again. Perhaps one of our standard food bases
contains a trace element your race is unusually
sensitive to." McCoy tried to put more
reassurance in his tone than he felt. It was not
likely that Jenavi Leftwell had made such a
mistake. "One of my aides is skilled in the
nutritional requirements of our people. I will
require that he advise you on the appropriateness
of the ingredients for your synthesizer."
"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. That would be a
great help. If you'll excuse me, I'll go
treat your wives." When Klee nodded, McCoy
followed the stretchers from the room.
The diagnostic equipment in Sickbay confirmed
McCoy's fears. Several trace minerals
highly toxic to Kaldorni metabolism were
present in the women's bodies. Even worse,
most of the standard antidotes were almost as deadly.
McCoy finally found a scavenger to remove the
toxins from the Kaldorni's systems, but it worked much
slower than he liked. He ordered the lab
to prepare the counteragent, sent for Captain Kirk,
and then bounced between his patients,
checking their monitors and life support
equipment, until the medicine was delivered. He was
injecting the third woman when Kirk and Tenaida
arrived. McCoy pointed to his office, followed
the others inside, and threw himself into his chair.
"What is it, Bones?"
"I've got three of the Kaldorni
ambassador's wives in intensive care. Food
contamination."
"Poison?" Kirk asked. "How?"
"The ambassador said everything they've eaten
came from the ship's synthesizers."
Tenaida's forehead wrinkled. "I assisted
Lieutenant Leftwell with the Kaldorni's diet
program. We checked it several times
to exclude all deleterious materials from the
ingredients list."
"One of the ambassador's aides is helping
Jenavi look for anything that might have been missed,"
McCoy said.
Kirk shot a worried look at the Deltan.
"Tenaida, would you help them? If anyone on this
ship can translate glitchy computer code, it's
you." Tenaida rose. "Will you excuse me,
Doctor?"
"Good luck, Tenaida." McCoy looked over
at Kirk, seeing the grim set of his mouth. "You
don't think this is accidental, Jim."
"Do you?"
McCoy hesitated. "It could be. The
program might have called for the wrong base."
"But you don't think so, either."
The captain's uneasiness solidified the ugly
suspicions McCoy had been suppressing since
he had seen the first readings on the Kaldorni
women. Finally, he acknowledged his concern. "No.
I don't think it's an accident." "Unless
Tenaida can prove otherwise, I'd say our friend
has struck again. You'd better examine all the
Kaldorni to make sure they're not
affected." "Right away, Captain."
While McCoy checked hi s patients in
Intensive Care, Kirk was planning what to say
to Ambassador Klee. He needed to convince him
he would suffer no further loss of status if he
allowed McCoy to examine the entire Kaldorni
delegation.
"Well, Tenaida, what's the story?" Kirk,
leaning over the Deltan's shoulder, watched the lines
of code march across the monitor. Tenaida and
Leftwell had been working on the Kaldorni's
nutrition schedule for over an hour. "The food
synthesizers were reprogrammed. Someone inserted
subroutines that add trace amounts of toxins to the
formulas for certain foods. When those foods are
chosen, the subroutines are activated."
"I see. How did this happen?"
Tenaida called up a block of code. His
cipher headed the listing. Kirk scowled, even though
the spy's choice had a feeling of inevitability
about it. "I expected that. What else can you say
about the thing?" Tenaida leaned back in his chair and
steepled his fingers to cover the lower half of his face.
"I believe the person who did this also wrote the
program for the vari-grav control unit.
There are similarities in the coding style, and both
programs indicate a disregard for the lives of other
sentient beings."
"What about the course change program? Was it
written by the same person?" "I would say not. Of
course, three programs are not a large enough
sample to support a definitive judgment."
"I hope you don't get a large enough sample.
Can you do something to keep our friend-or frsout of the
computer?"
"I'll work on it. The problem is to restrict
unauthorized access to the computer without interfering with the
ship's operations. Also, we don't know where
these ciphers were obtained. The spy could have cracked
the ship's data banks, but other possibilities
exist."
"It would take a sophisticated
codekey-breaking program to get that information from our
computer."
Tenaida added nothing, waiting for Kirk to make
the obvious inferences about the situation.
"The other possibility is even worse.
Anyone with Starfleet's overrides to our computer
system has access to a lot of privileged
material." "Agreed." Tenaida turned
off the console and rose. "With your permission, I'll
be in my quarters working on a way to prevent further
unauthorized computer use."
"Of course, Lieutenant. Get Commander
Layton to run your clearances for the command areas."
They stepped into the corridor and almost collided with
Kristiann Norris. "There you are, Jim.
I've been looking all over for you." She looked
from Kirk to Tenaida, trying to decide to whom she
should make her request. "I wanted to see if I
could ask Shan Tenaida to borrow his analysis
programs. My computer system has developed a
glitch and I need to double-check its translations."
"Tenaida is busy right now." Kirk glanced
at the Deltan and received a confirming nod. It was
symbolic of his day so far that Norris would come
to collect on his offer just after he had given the
Deltan a critical assignment. "I'm
afraid he has a project that can't wait."
Tenaida took a step forward and faced Kirk.
"If it's acceptable, there is another person who
could assist. Lieutenant Janara Whitehorse
has considerable training with the Vulcan analysis
programs that Ms. Norris will need, and she is more
familiar with the linguistic applications of the
programs than I am."
"Could she do it?" Kirk tried to remember what
project Janara was working on, and whether McCoy

had certified her fit for duty yet. If
Janara could work on the translation problem, he would
be able to keep his promise to Norris. "You will have
to ask her," Tenaida said. "I do not know the
outcome of her last talk with Dr. McCoy."
"I'll see if she feels like tackling the
problem," Kirk said. "That is, if it's all right
with you, Kris."
"I don't know." Norris ruffled the back of
her short brown hair. "What are her
qualifications?"
Kirk smiled. "She knows as much about Vulcan
programming methods as Tenaida."
Tenaida lifted his eyebrow in imitation of
Spock's favorite gesture. "Indeed, she may
know more. She studied at the Vulcan Academy of
Sciences for three semesters."
Kirk gave Norris a how-can-we-argue-with-that
look. "Lieutenant Whitehorse also speaks
twenty or thirty languages. And she's good at
keeping her mouth shut."
"She sounds ideal. If she'll do the job, I
have no objections." Kirk went to the intercom
to locate Janara.
Cecilia Simons waited for the communications
officer to appear in the recreation room for lunch.
Palmer's noon relief was young and impressionable;
Simons knew she would have no trouble holding his
attention while Montoya's dispatches were being
transmitted. When Palmer sat down, Simons
headed for the bridge.
She checked the duty personnel when she entered.
Neither Kirk nor his first officer were present, but she
recognized the navigator and the communications
trainee. She went up to the officer in the command chair
and gave her a small, bewildered smile.
"Excuse me. My husband, Commissioner
Montoya, asked me to bring his dispatches up here and
see that they were sent out. Whom should I talk to about
that?"
"Ensign Peretz will help you." The short,
stocky woman pointed to the Communications station. Her
expression said, as clearly as if she had
spoken, what she thought of unescorted civilians
on the bridge.
"Thank you very much," Simons said in a
small, meek voice. She glided across the room
and gave the young trainee a smile calculated
to melt three-meter armor plate. "Are you the
communications officer?" "Uh, yes, uh, I mean,
no, I mean, uh, yes, I'm the officer on
duty," he stammered, flustered at being the focus of
her interest. "Could you send my husband's dispatches
for me?" She held out a data cassette. "I
promised to do it first thing this morning, and he's going
to be so upset that I didn't get it done until
now."
Peretz glanced at his activity board. "I can
send it right away." He dropped the tape into a
slot, scanned the authorization codes, and pushed the
transmit switch.
"You must have such an exciting job." Simons'
voice was low and breathy. Peretz twisted in his
chair to see her better. "It's not really, when you do
it all the time. But it's an important job, because
every message to or from the ship passes through this station."
He gave her a shy smile. "I think
communications is the most important job on the
Enterprise, because we keep people in touch with each
other."
"You must know everything that happens on the
entire ship. That makes you the most important
person on it, and that has to be exciting." Over his
shoulder, Simons watched the codes flicker across
the readout panel. "I guess it does seem
exciting-if you look at it that way." The computer
beeped to signal the transmission was complete.
Peretz removed the tape and handed it to Simons with a
diffident smile. "I hope your husband isn't
too upset. In the future, I'd be honored
to send more dispatches for him." Simons rewarded him
with another sultry smile. "If I tell him how
efficient you were, Lieutenant, perhaps
he'll forgive my carelessness." She glided out the
door before Peretz could stammer a response to his
sudden, unofficial promotion.
Kris Norris was not sure what she expected
when Kirk told her another person on the
Enterprise knew as much as Tenaida about Vulcan
programming, but the small, silent woman Kirk
introduced was not it. Janara listened to Norris'
description of her problem, asked a few probing
questions, and began calling programs from the main computer
banks.
Norris watched with something approaching awe as
Janara alternated between running
specialized diagnostic routines through the portable
unit and extracting data for the ship's computer
to analyze. Although she knew the reputations of some
of the Federation's best computer people, Norris had never
watched a first-class operator at work.
After an hour, Janara recorded her results
and switched off the computer. She gave the tape
to Norris. "The Enterprise's computer pulled some
additional information from the transcripts that confirms
your translation to 95 percent. There's nothing wrong
with your machine."
"What? It gave one of Ambassador
Klee's aides a female voice. That can't be
right."
"The diagnostic programs show your equipment
is within specifications. I couldn't find any
programming errors."
"Then why does it give Speaker t'Stror a
female voice?" "I would suggest you ask Speaker
t'Stror."
"Ask-?" Norris' voice rose in shock.
Given the Kaldorni reticence about discussing most
aspects of their culture and physiology,
Norris could imagine t'Stror's reaction if she
asked for a direct explanation of the
anomaly. "Are you serious? Do you know how touchy the
Kaldorni are when we ask about their private
lives?"
Janara shrugged. "The problem is not in your
equipment. Therefore, I cannot explain the female
voice. If you wish to know about Speaker t'Stror,
the logical course of action is to ask the object
of your curiosity. "However, if you do not believe
he will respond favorably to your queries, then I
must assume the riddle will remain unsolved."
Janara swept a loose strand of hair off her
forehead and tucked it behind her ear. For a moment, the
sharp, pale lines of the implant scars were
uncovered. Norris stared at the lock of dark
hair that covered the telltale scars. Suddenly,
her mind identified the almost subliminal musky
scent that had been bothering her for the last hour.
"You're Deltan," she said in surprise,
forgetting her previous train of thought.
Janara's mouth twisted into a humorless smile.
"That's hardly a secret." "But your name is of
Earth origin."
"Many people have names that originated on Earth,"
Janara said evenly. "But Deltans don't
adopt human names. I mean, do they?"
Most Deltans us ed one-word names that, Norris
had been told, were equivalent to human nick-
names. Deltan calling names were often taken from common
plants or animals, since their formal names were
too long and complex for most outsiders to remember
or pronounce. Norris noticed the tension in
Janara's posture. "I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to pry. Please, forget I mentioned it."
Janara took two deep, slow breaths. "If
I said my family history was somewhat varied, would
you leave it at that?"
"Of course. I didn't mean to move in where I
don't belong," Kris added quickly. "You said your
analysis programs found additional information in the
transcripts. Do you suppose I could add those
programs to my system?"
The tension left Janara's posture. She
doodled a pattern on the table top with her finger,
using the lines to tally her programs. Finally, she
shook her head "I could copy a couple of them for
you. However, most of them are coded in Vulcan
symbology, and your unit doesn't have the capacity
to run them with the conversion program. I might be able
to design a program package for a larger machine,
but I'd need authorization-was She stiffened
suddenly and screamed in agony, clamping her hands
around her skull. As Norris watched in
bewilderment, Janara stumbled to the intercom and groped
for the control pad.
"Bridge. Palmer here."
"Red alert, code Alpha-One.
Emergency-in Auxiliary Control," Janara
gasped. "Armed security team. And medics."
Then she fainted.
"Well, Marg, what do you think now?" Kirk
leaned back in his chair and studied the face of his
longtime friend. Layton had never been pretty, but
her strength of character attracted attention in situations
where physical beauty would have been overlooked.
Now, in the privacy of Kirk's quarters, the
records officer's face showed the strain of the last
few days. She must be pulling double shifts trying
to keep her eye on everything, Kirk thought with a
surge of gratitude. A commanding officer could not
ask for a more loyal or dedicated officer than Marg
Layton. "Have you seen anything that would rule out any
of our suspects?"
Layton toyed with her coffee cup, watching the
bitter liquid swirl around the sides. "Nothing,
Captain. Less than nothing. What I
have seen makes things even more confusing." She gulped
down her coffee and refilled the cup from the carafe
on the worktable. "All those programs with
Tenaida's code
on them. Every time I look at one of them, I know
he's guilty. Then I look again, and it's
obvious that's exactly what I'm supposed
to think. "No person in his right mind would cobble up
such a program, and then sign his name to it. So if
Tenaida did do it, then the mind control theory is
the only possible explanation. But watching him, I
haven't seen any evidence for that, either. I'd think
he'd at least show occasional mental lapses or
momentary confusion. But I've seen nothing like that. And the
same thing with Brady-I can't find anything that would
suggest the intruder has had any mental contact
whatsoever with him."
Kirk nodded. "I've tried to keep them working with
other people as much as possible since-well, since this
started happening. And nobody else has reported
anything unusual, either."
"I've been checking the computer's work logs as you
suggested, to see if someone is stealing data from our
system to run a biofabricator. None of the crew
has suddenly increased computer usage, but
some of our guests have been fairly busy, for whatever
that's worth." Layton shrugged. "I don't have
anything for comparisons, so I don't know what is
appropriate for them. It could just mean they need the
computer time to do their jobs properly." "Has the
commissioner's wife done much with the computer?" Kirk
had to fight to keep his tone casual.
Layton thought for a moment. "Actually, no. The
only files she appears to have accessed were some
entertainment tapes."
"Damn! I was hoping she'd do something I could
trace back to her." "Then you still consider her a
suspect?"
The intercom whistled, interrupting Kirk "s
reply. He thumbed on the viewer. "Captain,
Alpha-One priority emergency in Auxiliary
Control." "On my way." Kirk raced from the
room.
Kirk arrived at Auxiliary Control just behind the
security reinforcements that Chekov had ordered. When
he saw the phaser rifles the men carried, a touch
of fear crawled down his back. He entered the room
and immediately wished he had stayed outside.
The remains of the guard who had been posted in the
room were spread across the control consoles,
and blood splattered the surrounding floor for a
ten-meter radius. Ensign Yendes's torso had
been slashed-as if by long, sharp knives-and his
throat ripped out. Kirk had dealt with death many
times in the past, but this was far more gruesome than he was
accustomed to seeing. He left quickly, and bumped
into McCoy as the doctor arrived. "Bones, can you
tell me when he died?" Kirk jerked his thumb
toward the corpse. "And also anything about the-weapon-that
did it?" McCoy looked over Kirk's shoulder
and his expression turned grim. He gulped,
nodded, and made his way to the body. Kirk walked
down the corridor a few steps and leaned against the
wall, trying to keep out of the way. Opposite him,
two crewmen were examining the floor with tricorders,
looking for any traces of blood that the murderer
might have tracked from the room. After several
minutes, McCoy joined Kirk. "He's been
dead only a few minutes, Jim. I'm
surprised Security didn't catch the killer in
the act." "That short a time?"
"Yes. How did Chekov get here so fast?"
"Someone called in an Alpha-One, but the
intercom was dead when Palmer switched back for
details. She's looking for the caller now.
What can you tell me about the killer?"
"I'll do a complete autopsy when Security
gets through recording the mess, but as a first guess,
I haven't a clue. I'm just an old country
doctor, Jim." McCoy shook his head in
bewilderment. "Those cuts are deep and clean, almost
like they'd been made with
an old-time surgeon's scalpel. But at the
same time, they're all parallel, like claw marks
from a giant cat. Though anything with claws long enough
to do that much damage would have to be one hellaciously
big monster." "I'll buy the hellacious,
Bones, but if that kind of a beast was on this ship,
we'd know it. You're going to have to tell us what the
killer really used."
"Yes, Captain." McCoy leaned against the
wall, looking grim and, for a moment, old. It had
been a long time since he had seen a man so
spread out by a murderer.
Tenaida's voice, low and questioning, came from down
the corridor. Janara Whitehorse answered him
at length and in Deltan. Kirk looked toward
them. Janara's movements were unsteady, and at first
Kirk thought Tenaida had an arm around her waist.
The captain blinked, and when he reopened his
eyes, he decided the illusion had been created
by his angle of view. Given the standard Deltan
oath of celibacy, he did not think Tenaida would
have allowed himself to become involved with Janara in the
short time they had known each other. And given
Janara's background, he thought she'd be
reluctant to trust anyone.
Janara saw the crowd in the corridor. Her
knees buckled and she slid to the floor. "They
weren't in time, were they?"
Tenaida met Kirk's questioning look. "Shan
Janara received mental images of a predatory
animal attacking the crewman in Auxiliary
Control. She insisted on reporting to you."
"You put in the Alpha-One?" Kirk asked.
Janara nodded. She slumped against the wall,
pressing her hands against her forehead. Alarmed,
McCoy passed his tricorder over the small
half-Deltan. "Blasted machine," the doctor
muttered. "Readings don't show anything wrong.
Lieutenant Whitehorse-Janara, can you hear
me?" Janara nodded again.
"What's wrong?"
"The-the body." Her whisper was hoarse. After
several seconds, she added something in a
Deltan dialect that had an unusual rhythm
to its sentences. Tenaida translated. "She says
she feels the reactions of everyone who has seen the
body. That they are too strong to block out."
Kirk looked from Janara to McCoy. "Get
her out of here, Bones. You can't do anything in there,
anyway."
McCoy helped Janara to her feet. Janara
swayed, too disoriented to keep her balance.
McCoy had to support her as they started for the
turbolift. "She's a strong telepath?" Kirk
asked. A glimmer of an idea was forming m the
back of his mind.
"Her talents are formidable, but she is largely
self-trained. Her gifts are more of a liability
than an asset."
Kirk stared at the Deltan, wondering if
Tenaida had guessed his thoughts. Before he could
pursue the matter, the intercom whistled. He reached
for the pad.
"Kirk here."
"Captain, the ship has just altered course
to 124 mark 5. And our speed is increasing to warp
eight."
"Source of change?"
"The ship's navigational controls are being
overridden from Auxiliary Control."
"All right. I'll handle it from here. Kirk out."
Angrily, he slammed his fist against the switch in
frustration.
The security team was still recording the scene in
Auxiliary Control and examining the surrounding area
for clues. Even if he had wanted to face the
mess, Kirk knew he could not risk disturbing the
evidence. Canceling the intruder's course change would
have to wait until Security finished their work.
"How soon will you be through?" Kirk asked
Chekov. "It will take us about fifteen minutes
to finish our work, Captain."
"Make it less. The spy reprogrammed the
ship's course again, and I need Brady and
Tenaida in there to undo his handiwork."
Chekov checked with his men. "They can get in here in
five minutes, if they don't mind working here before
we finish our investigation and clean all the blood
off the equipm ent."
Tenaida glanced inside the room, but his face
showed no reaction to the body. "I'll do my best not
to interfere with your work, Lieutenant." Chekov went
back inside Auxiliary Control.
Relieved to turn his back on the gruesome scene,
Kirk went to the intercom to call Brady to help
Tenaida remove the intruder's latest program
from the computer system.
As the turbolift door opened on Deck
Seven and the doctor stepped out, Janara pulled
away from McCoy's supporting arm. "I don't
need to go with you to Sickbay, Doctor. I'll go
to my quarters now."
"You're coming to Sickbay for an examination. You
almost collapsed back there, and I want to know why."
"I told you why, Doctor. Now if you don't
mind-was She stepped backward into the car, but
McCoy, anticipating her escape attempt,
stood in the door to keep it from closing.
"I most certainly do mind. I am the doctor
here, and I'll decide what you are fit to do."
Janara squared her shoulders in rigid defiance.
Before she could reply, Christine Chapel came out
of the research lab. McCoy beckoned to her.
"Lieutenant Whitehorse won't let me
examine her. How do you convince Deltans to follow
their doctor's orders?"
"Generally, Deltans don't ignore their
doctors unless they have a very keen internal
awareness." Chapel gave Janara a questioning look.
"Are you sure you're not physically injured?"
Janara gathered her strength for a reply. "I am
suffering from what is called lyr'yial. It's a
form of psychic overload, most often found among
healers who have overworked their mental powers. The stan-
dard cure is rest and meditation."
McCoy looked unconvinced. "You're not a
doctor and you can't be certain of your diagnosis.
I had to practically carry you into the elevator, and
I want to know that you aren't seriously ill. I've
never seen anything like this in all the time I've been
practicing medicine."
Chapel looked from the doctor to the small,
stubborn Deltan in the turbolift. "Well,
Doctor, if you insist, I'll sedate her, and
we can drag her into Sickbay. But I'm not sure
it will give you the answers you want. Why don't you
just require a checkup before her next duty
shift?" McCoy scowled at Janara. The small
Deltan returned the look with the patience of someone
who knew she could outwait her opponent. Finally
McCoy stepped clear of the door. "Until you
get a thorough physical, I'm logging you as
medically unfit for duty."
"Understood." Janara's voice carried an
unmistakable note of triumph. The elevator
door closed before McCoy could say anything more.
"Did you have to contradict me in front of her?"
McCoy made no effort to keep the anger out of his
voice.
"I'm sorry, Doctor." Chapel looked
neither apologetic nor particularly worried about
McCoy's temper. "You asked for my help."
Chapel's calmness was not improving his mood
any. Sometimes he wondered if he should quit
Starfleet permanently and go into veterinary medicine.
At least his patients wouldn't be able to argue with him
about proper treatment.
Chapel continued in a mild tone. "Would you like the
latest report on the Kaldorni's condition?"
"Let's have it," he said, glad for the change of
subject.
"The women in Intensive Care are stable. The
scavengers are working against the toxins, but haven't
produced major improvements yet. The lab
says they'll have a true antidote ready m
another hour. "One of the ambassador's aides just
came in with a mild case, and the lab tests show
small amounts of toxic metal complexes
in all the Kaldorni's bodies. We've started
them on the scavengers to neutralize the poisons."
"I leave you here while I handle an emergency, and
when I come back, all my problems are solved."
McCoy gave Chapel an affectionate smile.
He was lucky to have her. Her experience was greater
than many planet-bound physicians McCoy
knew, and he wondered how long it would be before she would
accept a transfer to head up her own medical
department. He glanced at his chronometer. "The
medical emergency is over, and you're not supposed
to be on duty until later. If you have something you'd
like to do ." Chapel shook her head. "I'd rather try
to help the lab finish the antidote. I haven't
had a chance to work on this type of problem since I
left Nylara." "As you wish." McCoy scowled.
"I'd prefer that to preparing for this autopsy. That
killer, whatever it was, left a gruesome mess."
With that protest made, the doctor headed for the
operating room-turnedmorgue to check his equipment.
He wanted to finish this particular autopsy as fast
as he could.
Kirk dropped into his chair and waited for the rest
of the somber group to find places around his cabin.
Brady and Tenaida took the chairs by the
worktable, while McCoy sat on the bed next
to Layton. Chekov stood by the door, poised as
if to respond to any threat. Kirk studied their
faces while they settled in. Both Brady and
Tenaida looked the way Kirk felt mentally
exhausted from trying to outthink the spy,
nervous from wondering where the intruder would strike
next, and weighted by revulsion at the gruesome
murder of the security guard. Anger was McCoy's
dominant reaction. His job was to fight death, and the
killer had given him no chance. Chekov appeared
unaffected, but Kirk knew only strict
discipline and the desire to live up to the
responsibilities of his new position kept the
security chief from looking as disturbed as the rest of the
group.
"All right, people. We need answers. Chekov,
what's your report?" "We have found almost nothing so
far, Captain. The intruder walked through the door as
if it were standing open, attacked Ensign Yendes,
reprogrammed the computer, and then walked out again.
Yendes did not fire his phaser or call for
assistance. It is as if he did not think he was in
any danger. "We have followed the killer's trail
as far as the turbolift on that level.
He took the turbolift to Deck Six, where he
got out near the recreation lounge. No one there saw
anything unusual, and we have not been able to trace him
after that."
"A pretty cool customer," Brady said.
Kirk nodded. "He isn't worried about being
noticed."
"May I suggest something, Captain?"
"What, Tenaida?"
"I could program the intercoms in the turbolift
to record the voice patterns of everyone who uses
them. Also, we could tie scanners into the intercoms
to monitor personnel movements."
Kirk scowled. Spying on his crew went against the
grain, but until they identified the intruder,
recording every movement and searching the records for
anomalies seemed their best hope of catching the
spy. "All right, Tenaida. I don't like the
idea, but I don't have a better one. When this
briefing is over, get together 145
with Commander Scott and tell him what you've got
in mind. But monitor only the heavy traffic
areas.
"By the way, why did the scanner in Auxiliary
Control let the spy get past it?"
"You're not going to like it, Captain," Brady
said. "I already don't like it. Why don't you tell
me what it is that I don't like?"
Brady and Tenaida looked at each other,
trying to decide who should answer the question. Finally
Brady spoke. "When he entered and when he left,
the scanner identified the person as Captain
James T. Kirk."
"Oh." For a moment, Kirk saw the room through a
red haze. He took two deep, slow breaths
to calm himself. When he could speak without swearing, he
said, "While you're fixing scanners, Tenaida,
fix that one, too! Mind-control theory or not, I
wasn't in Auxiliary Control. And no impostor
should be able to create a disguise that will pass a
maximum security check. So find out how the
intruder managed to trick that scanner!" "Yes,
Captain."
Layton straightened abruptly. "That's it! The
spy has finally made a mistake!" A brief
grin of triumph crossed her face. "This time, when
the intruder used the captain's identity, we know
exactly where Captain Kirk was. He was with
me, in this room, discussing our problem. This
eliminates the mind-control hypothesis because
Captain Kirk couldn't have been in Auxiliary
Control at the same time."
Brady heaved a sigh of relief. "That means
none of us is a suspect anymore." "Or at
least it substantially reduces the probability that
any of us is guilty." Tenaida also sounded
relieved.
"How good was the intruder's disguise?" Kirk
asked. "Have you run an identity check on the
scanner images?"
Brady nodded. "About 80 percent. Similar
to the original recordings. The intruder must have a
pretty sophisticated setup to be able to produce
disguises that consistently score that high a
correspondence. I don't know how he's managing
to hide his power and materials consumption from our
computer searches."
"Keep after it. Something has to break soon."
Kirk turned to McCoy. "Doctor, what did
your autopsy show?"
"Not a lot we didn't already know." McCoy
scowled and tried to avoid meeting the captain's
look.
"Yes?" Kirk prompted.
"The body appeared to have been mauled by a
large animal-a saber-toothed cat or something
similar. But I examined those slash marks very
closely. They were too clean to have been made by any
animal I've ever heard of. Also, the lab found
traces of a strong, fast-acting neurotoxin in the
body. Apparently, it was injected with the first
attack. It would have paralyzed Yendes before he could
respond to the murderer."
"Dr. McCoy, are you saying the killer was or
was not a predatory animal?" Brady asked.
"I don't know what the killer was, Mr.
Brady. But those "claws" were too sharp for any
animal recorded in our library banks. The
cuts were clean enough to have been made with a scalpel."
"Doctor, is that all your autopsy turned
up?" Kirk struggled to keep the disappointment out of
his voice. He had hoped McCoy would find something
definite.
""Frail so, Captain. There wasn't a lot
left to look at. Kirk grimaced, remembering
what the body had looked like. Pushing that thought away,
he turned to his science officer. "Tenaida, what
about the latest course-changing program?"
"The content and programming method resemble the
other course-change program. Also, the
coordinates put us in the same region as the
previous 147
changes. I had the computer extrapolate the
most likely destinations, but there wasn't any
significant change over the last projection."
"That in itself is significant, isn't it?"
"Probably. But that doesn't give us any
useful information."
"No useful information!" McCoy's pale eyes
flashed with anger. "The science officer's job is
to come up with useful information. Dammit, that thing's
killing our people, and you take as long as that pointy-eared
Vulcan to reach a conclusion!"
"Enough, Bones. Tenaida is working as hard as
anyone to settle this. Does anyone else have a
suggestion?" Kirk looked around, but no one said
anything. "Tenaida, what's your progress on
keeping the intruder out of our computers?"
"I was working on a double-code entry to restrict
access to the system when the spy broke
into Auxiliary Control. After seeing that, I would
recommend more stringent controls than we originally
discussed."
"What do you have in mind?"
"That you block all access to the ship's
computers. Clear each person for only those
programs needed for the work."
Kirk nodded. "That might do it. But how do we
sell it. "Could we say there's a malfunction in the
computer's junction processor? That we've lost
primary connections to the working memory until
repairs are completed?" Brady's voice,
uncertain at first, lost its tentative tone as the
idea solidified. "We could say we're
relocating programs into storage sectors that
aren't affected by the problem and rerouting the access
linkages to accommodate the difficulty."
Kirk turned the idea over in his mind, looking
for objections. "It's plausible. I don't think
the majority of the crew will argue with it. And we can still
use the double-code system to control access to the
programs we release."
"We can say the codes are to keep people from
overrunning their allotted memory blocks. Then
if the intruder still gets into the computer, we'll know a
lot more about how he's doing it." Brady's voice
carried a note of grim satisfaction.
"I'll incorporate a tracer into the double-code
program so we can detect anyone trying to break
into the system," Tenaida added. "Do it,"
Kirk ordered. "I'll make the announcement
immediately restricted computer access until further
notice. The crew can report to you to get their
programs cleared. Can you get the double-code
system operating in an hour?"
"Yes."
Kirk looked around to see if anyone had anything
more to say. "Unless there's something else, this briefing
is over." He paused, looking at Chekov.
"By the way, Mr. Chekov, you'd better double the
guards on all posts."
"I have already done so, Captain. I will also have my
people work in pairs or groups until we capture the
thing that murdered Ensign Yendes." "Good thinking.
We don't want to lose anyone else."
"No, sir. And my people want very much to capture
this killer." "Good. Let's hope they find him
soon, Mr. Chekov." Kirk turned to his
science officer. "Lieutenant Tenaida, could I
talk to you for a minute? The rest of you may return
to your posts."
McCoy, Brady, Layton, and Chekov
left the room as Tenaida waited patiently for the
captain's question.
"Tenaida, I want your reaction to a
wild suggestion."
"Yes, Captain?"
"You said Janara Whitehorse was an
exceptionally strong telepath. Could she identify the
spy if she were in the same room with him?" "I
don't know. She has received images of a preda-

for stalking the ship's corridors since the first
night our passengers were aboard. However, her
talents are erratic and not always subject to her
control."
"Would she try to locate the intruder if I
asked her to?" "Captain, I cannot speak for Shan
Janara on so personal a matter." His face
went expressionless with tension, his dark eyebrows forming
harsh lines across his smooth olive skin.
"Speculate," Kirk countered.
"Most telepaths prefer not to sense other minds.
A deliberate search for the spy would mean intruding
on every other mind in the area."
Kirk frowned, puzzled. Like most
nontelepaths, he had little understanding of how
mind-to-mind communication worked. His only direct
exposure to such things was the few times Spock had
mind-melded with him. Other forms of
telepathy, such as the Deltans" ability
to exchange images or the wild-card human
abilities such as those possessed by Dr. Miranda
Jones, were outside his personal experience.
"Explain?"
"We've assumed the spy is either on Commissioner
Montoya's negotiating team or in
Ambassador Klee's party. To find one guilty
individual in either of those groups means there is a
large probability of invading the privacy of a
number of innocent people."
"Then you think Lieutenant Whitehorse would
resist a request to help us find the spy?"
"I cannot say. She has been greatly disturbed
by the images she has received. She might agree
to assist you because of Ensign Yendes' murder.
However, I can't predict her answer."
Kirk allowed himself a frustrated sigh.
"Thanks, Tenaida. You'd better get to work on
the double-code program." He pushed himself up out of
his chair. Then, "But wait, Tenaida . . ." as
a sudden thought sent him back to the intercom.
"Palmer, have Lieutenant Chekov send a
pair of armed security guards to my quarters."
"Aye, aye, sir." Palmer's
voice sounded frazzled. Kirk could almost hear her
thought Where are we going to find two more security people
who haven't already pulled double shifts?
"I don't want our friend attacking you while
you're working to keep him out of the computer," Kirk
told Tenaida as they waited for the guards to arrive.
"So far, the only thing he's been consistent about is
catching someone who's alone."
The Deltan nodded. "A wise precaution,
since he will know where to find me for some time."
"Unavoidable, I'm afraid. Our people have to use
the computer, and the intruder will want in just as badly.
The guards should prevent him from trying anything
drastic."
"Agreed, Captain."
Kirk instructed the guards that they were not to let
Tenaida out of their sight for any reason. He had
no desire to see the Deltan meet the same
fate as the guard in Auxiliary Control.
After Tenaida had left, Kirk activated his
computer. "Assistant. Evaluate the
probability that a telepathic search would be able
to locate the intruder aboard this ship."
"Insufficient information."
"What information do you require to answer
the question?" "Nature of intruder, including race,
psychic abilities, mental training, physical
condition, and motivation."
"If I knew all that, I wouldn't need a
telepath to find him." "Also require parameters
describing nature of search, including safeguards
required by Federation law to protect the innocent."
"Safeguards?"
"Federation Code, Section 175, Subsection
B (mental Privacy) The right to mental
privacy is an inalienable right of all Federation
citizens and shall not be abrogated without due process
of law.
"Section 183, Subsection A (searches and
Seizures), Paragraph 5 No law enforcement
agent or other person acting in the capacity of a
law enforce- ment agent shall invade or cause to be
invaded the mental privacy of any Federation
citizen or any other sentient being without first having
proved reasonable suspicion before a Federation
Justice of the Courts or planetary official
serving in a similar capacity."
Kirk drummed his fingers on the desktop,
wondering how long it would take the computer to get to the
point. Obviously, a Vulcan had
written this part of the Federation Code. And a Vulcan
wrote the program that's interpreting it, he
reminded himself.
Oblivious to Kirk's impatience, the computer
continued, "Paragraph 6 No law enforcement
agent or other person acting in the capacity of a
law enforce- ment agent shall invade or cause to be
invaded the mental privacy of any innocent
Federation citizen or other sentient being while in
pursuit of suspects for whom a search warrant
has been obtained under the provisions of Section
183, Subsection A, Paragraph 5.
"Section 243, Subsection A (telepath's
Rights), Paragraph 1 No law enforcement agent
or other person acting in the capacity of a law
enforcement agent shall compel any telepath to use his or
her telepathic gifts against his or her will for any
reason.
"Paragraph 2 No law enforcement agent or
other person acting in the capacity of a law enforcement
agent shall compel any telepath to invade the mental
privacy of any Federation citizen or any other
sentient being for any purpose, including justifiable
searches as defined under the provisions of Section
183, Subsection A, Paragraph
5."
"Enough!" Kirk scowled in exasperation. Trust
a Vulcan to write a program with a fascination for
reciting the entire Federation Code! "I just
wanted an answer to a simple question."
"There are fifteen other references in the Federation
Code that pertain to the question you asked"
"That's all right. Cancel request. I seriously
doubt that listening to the Federation Code is going
to catch a murderer for me." Kirk reached for his
coffee cup and settled back in his chair to do some
hard thinking. What clues would Hercule Poirot
need to solve this murder? How would Sherlock
Holmes unravel this case? And without their
all-too-fictional help, how was he, Captain
James T. Kirk, going to catch the spy that had
invaded his ship?
JOACHIM MONTOYA stormed around the work area
of his quarters, ventin g his fury in a string of
colorful oaths that threatened to corrode the
bulkheads. Zayle and Vreblin moved their chairs
closer to the walls to keep out of the commissioner's way
until his temper cooled. Norris, sitting behind the
table, ignored Montoya's outburst and continued
to run his dispatches through her computer. In the
adjacent sleeping area, Simons feigned sleep
and watched the scene through barely open eyes.
Montoya picked up a compact datapad from the
table and shook it violently. "I ask you-would I
say this?" he demanded of the room at large. was
"These events have shown the Kaldorni ambassador
to be an arrogant and obstinate individual with no
intention of negotiating any binding agreement with the
Federation or with the Beystohn Planets. I therefore
conclude we have no option but to terminate these
discussions forthwith." Would I say that? Just because we've
had a temporary misunderstanding?" His face flushed a
deep red. "So who the hell sent that message,
anyway?" Norris retrieved the datapad from
Montoya. In two-column format, it showed two
versions of
Montoya's morning dispatch to his supervisor.
One column was a copy of the dispatch he had
recorded and given to Simons to carry to the
Enterprise's communications officer. The report
summarized the difficulties they were having, but
emphasized Montoya's conviction that the
negotiations would resume shortly. Privately,
Norris thought Montoya's optimism was
premature, but she also knew that his
unflagging determination that negotiations would succeed had
brought worse fiascoes to acceptable conclusions. His
anger was as much at the suggestion of quitting before he
had explored every option for reopening negotiations as it
was at having his dispatches rewritten. Norris
read the altered dispatch again. It presented the same
facts, but interpreted them much differently. The
atypical conclusions of the counterfeit had alerted
Montoya's superior, and he had asked for
confirmation of the message. When the second
transmission did not agree with the first, he sent
Montoya copies of both dispatches. After almost
blowing out the bulkheads when he first read the forgery,
Montoya had cooled down enough to call his aides
together before his temper again approached the flash point.
"Joachim, who handled the tape besides yourself?"
Norris asked. Montoya whirled to face her, his
body taut with anger. Then her question registered, and
he froze in the center of the room. His forehead
wrinkled in concentration. "I wrote the report after
breakfast. Then we were scheduled to discuss your
transcript analysis, so I asked Cecilia
to take the tape to the communications officer." He
spun around and crossed to the room divider in three
quick strides. "Cecilia, what did you do
with that tape after I left?"
Simons stirred and raised her head, blinking as
if just awakened. "What, Yonnie?" she asked in
a drowsy voice.
"The computer tape with my dispatches. The one I
gave you this morning. Tell me everything you did from the
time I gave it to you until you sent it off." "It was
right there on the desk." She covered her mouth
to stifle a yawn. "I left it there while I
took my shower and got dressed, then I took it with
me when I went to breakfast. After that, I went to the
bridge and had the communications officer send it off.
Is anything wrong?" "Yes, something's wrong! The
message Rayleigh received is not the one I
recorded."
"I don't see how that could be." A bewildered
frown creased Simons" forehead. "The tape was in
our quarters or with me the whole time. Unless-was Her
eyes widened. "You don't suppose someone
slipped in here while I was in the shower, do you?"
Norris watched Simons, feeling a prickle
of suspicion grow as the woman talked.
Simons' act was good-very good-but it didn't ring
true. She's lying, Norris thought. Her story
doesn't fit.
"I have no idea!" Montoya's temper was again
approaching its eruption point. "But I didn't
record that damned message!" He whirled to face
Norris. "What does your computer say about the
tape?"
"I think it was altered." Norris tried to sound
as uncertain as she dared. "With your permission, I'd
like to see if the ship's cryptography banks have a
program that can confirm my suspicions."
"Do it!"
Norris pulled the tape from the computer, grabbed
the datapad, and hurried out the door. She knew that
Montoya had been using the new Kreylor
multilevel tapes, which retained everything recorded
on them until they were purged by a special command.
If someone tried to erase or write over data
without the command, the information was dumped to a storage
level. Norris' computer showed two generations of
tampering, but she did not want to discuss her findings
with Simons in the room. Also, to decode the
inactive blocks, she needed the Enterprise's
multichannel analyzer. She could identify a
copy of Montoya's original dispatch on one of the
tracks, but her machine was not powerful enough to disentangle
the layered messages on the rest of the
tape.
Janara Whitehorse mapped imaginary mountain
ranges across the ceiling over her bed. As a
meditation exercise, it would not win approval with her
Deltan instructors, but four boretelpn tablets
prevented her from achieving a proper trance. However,
the horror and revulsion she still received as the aftermath
of the security guard's murder disturbed her much more
than the drug-induced mental numbness.
The boretelin allowed her body to rest, but it
inhibited the meditation her mind craved. She had
been floating in the borderland between waking and dreaming for
some time when a knock on the door roused her. "Who
is it?" Her words sounded as blurry as she felt.
"Kristiann Norris. Would you mind talking
to me?" Janara levered herself into a sitting position,
shaking her head to clear away the fog. "Come," she
said to signal the computer. It unlocked the door and
Norris entered.
"I hope I'm not interrupting you, but you were so
helpful earlier, and I have another problem my
computer can't handle. I'll go away if you're
busy, but I thought instead of bothering the captain,
I'd at least ask you first. Unless you're not feeling
up to it . . . after what happened."
"What-his Oh, that." Janara had difficulty
following Norris' rapid changes of subject.
"Something attacked a security guard in
Auxiliary Control. I heard his mental screams
when the assailant struck." Janara closed her
eyes for a moment, fighting to suppress the memory.
"It happens sometimes."
"I heard about the attack. The officers are
trying to keep it quiet, but everyone is talking just the
same. It sounded pretty gruesome." "Rather,"
Janara agreed in a dry tone. "As for the computer
work, you'll have to talk with the captainor at least Shan
Tenaida-anyway. They've put a lock on the
computer and are releasing programs on an
individual basis .... They'll probably
require someone from the ship to do the work for you. Why
don't you explain your problem, just in case?"
Norris outlined what she needed. As she listened,
Janara noticed how many sensitive details
Norris omitted while still covering the
significant facts. To Janara's particular
amusement, Norris projected her distrust of
Montoya's wife without mentioning Simons' name.
Someday, Janara decided, her ability to convey a
message by implication would earn Norris
an important position. "I think this should go
straight to the captain in private," Janara said
when Norris finished. "Shan Tenaida is clearing
programs for the crew, but you don't want to explain
this where everyone on the ship will hear you. Also, you'll
need Captain Kirk's authorization before you can touch
the programs you need."
She activated the intercom. Uhura answered
her. "Where's Captain Kirk?" Janara asked.
"I need his authorization for a program clearance."
"He's here on the bridge. You can talk to him
now."
Norris shook her head emphatically. Janara
nodded her understanding and asked Uhura, "Could he
meet me in my quarters? It's extremely
sensitive." The intercom went silent. A few
seconds later, Kirk reopened the channel.
"Lieutenant, would you explain yourself a little more
clearly?" Kirk's voice held a dangerous
edge. In the best of times, he disliked mysteries and,
at the moment, he already had several months' worth.
Janara picked her words carefully. "Miss
Norris has requested further assistance from the
Enterprise's
computers. An altered message was sent
through the ship's communications system. I thought you should
know."
"Thank you. I'll be down immediately."
Less than two minutes later, Kirk
barreled into Janara's quarters. His face had a
deadly serious cast, and he questioned Norris until
he had learned everything she knew.
"What I'm going to tell you now," he said, staring
at each woman in turn, "is not to go outside this
room. I'm telling you because you've guessed part of it
already, and I don't want you discussing your
speculations with anyone. Is that clear?"
Both women nodded.
"There's a spy on the ship who's been disrupting
our operations and who may be trying to sabotage the
negotiations. Those dispatches, Kris, are the first
direct evidence linking the spy to your mission.
I'll have to keep the tape after Tenaida analyzes
it."
"I'll need Commissioner Montoya's permission
for that. His dispatches are restricted communications."
"Anything that goes through the communications system of
my ship is my business-especially when it's been
altered. Tell the commissioner that, then bring the tape
to the bridge."
"Right away." Norris collected the tape and
her datapad, and left to find Montoya.
Kirk paced the length of the room. Now that he had
a chance to speak with Janara, he was unsure how
to make his request. "Lieutenant Whitehorse,
Lieutenant Tenaida sa ys you are a strong
telepath. I was wondering-that is, I wanted to ask
if you would use your ability to help us identify the
spy." Janara closed her eyes, fighting panic.
The thought of closer contact with the being that had killed
Yendes terrified her. "Shan Tenaida must also have
told you most telepaths don't enjoy looking
into other people's minds." Kirk nodded.
She watched the subtle play of his facial
muscles, seeking a measure of his desperation.
"I'll consider it, Captain, but it's not something I
will do willingly if there are any alternatives."
"Very well, Lieutenant. I'll remember that.
However, in return, will you consider the damage the
spy could cause if we don't catch him immediately?"
"Yes, sir." Even in her bleary state, the
elegance of Kirk's trap impressed her. If
she refused to help catch the spy, she opened herself
to the horrors of his next attack. Whether or not
she agreed to Kirk's request, her
mental tranquility would be compromised.
Taking her silence as a refusal, Kirk
strode from the room, grateful the trip to the bridge
allowed him to release some of his frustration. He could
order Janara to use her abilities to search for the
spy, but if she refused, any action he took
against her insubordination would only intensify her
determination to resist.
Federation law would support her refusal, even
if Kirk's motive was to save lives. Since
he had no viable options, Kirk found himself hoping
that Janara would agree before he resorted to issuing a
direct order. If Janara thought about the situation,
perhaps she would see that they had no choice. As the
door closed, Janara slumped against her pillows.
She needed rest more than ever, but the events of the last
hour had given her much to think about. Also, she had
to get her programs cleared so she could continue with the
Shansar problem. Dr. McCoy had declared her
unfit for duty, but she did not plan to let that
interfere with solving the troublesome equations. But before she
could finish organizing her evening's activities,
Janara was asleep.
n'Gelen 1'Stror Klee sat cross-legged
on the floor of his cabin, contemplating the
Representation of the Unities. He had placed it
on the wall, establishing this space as their Fortress
of Life, when he and his wives 160
had first entered the rooms. Symbolizing the spiritual
dimension of Kaldorni life, each family's
Representation was unique, created by the head of the
clan-its form visualized after the weeks of ritual
purification and fasting that the World's-Center Rite
comprised. Klee's Representation, an abstract
design of reds, rose-pinks, and brownish black,
served as the meditational focus for him and the extended
family that looked to him for both spiritual and secular
guidance. Every member could recite the vision that had
revealed the Representation to Klee, and all had
committed to memory the significance of each shape and
color.
Klee shifted position restlessly. He was unable
to enter the flow of the Universal Harmonies as
meditation before the Representation should have allowed. The
disharmonies of this mission were multiplying, the
wrongness expanding to engulf his family and his world.
His eldest wife knelt beside him. "You are not in
Harmony with the Universe today." Her voice was low
and sweet.
"I am not. Discord exists because I have
failed to protect those under my care. My grave
error is affecting the success of my mission and the
fate of our planet. I must atone for it, but I
cannot see the beginning of the discordance." He raised his
right shoulder, held the gesture for several seconds.
"How can one restore the Harmonies if the origins
of the Discord are not known?"
She rested her hand against his cheek. "Redress
those discordances you see now. Later, other
Disharmonies may be revealed, and those may be
corrected then. Where no reparations are made, the
Discord spreads until no remedy is possible."
He took her hand in his, stroking it while he
assessed her words. "You are most wise, Eldest
Wife. I thank the Universe that you are not among
the ones to 161
be taken from me." He tightened his fingers around
hers. "It is not that I would fight against the
Way-ofThings, but how I dread what I must do."
She touched her forehead to the floor, accepting her
duty. "We will prepare for the ceremony. Go now and
do what you must."
Joachim Montoya raged through his quarters,
taking target practice at the furniture with
stray pieces of clothing. The temper
tantrum did not improve the situation, but it was a
small outlet for his fury. His mood had
deteriorated when Norris had requested permission
to leave the altered dispatch tape with Captain
Kirk.
"Oh, Yonnie, I feel so terrible."
Simons' voice caught in her throat, trembling
as if she were about to cry. "I can't believe someone
would change your dispatches while I was taking my
shower." When he looked in her direction, she
shifted position to emphasize the full silhouette
of her breasts, but tears were gathering in her eyes.
"I feel so guilty." With an effort, Montoya
put a rein on his temper. He went to the bed and
took her in his arms. "It isn't your fault. It
would have taken a professional to do it without being
caught."
She burrowed her head against his shoulder.
Montoya felt his desire starting to build as she
pressed her body against his. It would be so easy,
he thought, to forget his problems and spend the afternoon
pleasing his wife. Simons gave him a look
calculated to arouse Methuselah. "I was afraid
you were mad at me for letting it happen."
"Of course not." He felt strangely
detached, as if his physical reactions belonged
to another man. Something teased his mind. First his
anger, and now the lust Simons engendered, threatened
to send it back into his subconscious. Her fingers
traced molten patterns across his chest and her lips
left fiery brands 162
along his collarbone. The tide of lust threatened
to drown him-and the half-formed idea snapped
into focus Cecilia was trying to distract him. Her
approach was plausible enough to work, but Montoya
survived by his ability to penetrate fagades.
A diplomat could not allow anyone, even his wife,
to interfere with his job.
Nor did Montoya believe in coincidences.
And the attempted seduction while he was still furious
over the forged dispatches was a startling coincidence.
He grasped Simons by the shoulders and pushed her
away. "I'm going for a walk. I want to sort this
out, and I won't be very good company until I do."
"If you must." She again sounded ready to cry. "I
must." He was through the door before she could stop him.
Montoya found Captain Kirk on the bridge.
He had just finished his shift and was turning the conn
over to the second officer. "Commissioner Montoya,
what can I do for you?" Kirk's voice was
almost cheerful, reflecting his satisfaction with the
uneventfulness of his afternoon.
"I was hoping you could answer some questions for me,
Captain." Montoya shifted his weight from one
foot to the other, unable to hide his uneasiness. "My
aide told you about my dispatches."
Kirk nodded, waiting for Montoya to get to the
point. "Could you tell me what time they were sent?"
Kirk turned to the communications officer. "Mr.
Laysa, would you-was "Aye, aye, sir," she
answered before Kirk completed the order. "What
else can we do for you, Commissioner?"
"I'd like the answer to that question first."
"Twelve thirty-six," Laysa said.
Montoya did a double take. That was almost four
hours after he had given the tape to Cecilia. "I
believe, Captain, I need some other questions
answered." He
ran a hand through his graying hair. "I gave the
dispatches to Cecilia about eight thirty. She said
she took a shower before she came to the bridge. Can you
verify her story?"
"Lieutenant, check the power usage logs for the
commissioner's quarters and see how long the shower was
running."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Was there anything else you needed?"
"If it's not too personal, I wanted to ask
when and where you knew my wife." At Kirk's
frown, he hastened to add, "I don't mean to pry
into your personal life, Captain. I am
merely-as Kris Norris would put it-playing a
hunch. I don't mean to offend."
After a moment, Kirk went to an unoccupied station
and retrieved the log of the Aeolus. He recorded
the data and handed the tape to Montoya. "That should
answer your questions. Anything else I told you would be
too subjective to be of value." With that, Kirk
strode off the bridge, leaving Montoya to stare at
his receding back. Tenaida and Brady exchanged
worried looks, wondering at the change in
Kirk's mood. A moment later, Montoya
left to find a quiet place to view Kirk's
log extract.
By midafternoon, the antidote had relieved the
Kaldorni's symptoms, and McCoy released the
women from Sickbay. Normally, he would have kept his
patients under observation for another day, but he felt
they would recuperate faster among their own people. Also,
in spite of the thermal blankets, the women
found the temperature in Sickbay uncomfortably
cool. However, McCoy was reluctant to set the
environmental controls any higher because his staff
didn't appreciate the tropical heat.
Ambassador Klee arrived at McCoy's
office five minutes after the doctor had released
Klee's wives.
Klee shifted his weight from one foot to the other,
waiting for the doctor to speak first.
McCoy pushed aside his notes on the
autopsy and motioned Klee to sit down. "What can
I do for you, Mr. Ambassador?"
"I would ask if the Doctor McCoy would
honor this humble servant by sharing food with him and those
that dwell with him. The honored Captain Kirk is
also to be invited. It is desirable to express
thankfulness for what you have done to save my people. Also,
I would be less than I already am if I failed
to expunge my debt to you in the manner of my people."
"Mr. Ambassador, you don't need to thank me.
I'm just glad we solved the problem so quickly."
"It would be a great privilege if the doctor
and the captain would allow this humble servant
to acknowledge the debt that is between us." "Then we'd be
delighted to accept the invitation. What time
do you want us there?"
"My eldest wife indicated she would be prepared
for the honored guests at 1900."
"We'll be there."
Klee stood. "If the doctor would excuse
me, my wives have need of my presence to prepare
for the ceremony."
"Of course, Mr. Ambassador." McCoy
called up the file for his autopsy report.
Klee's words did not register for several
seconds. "Ceremony? What ceremony?" He
looked up from the screen, but Klee had already left.
McCoy sighed in exasperation, but decided the
answer could wait. If he and Kirk had needed
to make special preparations, the Kaldorni would have
told him. He picked up his notes, hoping
to finish the report before he went off duty. He had
added two paragraphs when a voice interrupted
him. "Doctor, do you have a few moments? I need
to talk to you."
McCoy scowled at the interruption, then felt
all 165
thoughts of work leave him when he recognized the
woman in the doorway. "Come in, Cecilia."
He smiled and pointed at the empty
chair. Simons closed the door behind her. "I'm
not interrupting anything, am I?" "Just paperwork.
Having it interrupted is a relief. What can I
do for you?" McCoy put the computer on standby.
Simons melted into the chair. "Captain Kirk
ordered me to stay away from Janie. I wanted
to know why he would do that."
Watching the play of staged emotions flicker across
Simons' face, McCoy realized that she would
never accept the captain's restrictions, and the
doctor wondered if anything he could say would
convince her to obey Kirk's order. "Medically,
there's no reason she can't see you." Other than a
mild concussion and assorted scrapes and bruises,
McCoy thought. "However, she's been working too
hard, and I ordered her to get some rest. It sounds
like the captain extended that to exclude visitors."
He shrugged. "You'd have to ask him. We haven't
discussed the matter."
"I thought he would have confided in you."
McCoy struggled against the grin that quirked the
corners of his mouth. Simons' probing was far from
subtle. "The captain is under no obligation
to explain himself to me. If you want to know his
reasons, you'll have to ask him."
"I was hoping you could help me, Leonard.
Captain Kirk and I aren't communicating very
well." Simons sighed, and her expression became
a study of bewildered motherhood. "I know my
daughter and I don't get along the way we should,
but I do try. It's just that, for as long as I can
remember, she's gone out of her way to be as
difficult as possible."
McCoy felt himself sliding into the aura of
plausibility Simons was weaving. He caught
himself, swallowed the words of sympathy he had almost
spoken, and framed a more rational response. "Your
daughter 166
is an adult. She has the right to live her own
life. What you see as willfulness is how she
defends her choices."
"The Deltans are giving her no choice.
They're forcing her back to that planet so they can
brainwash her. Freedom has no place in how
they live. Everything is dictated by clan,
family, tradition, and duty." Simons gave a
short, bitter laugh. "Where's individual
freedom in that?" McCoy shook his head. "The
Deltan way of life is old and complex. It
may seem easy to some outsiders, but I
know it isn't, even for those born to it. However,
Delta Four has produced many scientists and
philosophers whose achievements are honored throughout
the Federation. A culture that produces such people can't
be all bad." He let that argument sink in, then
tried a different tack. "Have you considered this? On
the Enterprise, your daughter encounters more different
races and lifestyles in a week than many people see
in a lifetime. However she makes her decisions,
she doesn't lack information."
Simons' face darkened with anger. "That's not
what I was worried about, Doctor. But I'll
think about it anyway." She shoved herself out of the chair
and stalked from the room.
McCoy slumped in his chair, suddenly feeling
his age. He was getting too old to handle spoiled
passengers with gossamer diplomacy. And,
especially, he was getting too old to deal with women
who made him feel like the king of the universe one
minute and a useless fool the next. A veterinary
practice on a remote agricultural station was
sounding more and more attractive. McCoy grimaced,
realizing that fantasy would not finish the work he had in
front of him. With a sigh, he reactivated the
computer and returned to the autopsy
report.
Commissioner Montoya sat at attention. He
gripped the edge of Captain Kirk's worktable,
resisting the urge to prowl the perimeter of the room.
Kirk, 167
his hands resting on a noteboard, sat behind the table
with his Deltan science officer hovering at his shoulder
like a bodyguard. Montoya had not expected the
scientist; he had braced himself to confront the first
officer's boyish exuberance, but Brady's duties
had kept him elsewhere. Montoya broke the
silence. "I read through the records from the Aeolus
that you gave me, Captain Kirk. You were the
victim of some pretty bad luck." Kirk
shrugged, pretending a casualness he was far from
feeling. Montoya's opening told him that the
commissioner would not readily accept any criticism
of Simons. "The bad luck was too convenient for
my taste. Such things are rarely accidental."
"I don't believe in coincidence either,
Captain, but I would hesitate to condemn anyone
on such flimsy evidence." After reading the report,
Montoya felt Kirk had not handled the situation
well, and that the illness he had blamed on Simons
was obviously a cover for his own
incompetence. Kirk sensed the strength of the
commissioner's skepticism. He shoved the
noteboard across the table. "In any case,
Tenaida translated your tape. If I were you,
I'd watch whom I let near my dispatches. The
next person might recognize your Kreylor
multilevel tapes and purge the storage blocks
when they rewrite the message."
"I beg your pardon?" The change of subject
caught Montoya off-guard. "Mr. Commissioner,"
Tenaida said, "if you will look at the analysis,
you will see what the captain means. I believe the
third level on the tape contains your original
dispatch."
Montoya skimmed the text and nodded to confirm the
Deltan's statement. "That was replaced by a
second message. This one reported the same
facts, but interpreted them differently, which made
terminating the discussions the only reasonable option."
Montoya identified the forged message and nodded
again. "Now we come to the interesting part of that block.
Following your dispatch is a second report. Because
the Enterprise's computer had to send it, we've
determined the transmission vectors for the message.
However, we have not yet decoded the text,
and we may not be able to. It appears to be in a
moving-cipher code that requires knowledge of both the
substitution tables and the frequency with which they are
shifted. The third unit on that level is a
program to erase the memory tape and restore the
text of your dispatch, which was saved in the overwrite
program. The surface track is, of course, the
copy of your original message."
"And this reprogramming was done while Cecilia
was in the shower." Montoya stared at Kirk; his
voice was heavy with skepticism. "Someone took a
long shower this morning, using as much shower time as most
crew members use in a week. Furthermore, the
computer in your quarters was used for about two hours, but
it wasn't tied into the ship's memory, and everything was
erased before the unit was turned off." Kirk ran a
hand through his hair, looking for a way past
Montoya's disbelief. He could see the
commissioner's hostility etched in the harsh lines around
his mouth, and he knew Montoya would reject
everything he said if Kirk accused Simons
directly. "The computer usage time is consistent with
someone writing and recording a program, then dumping
the working files. But your wife would have known if someone
used your computer. She wasn't in the shower
that long."
"What are you implying, Captain?" A deadly
edge crept into Montoya's voice. "One of two
things, Mr. Commissioner. Either your wife lied about the
shower and rewrote your dispatches herself, or the person
using your computer was someone she expected there."
"I was with my aides all morning. No one
else should have been in my quarters."
"In the last few days, we've had trouble with some
of the ship's personnel appearing to be in two
places at once."
"I'll ask Cecilia, then. That would explain
things."
"A logical question, Captain. If I may?"
"Yes, Tenaida?"
"How would someone know when to come to the commissioner's
quarters to rewrite the dispatches?"
Kirk rubbed the back of his neck, trying
to loosen the tensed muscles. "An excellent
point, Tenaida. Do you have any ideas, Commissioner
Montoya?" "None, Captain. No one should have
known."
"That doesn't change the fact that someone did.
Tenaida, can we prevent an encore?"
Tenaida leaned forward, concentrating on
Kirk's words and trying to guess what the captain was
implying. "I think we can catch anyone who tries
it again. However, it will require some thought. I must be
certain I have anticipated all
possibilities."
"Good. Consider that a top priority." Kirk
turned to Montoya. "Commissioner, until we
catch this spy, I would feel better if you would
allow me to assign some of my security personnel
to personally protect you and your wife." Montoya
stared at Kirk in amazement. "You want your people
to follow me and my wife everywhere we go?" He
shook his head. "That is totally unacceptable,
Captain. I will not be kept under surveillance as
if I were the guilty party. Your guards will serve
both of us better by trying to capture the real
criminal."
"As you wish, Commissioner. However, may I ask
that you-and only you-handle your dispatches until we
catch the spy? And, please, don't discuss this with
anyone. Not even your wife, since your quarters
may be monitored." "Bugged? I want something
done about it at once!" Kirk shook his head.
"Knowing the spy may be
watching your quarters is to our
advantage. When we figure out how to trap him,
we'll use the bug against him. If we look for it
now, he'll know we're suspicious."
Anger and reluctance chased each other across
Montoya's face. "I suppose you're right,
Captain. If that's the best you can offer, I've
got work to do."
"I'm sorry we don't have instant solutions,
Commissioner, but catching spies is not what we're
trained for. We're doing the best we can."
"I understand, Captain." Montoya's tone was
laced with suspicion. He rose and headed for the
door with quick, angry strides. "He did not
believe you," Tenaida said after the door closed behind
Montoya. "No, he thinks we're hiding something.
And he's convinced that I'm making unjust accusations
against his wife." Kirk sighed, feeling his frustration
winding into a hard knot in his stomach. "Tenaida,
how do you manage it? This business has got me
tied up tighter than a Mertrovia'an's tail in
mating season, and you're as calm and unperturbed as
ever."
The Deltan circled the table and sat in the chair
Montoya had vacated. "Perhaps it is my mental
training. From earliest childhood, we of
Delta are trained to channel our emotions so they will
not disturb us when we cannot act upon them."
"I wish I had some of that training right now."
"It would take years to master, Captain.
However, there is a simple technique you could try.
Think of yourself as a rock, and the annoyances as the
rain. The rain flows over the rock and is absorbed
by the soil. When the storm passes, the water is
gone, but the rock is still there." "A rock in the
rain. I like that." Kirk closed his eyes for a moment
and focused on the image. Some of his tension seemed
to slide away. He would have preferred seeing the spy
confined to the brig, but Tenaida's image seemed
to help. "Back to business.
What's the probability that Simons altered the
dispatches?" "Eighty-seven-point-three percent,
assuming she does not know the spy we are looking
for."
"And if she does?"
"In that case, she either altered the tape, or
knew with certainty that it was altered."
"Could she be Admiral Chen's spy,
Tenaida?"
"I think not. Her records show no unusual
abilities of the kind we have postulated that
the spy must possess. In particular, she shows no
technical skills of the level required for
advanced biocosmetic work. Also, I have traced
her activities, albeit with difficulty, for most
of her life. Someone apparently has taken great
pains to hide the computer records of Simons'
movements, which tactic would require a thorough knowledge of
computer programming.
"When the records are deciphered, they show that many
interesting coincidences follow her, but I find no
pattern of direct action-especially not direct,
violent action. Certainly, her records show no
correlations to events like Ensign Yendes'
murder."
Kirk snorted. "We could argue that, Tenaida.
However, what was that you said about computer programming?
Anything like the examples showing up on our computer
lately?"
"That connection never occurred to me." Tenaida
looked stunned at having overlooked something so
obvious. "I'll look into it immediately. Captain,
may I ask what was on the tape you gave
Commissioner Montoya?" "Extract from the log of the
Aeolus. If you've been tracing Simons, you
know which one."
"Indeed. If you'll excuse me, I have work
to do."
"Of course, Tenaida. Oh, by the way, don't
work too hard to catch the person who's messing with the
commissioner's dispatches. If we give Simons enough
rope, I'm sure she'll hang herself. His
"I beg your pardon?"
"An old human expression, Tenaida. It
means, if she thinks we don't suspect her,
she'll get careless and make a mistake. Then
we'll at least know what game she is playing."
"That seems reasonable, sir. If we are too
stupid to catch the flaws in her story, she'll
assume we won't catch later mistakes, either."
Kirk nodded. "So we ignore her until she
steps into our trap. And hope the other spy gets
caught with her-since they seem to be working toward the
same goal."
"I see. I'll be in my quarters working on the
problem, if you need me." "Carry on,
Tenaida."
After the Deltan scientist had left, Kirk
threw himself on the bed. Somewhere there had to be a fast,
simple solution to this increasingly messy situation.
If only his tired brain would tell him
what it was.
The buzzer woke Janara from an uneasy
sleep. She pushed herself upright, rubbing her eyes.
She was groggy, both from the drug and from being awakened
suddenly. "Come."
The door slid open, admitting Simons. Her
mother looked contrite, and Janara was immediately on
guard. Simons wanted something, and she wanted it
bad enough to put on a major performance to get it. "I
came to apologize for what happened the other day,"
Simons said without preamble. "Dr. McCoy said
you could have visitors, so I came to tell you that
I've thought things over, and I shouldn't have lost my
temper." "It always seems to end that way, doesn't
it?" Janara searched Simons" face. Her
expression was controlled and gave no hint of true
repentance. The boretelin gave Janara a
welcome immunity from hearing her mother's thoughts, but the
drugged slowness of her mind placed her at a
disadvantage in the conversation.
Janara knew the apology could not be genuine, and
even if it were, she realized it had come years too
late. She no longer had anything she wished to say
to her mother.
Simons perched on the foot of the bed.
"I don't want to see my little girl trapped on
a world where sex is constantly demanded, but no one
knows anything of love."
Janara swallowed a sour grin. The sexual
openness of Deltan society and the Deltan ethic
against manipulating others for personal gain limited
what someone like Simons could do among Deltans.
Simons' opinions were biased by her prejudices.
"You make it sound as though Deltans are trained
to emulate Orion slave women. I assure you
that is not the case. Besides, I experience more than enough
emotion here on the Enterprise. was "Honey, you
don't even know what it means. Let me show you
what it's like to be a real, human woman."
Janara bit her tongue to hold back a bitter
reply. Some of her earliest memories were of
Simons' violent emotions. By the time Janara was
old enough to understand her psychic abilities and begin
to control them, she loathed her mother's turbulent
passions and all the benefits Simons claimed for
them. Finally, shaking with the effort of maintaining her
control, Janara found a neutral answer. "I
am not you, Mother, and I must live my own life.
Your choices may be right for you, but they aren't for
me."
Simons flushed with anger, but held her position
on the foot of the bed. She forced a cloying smile.
"Let's not fight about that now, darling. We can talk
about something else, can't we?"
"What should we discuss?" Janara heard the
change in her mother's tone-Simons was coming to the
purpose for the visit. "Well, there's everything that's
been happening on the ship. Yonnie's fit to be
tied over the problems with
his negotiations, and he's off at all hours
conferring with his aides. And now, to top it off, our
computer terminal is down, and Captain Kirk
won't send someone to fix it."
Janara lifted an eyebrow in a gesture
copied from Spock. Vulcan gestures were the only
thing that irritated her mother more than Deltan
mannerisms, and Janara hoped Simons'
annoyance would lessen her caution. Janara's
instincts told her Simons was lying, but even when
she concentrated, her head was too fuzzy from the
boretelin to register her mother's duplicity. "Could
I borrow your computer terminal for a while, darling?
I wanted to record messages for some friends. If
you don't mind, that is." "I don't mind."
Janara watched the tension leave her mother's
posture. "Unfortunately, the captain's blocked
off the entire computer system, and I haven't got
my console unlocked. Also, you'd have to clear your
programs through Shan Tenaida."
"What do you mean? Why's that?" Simons' body
snapped as tight as a drawn bowstring.
"I don't know. They said there was a system
glitch. Someone has to check each program
separately."
"That'll take forever. I just want to send some
messages. Surely you can arrange that much for your
dear mother."
""Fraid not. I can't even use my own
programs until I get them cleared." "I will
talk to the captain!" Simons stood, squaring her
shoulders with angry determination. "Surely he'll
let me use the computer for what I need to do."
"Don't count on it, Mother." Janara's voice
stopped Simons halfway to the door. "Captain
Kirk isn't very fond of you these days."
Simons whirled around. "How do you know that? Have you
been trying your nasty Deltan mind-reading tricks
on him?"
Janara laughed, enjoying the feeling of being at the
warp buoy ahead of her mother. "I've
seen his face when your name is mentioned. You are not one
of his favorite people."
"We'll see about that." Simons stomped out the
door. Janara dropped into her pillows and threw
an arm over her eyes. For the only time in her
life, she regretted not knowing what her mother was
thinking. Simons would never go through such an
elaborate charade just to record a few
messages. If she wanted access to Janara's
computer console, her reasons must equal the effort
expended on the performance. If Simons needed
to use the computer that badly . . .
Once the thought occurred to her, Janara could not
dismiss it. Finally, she reported the incident
to Captain Kirk. Afterward, she felt unaccountably
relieved. She stretched out, closed her eyes, and
was soon fast asleep.
Kirk and McCoy met outside the Kaldorni
ambassador's quarters. The doctor was fidgeting
with the collar of his dress uniform. Kirk shuddered,
feeling a sympathetic tightness around his own neck that
had nothing to do with the cut of the uniform. If he let
himself think about it much longer, he knew he would
develop as strong an aversion to dress uniforms as
McCoy. "What's the matter, Bones?
This uniform was your idea. Are you having second
thoughts?" "As a matter of fact, yes!" McCoy
gave his collar a second tug. "I was just
remembering how hot those women wanted my
Sickbay."
Kirk laughed. "You remember the old saying,
Bones comwhen in Rome..." "Yeah." McCoy
shrugged. "The ambassador was very anxious to give us
this thank-you dinner. He seemed to think he owed it
to us."
"Then, in the interests of diplomacy, perhaps we
shouldn't keep him waiting. I wish I knew a little
more about Kaldorni customs, though."
They entered, pausing at the door while their eyes
adjusted to the dim lighting and their bodies to the
oppressive heat. The temperature in the
Kaldorni's rooms was nearly the maximum the
Enterprise's environmental equipment could
produce, and McCoy was reminded once again of the
temperature in the ship's sauna.
Klee bowed to greet them, his movements
accompanied by the jingling of the jewelry that covered his
chest. His crimson robes were lavishly
embroidered with metallic thread and decorated with
gemstones. "Welcome, honored guests,
to our humble lodgings."
Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances, uncertain
of the proper etiquette for a formal Kaldorni
evening. "The pleasure is ours, Kirk replied.
Klee's wives entered the room. In unison, they
gave McCoy an elaborate bow, followed by a
different, but no less complex, greeting to Kirk.
Three of the women wore dark brown robes and
black, heavy veils, while the other three were
dressed in rose-colored outfits and translucent
veils. Kirk was surprised to see their faces.
The robes were richly embroidered and trimmed with a
deep red that matched the ambassador's robe.
"If the honored guests would come this way-was The
women formed a corridor leading away from the door,
and the ambassador escorted Kirk and McCoy
into the cabin's workroom. The standard furniture was
gone. In its place, several sumptuous rugs were
spread in a circle. Perfumed candles burned on
every counter top, casting a mellow radiance that the
room's artificial lights could not match. Kirk
gave mental thanks to whoever had recorded the
Kaldorni's ceremonial use of candles in the
information the ship had received; without that warning
to reprogram the room sensors and the air
reprocessors, he shuddered to think what this display
would have done to the Enterprise's alarms and safety
system.
"The place of honor for the Doctor McCoy
and the
Captain Kirk is beneath the Representation of the
Unities." Klee gestured for them to kneel on the
rug under the large wall hanging. Kirk looked at
the tapestry, admiring the abstract design and warm
colors. The Kaldomi's clothing, he realized,
reflected the design in the wall hanging.
McCoy knelt, struggling to fold his legs beneath
him. By the time Kirk found a comfortable position, the
ambassador was seated opposite them. The three
women in the rose outfits knelt between Klee and the
two humans, but the other women disappeared, leaving
half of the circle empty. They returned a moment
later with a bronze tray holding a ceramic
figurine. It was about a third of a meter high and
intricately carved. Through the many openings, Kirk
saw the vermilion glow of coals burning in the
heart of the statuette. The figure reminded him of the
fire-god figurine he had once seen in
Spock's quarters. The women placed the tray before
Kirk and McCoy and retreated to the other
room.
"This is the Center of Harmonies," Klee said.
"It will witness this ceremony and record that all is
properly observed." He stretched his arms over his
head and bowed until his forehead touched the floor. The
women copied him, and after a slight hesitation, so
did Kirk and McCoy. Klee then led the women
in a sustained recitation in the Kaldorni
language. Antiphonal progressions of questions and
answers alternated with unison chants until
Kirk felt his pulse slip into the rhythms set
by the Kaldorni voices. At times, the women in the
other room intoned a counterpoint to the dominant
cadences.
After a while, Kirk found himself wondering how
long the ritual was going to take. He kept thinking
of all the things he should be doing to catch the spy, and
worrying about what the intruder was doing while he was
trapped here in a hot room by the Kaldorni love
of ceremony.
When the chant finally ended, the Kaldorni
unfolded from their prone positions. Kirk gritted
his teeth and struggled to lift his torso; he found that,
after remaining prostrate for so long, his muscles were
reluctant to move. McCoy, he noted
sourly, sat up easily, and Kirk vowed to get
even with the doctor later for showing up his captain.
The brown-robed women returned carrying brass
trays heaped with food. The other women took the
platters and knelt in a semicircle in front of
Kirk and McCoy. One at a time, each woman
extended her arms and offered her tray to the captain.
While Klee explained her gift, each woman
bowed deeply, first to Kirk and then to McCoy.
"This is Joy-of-Morning. She brings you
sweetness of spirit and willing eagerness in all things.
This is symbolized by the fruits and flowers she
gives you." The woman's willowy grace enchanted
Kirk. A small smile briefly lit her
heart-shaped face as she presented the tray.
"Shade-in-Sun is the quiet one. She brings you
calmness of temper and a steadiness for work. This is
symbolized by the cheese and the meat she brings."
Kirk felt himself sliding into her wide, misty
eyes. She broke the contact and stared at the floor
for the rest of the presentation. "Fire-in-Night is the
restless one. She is much skilled in the musical
arts and knows many ways to delight the senses. This is
symbolized by the candies and pastries she bears."
With liquid, hummingbird movements, the
woman offered her tray to Kirk. Her swift
smile was molten and sensual. "Now, most honored
guests, it is required that you consume a mouthful from
each tray, and present to your servants a selection
from that tray." Kirk nodded to show he understood. He
chose a small, bluish red fruit and shared it with
McCoy. It was both tart and sweet, and the juice
ran down his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of
his hand.
When he gave fruits to each Kaldorni
woman, they ate with dainty bites. Kirk
repeated the ritual with the meat and the pastries. As they
finished, the brown-robed women appeared with a tray of
eating platters. Joy-of-Morning took the tray,
knelt before Kirk, and offered it to him.
"Our honored guests may now select
platters and fill them with the foods of their choice.
After that, the others will follow."
Kirk took the top platter and loaded it with
food; McCoy took smaller servings. When they
had settled back to eat, each of the rose-garbed
Kaldorni women filled a plate and returned
to her original place in the circle. The
brown-robed women carried the food to Klee. He
thanked them and loaded his platter
to overflowing. Only then did the three women fill
platters for themselves and retire to the other room
to eat. They all ate in silence, broken only by the
jingle of the Kaldorni's jewelry. After a few
bites, Kirk understood why Ambassador Klee
was so overweight-the food was delicious! Kirk
wondered why all the Kaldorni were not more obese-he
knew he would overindulge if he were served a steady
diet of such food. For a while, the captain forgot
his impatience with Kaldorni formalities and enjoyed
his meal.
McCoy, watching him eat, made a mental
note to give him another detox pill when they
left. One capsule should have counteracted the trace
substances in the Kaldorni food that were harmful
to human metabolism, but Kirk was eating too
much.
When everyone had cleared their plates-except for the
ritual amounts of fruit, meat, and pastry that were
fed into the Center of Harmonies-the brownrobed women
removed the remnants of the feast. They returned with
two hyaline goblets and a tall flask made of
interwoven multicolored glass ropes. The
tallest woman unstopped the flask and
half-filled the smaller cup with the deep
green liquid. She set the
chalice in front of the ambassador and stood behind
him with her dark-robed co-wives.
Fire-in-Night heated the flask over the
Center of Harmonies until the liquid turned a
pale blue. She filled the larger cup and offered it
to Kirk with a deep bow.
"The most honored captain should drink deeply
of the Fire-of-Life, and then give the honored
doctor and each of his humble servants a taste of the
Fire. After this, he may finish the cup."
Kirk sipped cautiously. The drink was warm and
had a pleasant smoky aftertaste. He took a
larger swallow before passing the cup to McCoy and the
three Kaldorni women. When the last woman had
taken her ritual mouthful, Kirk drained the cup.
Klee picked up his own drink, swallowed the
liquid in one gulp, and inverted the cup on the
floor. "I have now paid my debt to those I can no
longer protect, and have passed their guardianship
over to one who has proven himse lf more capable of their
care. May the Balance of the Universe be restored,
now that I have atoned for my failure to fulfill my
responsibilities, and may my honor be
sufficient to achieve the great mission my people
have required of me."
At first, Kirk heard only the finality in
Klee's voice that released him from the interminable
formal evening. Then he realized Klee intended
something more than an elaborate farewell to his
guests. "What? Wait a minute. What did you
say?" A dawning realization began to spread in
Kirk's mind.
McCoy, realizing that his subconscious had
suspected the purpose of the ceremony from the start,
struggled to suppress a grin. "The medicine of your
dependent, the honored Doctor McCoy, cured
these women where the methods of my people could not. You have
proven yourself more worthy to care for them than their former
husband." Klee sounded ready to break into tears.
He looked at Kirk wi/lly. "A person
with as
much status as the honored captain should have enough
wives to reflect that status. May the venerable
captain cherish and care for his new wives, and may
they serve him well, as long as he preserves his
Harmony-with-the-Universe." With that, Klee
climbed to his feet and led the three brown-robed
women from the room. Kirk was surprised that the
squat Kaldorni could move so quickly.
He stared at the women kneeling before him. His
wives? Kirk shook his head, trying to clear it.
That wine must have been stronger than I thought. I
couldn't have heard him say that! He looked again at the
women, and decided his ears had not deceived him.
McCoy, kneeling beside him, was having trouble containing
his amusement.
Honor, duties, responsibilities-he
tried to remember the words Klee had used, so he
would have the appropriate ammunition to discuss the
situation with the Kaldorni. Before he found an argument
he thought might stand a chance, the women took charge.
They rose to their feet and began tugging on his arms.
"Come." "Home go." "Captain home." They
repeated the phrases as they pulled him toward the
door. Finally, he yielded and took them to his
quarters. With luck, the Universal Translator
would allow him to straighten this out. As they walked down
the corridor, McCoy's broad grin only
emphasized the impossibility of the situation. "You
seem to be enjoying this," Kirk grumbled, making a
sour face.
"You mean, you-all aren't?" McCoy gave him
a wide-eyed, innocent look. "I thought having
several wives was the ultimate
spaceman's fantasy. Now you'll never have
to worry about not getting enough exercise."
Kirk scowled. "You're forgetting that even the
cargo handler on a garbage scow likes to choose his
partners."
McCoy's grin widened. "I haven't
forgotten. But the ambassador must not have heard."
They stopped at the door of Kirk's quarters.
"I have some things to do in Sickbay. Enjoy getting
to know your new wives. And don't forget to take
another detox pill."
"Right." He watched McCoy disappear down the
corridor, plotting how to get even with the doctor for
his amusement. It did little to help his mood when it
occurred to him that, by any logic he knew, the women
should have been McCoy's. Shaking his head, he showed
the Kaldorni women into his quarters. His first
plan was to convince them to return to the ambassador.
After an hour of discussion in his quarters, he gave
up. All three women insisted it was their duty
to care and provide for the honored Captain Kirk,
whose servant, the honored doctor, had saved their
lives with his medical skills. Kirk's arguments
made them weep and beg him to tell them how they had
displeased their worthy husband, but nothing he
said could make them return to Ambassador
Klee's quarters. Defeated, Kirk adjusted the
temperature as high as it would go and ordered extra
blankets for the women. Then he settled himself for a
long and uncomfortable night in the chair by his
worktable.
"MAY I BE PERMITTED t0 sit here?"
Kristiann Norris swallowed a mouthful of her
breakfast. "Speaker t'Stror, of course, have a
seat. I haven't seen much of you lately."
"I have been performing atonements for not perceiving my
master's orders as he wished." t'Stror slid
into the chair. "He has been involved with family
concerns and has only just now ordered that I inquire
if there is a way to correct the disharmony I have
caused."
"Which of the ambassador's orders did you
misperceive?" "He instructed that I should explain
That-Which-Is to the commissioner so he might understand the
ways of our people. I was hasty in my judgment that I
could find no way in which to do this. It is now the command of
my master that I see if the Commissioner Montoya
would find it no loss of honor to forgive the error of
this unworthy servant and allow my ambassador
to explain the concepts I could not."
Norris bit into her toast and chewed slowly.
When she thought t'Stror had waited long enough, she
answered. "I can't promise anything until I
talk with Commissioner Montoya, but I believe he
will consider
reopening the discussions. If you will wait here,
I'll talk it over with him."
"I will be most impatient in anticipating a
response that will restore my good favor in the eyes
of my master."
"I'm on my way, then." Norris hurried
to her quarters and asked Montoya, Vreblin, and
Zayle to join her at once. The previous evening,
an annoyed Montoya had told his aides that
Kirk suspected there was a listening device in his
quarters. Norris was grateful for an excuse
to hold the meeting in her quarters-without Simons
lurking in the background. Within five minutes, the
three men had arrived. Montoya was last.
"What's this about?" he demanded as he came through the
door. Norris grinned, anticipating the effect
of her news. "I just talked with Speaker t'Stror
in the messroom. He asked if we would consider
reopening the discussions. He said he had misperceived
the ambassador's instructions, and had been
required to atone for his errors. He was ordered
to learn if you would forgive his error and allow
Ambassador Klee to explain the concepts
t'Stror was unable to get across."
"I think we can arrange that," Montoya said with
his first real smile since the Kaldorni delegation
had walked out of the briefing room. "However, we
don't want to appear too eager. What exactly
did t'Stror say?" Norris repeated the
conversation. As she finished, Montoya glanced at his
chronometer. "I think he's waited long enough.
Tell him we'll consent to meet with Ambassador
Klee in half an hour in the briefing room."
Montoya's triumphant smile widened, and his
eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. "Let's
see what we can get away with. Tell t'Stror
we will forgive his errors more quickly if he convinces the
ambassador to let us use our Universal
Translator. To minimize further misunderstandings,
of course."
"Of course." Norris chuckled with delight.
The Universal Translator was the perfect
concession to demand from the honor-conscious Kaldorni.
She left the three men planning their next move
while she delivered Montoya's
message.
Kirk leaned back in the chair, nursing his third
cup of coffee. Half his breakfast remained on the
plate. After spending the night sleeping at his
worktable, he felt tired and groggy and not the least
bit interested in food. It had been a relief
to escape for a quiet breakfast without the Kaldorni
women.
McCoy joined him as he refilled his cup for the
last time. "You really enjoyed seeing me get stuck
with all those women, didn't you, Bones?"
"I'm sorry, Jim. I just never thought of you as
the marrying type." Although he managed to keep his
expression neutral, McCoy's eyes twinkled
with amusement.
"And just what am I going to do with them now? If you
think there's room in my quarters for three wives,
you're sadly mistaken."
McCoy gave him a sympathetic smile.
Although the officers" cabins on the Enterprise were
large in comparison to those on a scout ship or cargo
vessel, McCoy could not imagine sharing his quarters
with three other people. And a commanding officer's need for
privacy in his off-duty time was even greater than a
doctor's. "I don't know what you're
going to do. I'm not a diplomat, remember. Why
don't you put Brady and Tenaida to work on it?
If they can't come up with something, you may have to resign
yourself to married life."
"Speaking of those two, I'm supposed to meet with
them shortly. I'd better get moving." Kirk
pushed himself to his feet, summoning the energy he
knew he would need today.
"Me, too. Stop by my office later if you
need some friendly advice." "Thanks, Bones. I
may take you up on that."
Shaking his head, McCoy watched the captain
leave. Kirk looked very tired. Diplomatic
missions were not his favorite, but this one, with its
additional problems, was weighing heavily on him. And
his Kaldorni "wives," McCoy suspected, were
not going to make the situation any easier.
Kirk, Brady, and Tenaida sat around the table
in the briefing room. The three of them seemed lost
in the large room, but until Kirk persuaded the
Kaldorni women to leave, his own cabin was too
crowded to work in. Kirk fiddled with his empty
coffee cup while Tenaida summarized the
detective work he had done the previous evening.
"So you think Simons is one of our
unauthorized computer programmers?" Kirk asked
when the Deltan finished talking.
"The probabilities are-was
Kirk shook his head and held up his hand. "It's
too early in the morning for that, Tenaida. I trust
your probabilities, so log them in the computer, and
tell me your conclusions." Kirk rubbed his gritty
eyes. He felt as though he hadn't slept in a
week, and he wondered idly if there was a
corollary to Special Relativity that required
time dilation effects to work selectively on
sleepless nights. "I could sure use another cup
of coffee now." "If you would prefer, we can
postpone this until you get some more-was "No, the
doctor would say I've had enough already. Continue with
your report."
"Though I can't be certain that it was Ms.
Simons who reprogrammed the vari-grav control
unit or added the subroutines to the Kaldorni's
food synthesis program, the skills required
are similar to those
needed to alter a person's history in computer
records. Therefore, the probabilities are that those
changes were made by Ms. Simons or by someone who
knows her well. She may have an
accomplice, although as yet I have no evidence
to prove such a person exists."
"No, you're wrong." Brady leaned forward, his
body taut with conviction. "Remember the message
added on to the commissioner's dispatch tape. That went
to someone, and Simons is the most likely suspect
for sending it." Tenaida's eyebrows drew together
into a solid line. "True. However, we don't
know who got the message, or what it contained. It
might be completely unrelated to these matters."
"Want to bet?" Brady's eyes were
uncharacteristically serious. "Have you made any
progress on decoding the message or determining
its destination?" Kirk asked.
"No." Tenaida frowned. "The coding
structure doesn't follow any standard pattern,
and the computer hasn't determined the basis for the
encryption schedule yet. The coordinates suggest
it was sent to a vessel located beyond our sensor
range."
"I knew you were going to say that," Kirk
grumbled. "It goes without saying that they don't
want us to know they're there."
"That is a safe assumption."
"If someone on the Enterprise is
transmitting to them-was Kirk's eyes widened with
sudden hope. "Could they be transmitting back?
Mr. Brady, have Communications check, will you?"
Brady nodded, but the intercom whistled before he could
say anything. Kirk reached for the control pad.
"Kirk here."
"Captain, Commissioner Montoya wanted you
to know that the Kaldomi have reopened the negotiations."
"Thank you, Uhura. Would you send Janara
Whitehorse down here immediately?" "Aye, aye,
Captain."
"Kirk out."
Brady's face wrinkled into a half-frown at
the captain's apparently irrelevant order.
Tenaida's face lit up with curiosity. Kirk
gave them little time to think about it. "With most of the
Kaldorni in one place, we'll try to find the
wolf in sheep's clothing."
"I beg your pardon, Captain?" Brady
asked.
"The spy."
"Shan Janara may not wish to search the
Kaldorni's minds," Tenaida said. "And you cannot
order her to conduct such an investigation without
violating the Federation Telepathic Rights
Statutes."
"I think Lieutenant Whitehorse will be
delighted to do it, when I explain things properly."
Kirk's mouth tightened with determination. Tenaida
frowned at the implied threat in Kirk's words. The
Deltan realized he still had much to learn about
humans. Quite apart from the difficulty of conducting such
a search without violating Federation law, Kirk's
proposal created a tricky maze of ethical
questions. The door buzzer interrupted Tenaida's
thoughts.
"Come," Kirk said. Janara entered the room.
"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I asked before if
you would help us identify the spy aboard the
Enterprise. his
Her body went rigid with suppressed emotion.
"Captain, I detest close contact with other people's
minds, and I protest your efforts to force me
to conduct this search."
"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I can
appreciate your feelings, but we're after the being who
killed Ensign Yendes. Do you really want to let
that thing continue to roam the Enterprise?"
Janara seemed to shrink into herself. The silence
stretched as she examined her
alternatives. "However,
your logic is inescapable, Captain. What would
you have me do?" "We think the spy is one of the
Kaldorni. The negotiations are about to resume, and
I want you to replace Yeoman Menon, who's
recording the sessions. From her station, you can examine
the Kaldorni and see if our spy is there."
"One of the Kaldorni?" The question was more curious
than surprised. "Yes. We think the spy is
hiding among the ambassador's party and using his
position as a cover for his activities."
"Her." Janara's voice was flat. "I
believe I know who the spy is." "What?"
"Captain, do you remember the problem Ms.
Norris was having with her translating computer?"
When Kirk nodded, Janara continued, "The machine
was consistently assigning a female voice to an
apparently male Kaldorni. At the time, Ms.
Norris and I decided the problem was caused by an
unknown peculiarity of Kaldorni biology.
However, on the basis of what you've just said, I
believe the one called t'Stror is the spy.
[*macr] "t'Stror? He's the
ambassador's right-hand man." Brady's voice
rose in disbelief.
"That could explain the trouble Commissioner Montoya
is having with the negotiations," Tenaida said.
"It could, at that." Kirk paused, evaluating the
new information. Unfortunately, it did not prove that
t'Stror was the person they wanted. "Lieutenant
Whitehorse, would you still report to the briefing
room? We need to be sure t'Stror is the spy
before we arrest him-I mean, her." Kirk shook his
head in frustration. "Whatever the correct gender,
would you confirm that t'Stror is the spy?"
Janara stared at the wall behind Kirk. The
briefing room was austere and impersonal. In
contrast to the
bland setting, Kirk's determination to achieve his
goals blazed like a supernova. Once Kirk had
decided her telepathic abilities could help him
and his crew, Janara realized, nothing she-or
anyone else-could say would deflect the captain from
his chosen course.
Even Federation law, Janara suspected, was an
annoyance for him to circumvent, if it interfered with his
ability to protect his crew. Janara shuddered at
the thought of deliberately contacting the alien presence
she had sensed aboard the Enterprise, but realized
circumstances made refusing Kirk's
request almost impossible. Even as she acknowledged
this, she knew she could not yield the principle that
justified her initial refusal. Bowing her head,
she said, "Under protest, Captain, I will do as you
ask." "Your objections are noted, Lieutenant
Whitehorse. And thank you." Janara accepted his
words with a tight-upped nod and left the room. "How
did you know she would agree?" Tenaida asked. "The
look on her face after Yendes was killed. I
figured another murder would be the more painful option for
her. I just had to state my case in those terms."
"Your analysis was correct, but I don't
understand how you reached your conclusion. Our people are
conditioned from birth to abhor intruding on another
being's privacy."
"I simply chose the only remaining logical
alternative to our problem," Kirk answered with a
slight grin that faded almost instantly. "Right now,
I've got a new problem I need some help with."
"Captain?"
"I think I'm married. The Kaldorni, on the
other hand, know I'm married. You two have to find me
a way out of it."
Brady opened his mouth, but the expression on
Kirk's face convinced him that not even
friendship
would save him if he wasn't careful. His jaw
snapped shut. Swallowing once, he tried for a
neutral tone. "You're married, Captain? How
did that happen?" "I'm not exactly sure, but-was
Kirk described the previous night's events,
trying to remember every detail, whether it seemed
important or not. "That's it. They're in my
quarters now, and I spent the night in the chair.
Damn uncomfortable place to sleep, too." He
rubbed the small of his back to ease the stiffened
muscles.
"Three of the Kaldorni ambassador's
wives?" Brady scratched his head, amazed. The
women had kept to their quarters since coming aboard,
and the ship's grapevine was rife with speculation over
their isolation. A puzzled look crossed
Brady's face as he tried to evaluate the
effect this development would have on their dealings with the
Kaldorni. "I didn't ask for any jokes,
Mr. Brady." Kirk realized he was
overreacting, but Brady's expression reminded him
of the third-rate comic whose act consisted of an hour's
repertoire of Starfleet jokes. "You've got
to get me out of this!"
"According to Federation law," Tenaida said, "a
marriage ceremony is legal and binding if the
participants accept it as such. By taking part m the
ritual, it is presumed that you accept its
validity."
"But, Tenaida, nobody told me it was a
marriage ceremony until it was over. Nobody in
the Federation even knew what their marriage ceremony
was, until they sprang this on me. There has
to be a way to get me out of this. I don't want
three wives! Besides, do you know how hot they've
got the temperature in my quarters? A Vulcan
might enjoy it, but another hour of it will kill me!"
"Captain, I am certain the environmental
controls cannot be set to lethal temperatures."
"Well, it feels like it. I'm depending on you
to find me a way out of it."
"Tenaida says it's legal, Captain.
Besides, have you considered the repercussions of telling the
ambassador you don't accept the validity of his
ceremony?"
"What if I stay married? He expects me
to treat them the way a normal Kaldorni husband
would. And I haven't a clue how to do that." "It is
a delicate problem in diplomacy,
sir." Tenaida canted his head to the side. "I will
research the legal and cultural ramifications and
see if I can find an answer to your dilemma."
Kirk sighed. "Thanks, Tenaida. Talk with
Kristiann Norris, while you're at it. She's
been studying the Kaldorni for Commissioner
Montoya, and maybe she can help."
"All right, Captain. I'll start immediately."
"Thanks, Tenaida. A lot." Kirk stood,
arching his back to loosen the cramped muscles.
"I'm getting that other cup of coffee now. Does
anyone want to join me?" B oth Brady and
Tenaida refused, insisting they had work to do.
Kirk played with his coffee cup, wishing he had
gotten more sleep. Even if McCoy let him
borrow his quarters, he doubted a nap would give
him any more rest. Besides, a captain should be an
example for his crew. Kirk sighed and drained his
cup.
"Oh, Jimmy, how nice to see you. Do you mind
if I join you?" Cecilia Simons stood at the
end of the table.
"I was heading for the bridge."
"I wanted to talk over old times with you. If
I didn't know better, Jimmy, I'd
think you were avoiding me."
Kirk forced himself to smile. "On a ship this
big, the commanding officer has many duties."
"Surely you must have some time for yourselfand me."
Kirk took a deep breath to calm himself, and
immediately regretted it. Her perfume was overpow-
ering, drowning him in its cloying fragrance. He
shook his head to clear it. "There's more to the captain's
job than you would think. Right now, I am very busy."
"Tell me what it's like to be a starship
captain, then. I'm dying to know everything you've been
doing."
"Not right now, Ms. Simons. I'm due on the
bridge." He stood, taking his cup to put in the
recycler on his way out.
"Jimmy, could you do me one little favor?" Her
voice was low and sultry, calculated to make any
man beg to please her. Kirk felt the hackles
rise along the back of his neck.
"What's the favor?" he asked, fighting against
her strange allure. How does she do it? he
wondered.
"I wanted to record some messages in my
free time." She gave him a diffident smile.
"I mean, since I can't visit with
Janie-was "Yes, continue." Kirk's voice was
cold.
"Anyway, I wanted to write some
messages-was She slid her food tray onto the
table and moved closer to him. Her hand caressed his
throat in rhythm with the thunder of his pulse. He
swallowed hard, uncomfortably aware of how close
to him she was standing. Then he remembered Tenaida's
instructions to be "as a rock in the rain." He
visualized himself as a stone, inert and unyielding, and
felt the pressure of Simons' sex appeal
lessen. "comand I couldn't get any of the computer
consoles to work for me. When I asked, everyone said
your science officer had cut off access to the computer,
and I'd have to get a security code from him." She
shrugged, acting bewildered. "He said he wasn't
authorized to give out codes to passengers."
"I'll talk to him about that," Kirk said.
"Jimmy, could you please give me the code? I
don't want to talk to him again. He scares me.
I'm afraid he'll do something to me."
Tenaida won't, but I may! Kirk shuddered
with the 194
force of his anger. He plucked her hand from his
shoulder. "Ms. Simons, I told you
I didn't want to hear any more of your
anti-Deltan remarks. As for your computer
access, I put Tenaida in charge of assigning the
codes, and you'll have to get yours from him. However,
I'll tell him to have it ready when you ask."
"Very well, Captain." Dismissing Kirk,
Simons threw herself into a chair and began eating her
breakfast. Her anger showed clearly in the tight
lines around her mouth. Kirk took one final
look, noticing the wrinkles around her eyes and how
she tried to disguise her age with makeup. When her
attention was focused elsewhere, it was difficult
to understand why she was so irresistible. He turned
away, eager to escape before she thought of anything
else she wanted from him.
Janara checked the indicators that reported the
status of the recording equipment in the briefing
room. Two units ran at all times, and a
backup recorder was ready, if needed, to replace
either of the primary units. She felt conspicuous, as
though she had no right to witness the negotiations. She
concentrated on the people seated around the table and tried
to suppress her revulsion for such telepathic
probing. To isolate the spy, she had to lower her
mental defenses, becoming vulnerable
to stray projections. Although she tried to focus on
the briefing room, Janara caught flashes of the
crawling sexual heat she associated with her mother's
attempts to suborn some hapless male. As it had
since childhood, exposure to her mother's tactics
induced a violent attack of nausea. With an
effort, she brought her stomach under control, fighting
her instinct to retreat into catatonia. She
rechecked the Kaldorni in the room, but t'Stror
was still absent. Janara wished he would return, so
she could determine if he was the
spy. None of the Kaldomi in the room had a
mental signature even close to that of the savage
predator she feared.
To control her agitation, Janara started some
calming exercises to keep her mind detached and
receptive. Once she reassembled her
defenses, Janara knew she could never force herself
to lower them enough to identify the alien. When the contact
came, she was unprepared for it. One moment, she was
checking the recording equipment and trying to ignore the
thoughts of a passing crewwoman. The next thing she
knew, the giant cat was inside her skull,
shredding her brain with its claws. Janara lashed out
in fear and pain. The mental projection
retreated in surprise, and Janara slammed her
shields into place. She envisioned a polished
metal wall encircling her mind, and the cat's
renewed attack bounced off without touching her. With
difficulty, she focused on the scene in the room.
While she was fighting off the telepathic attack,
t'Stror had entered and was now talking with the
ambassador. Janara opened a crevice in her
mental wall, probing for t'Stror's mind.
The second attack was as vicious as the first.
Janara reinforced her defenses, hoping they would
repel the assault. When the mental pressure
abated, she realized t'Stror was staring at her. The
hatred on his face matched the savagery of the
telepathic attack. Janara forced herself to look
away. Every muscle in her body was shaking.
Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott grumbled
about the ship's incompetent dietitian as he
checked the information on his reader board against the
equipment displays. The waste recovery system could
not handle the discrepancies in Leftwell's
parameters for the Kaldomi food program. The
incorrect input settings had overloaded the trace
element processors, crashing the entire
subsystem. Scott was still muttering 196
about the abuse to his machinery when the room lights
brightened, then every indicator on the main panel went
red.
He hit the intercom switch. "What's
happening?" "There's a rupture in the fuel flow.
The magnetic field collapsed and the portside
engines dropped off line."
"On my way." The noteboard hit the counter and
bounced to the floor as Scott ran for the
turbolift. He skidded into the main control room
as the power levels dropped to zero.
"Emergency power!" He grabbed the edge of the
counter and hooked his foot under the top rung of the
ladder to anchor himself against the sudden loss of
gravity. While he slapped all the override
switches he could reach, Layne's hands flew over
the panel, cueing in the sequencing commands. The
gravity generators gave a stomach-twisting
pulse, then settled back to half power as the
system switched over to batteries. The intercom
sounded before they finished shifting to the backup systems.
"Scott!" Kirk yelled. "Why did you cut
power from the warp engines?" "We dinna do it,
Captain."
"Bridge monitors show the warp
engines were taken off line by someone in Engineering."
"I'll check, Captain. But I dinna
authorize it. Scott out."
"We thought you went to check the dilithium converter
assemblies. Dettner went to help you," Layne
said.
"Thank you. I'd better get down there."
Scott tripped over something at the base of the
ladder. He leaned down and turned the body over.
Even in the red glow from the emergency lighting system,
the deep gashes showed through the dark blood on
Dettner's face. Scott shouted up to Layne,
"Get a medical team. And Security, on the
double."
"What is it?"
"Someone's attacked Dettner. Probably
whoever
took out our engines. Get that security team!"
Scott looked around, searching for any sign of
unauthorized personnel. No one was in sight.
He shook his head, realizing anyone who knew enough
about the Enterprise to take the engines off line also
knew enough to do it from the maintenance section. "You're not
going after the intruder, are you?" Layne asked.
Next to the ladder was an equipment locker.
Scott took out the largest wrench he could find and
hefted it. "Aye, I am." The idea did not
make him happy. "We canna leave any
stranger with our power systems for any longer than we
must."
Scott crossed the engineering room, pausing
to check the dilithium assemblies. They were
untouched. Behind him, he could hear Layne sending for
assistance. He reached the maintenance section, but the
door was locked from the inside. Swearing to himself in
Gaelic, Scott removed the access panel and
entered the override code.
The door slid open, revealing a complicated
array of equipment, monitors, and subsystem
modules. The ship's functions were controlled
by panels in the main engineering room, but for the ship's
safety, every aspect of the engineering and life
support equipment could be independently monitored
and adjusted by equipment in the maintenance section. The
intruder was in the far corner of the room. A man of
Scott's height and build, wearing a blue-gray
Engineering uniform, hovered over the regulator
unit for the warp engines. The flickering indicator
lights threw sinister patterns across his cheeks.
Scott ran forward. The man looked up,
and Scott froze. The resemblance was so exact that
the engineer felt he was looking in a mirror.
The intruder yowled-a chilling sound more
appropriate to a Koorane nightstalker-and
charged. His fist caught the chief engineer in the
face. Scott l ost his balance and fell, hitting his
head against the edge 198
of a counter. The intruder turned, shoved home
several switches on the control panel, and ran for the
access hatch to the lower decks. The room spun
around Scott. He struggled to rise, but had only
reached an unsteady sitting po sition by the time the
security men and the first officer found him.
"Did you see the intruder?" Brady asked.
Scott felt the back of his head. His fingers
came away bloody from a small cut. "Aye.
I thought I was looking at myself," he said.
"What?"
"He looked more like me than my own twin
brother."
"How close did you get to him?"
Scott glanced at the blood on his fingers.
"Close enough."
Brady stared at Scotty, bewildered. Kirk
had seen the spy trying to impersonate him,
but they all had been convinced that the disguise would not
pass close inspection. How could the intruder have
fooled the chief engineer at such proximity? It
made no sense. The skills and equipment
required to produce such a perfect impersonation were
monumental. "Is this where you found him?"
"Aye, but I dinna ken how long he was in here
before we caught him. We'll have to check everything before
we know."
"Then do it, Mr. Scott. We have to find all
the tampering. The warp engines are down, and Commander
Sulu reported peculiar energy readings when he
tried to bring the impulse engines up to full power."
"I'll get started right away."
"You'll do no such thing, Scotty. At least, not
until I've checked you over." McCoy advanced
on Scott, his medical tricorder poised for
action. "Doctor, you heard what Commander Brady
said. Our power systems are out. I don't have time
to play games with you and your medical gadgets."
"I'll relieve you from duty, Mr. Scott.
I have the authority." "Do it after I get the warp
engines on line again." Scott pulled himself upright
and keyed a diagnostic sequence into the console.
McCoy ran the tricorder over the chief
engineer's body, checked the readings, and scowled.
"You've a nasty bump on your head, possibly a
concussion. But if you'll report to Sickbay when you
get the engines fixed-or if you experience any
dizziness-I won't drag you in now." "Thank you,
Doctor." Scott turned away, immersing himself
in the Enterprise's power systems. He was so busy
he did not even notice when McCoy left.
Brady followed the doctor to the door, his
expression tense with worry. "How serious is his
injury? Will it affect his work?" He kept his
voice low to prevent Scott from hearing his question.
"It shouldn't. He'll have a bad headache, and his
head will be sore for several days, but it's not as bad
as I told him." McCoy slung the tricorder
over his shoulder. "If it was, I'd haul him
into Sickbay in spite of the engines."
"Thank you, Doctor. If you'll excuse me,
I'll go help him." Brady retraced his steps,
his silhouette outlined by the multicolored
indicator lights on the control consoles.
McCoy gave the blinking panels a final look
and headed for Sickbay. Dettner needed surgery
to repair the deep slashes on his face.
Srrawll Ktenten prowled the quarters
assigned to her alterbody, t'Stror. She flexed
her fingers, feeling the thickened nails, and fought the
instinct to transform into something more able to eliminate
danger. The predatory forms of her homeworld were
worse than useless. No one would mistake a
savage, catlike phena or a powerful,
wolflike talbera for one of the Enterprise's
regular crew.
She snarled under her breath. Her own carelessness
had cost her a flawless cover. She should never have
believed the Simons vrith'k when she said her
Deltan cub was harmless. Ever since boarding the
Enterprise, Srrawll had felt the mind-hunter
pulling in her thoughts. Though Srrawll was not, in the
strictest sense of the word, telepathic, her race
had evolved on a world populated by telepathic
predators. Survival depended on detecting an
attacker's use of telepathy.
Srrawll threw herself at the bed and curled up in
a ball. To save herself and prevent the aliens from
stealing her homeworld, her next move must be planned
and executed meticulously. She closed her
eyes, surrendering to a vision of a mature kenda
tree with a comfortable nest in the hollow of a forked
branch. The air was warm and scented with
summer flowers-and there was nothing larger than a frightened
karra within a long run in any direction. After a
few moments, she leaped off the bed. Such homesick
self-indulgence would not repel the invaders nor would
it solve her immediate problem. She must control herself,
must examine her options and plan carefully. The
safety of her world depended on her, and she could not
afford another mistake.
Kirk was outside the briefing room door when the
negotiations recessed for lunch. He waited for
Ambassador Klee to come through the door. "May
I have a word with you, Mr. Ambassador?"
Klee dismissed his aides and gestured for his
honor guard to follow him at a distance. "I am
going to have my luncheon repast with the women who are my
wives. Offense is not intended when I ask you
to talk as I go to my quarters."
"None taken." They began walking slowly down
the corridor. Kirk adjusted his strides to match
Klee's pace.
"Are your new wives a pleasure in the hours that
you spend with them? I have tried to train them always
to delight the wishes of their husband." "Mr.
Ambassador, that's what I wanted to talk to you
about. I don't feel right taking your
wives from you."
"But it is correct that you should have them, honored
Captain. Your esteemed servant was able to heal them
after the rituals of our people had failed. It is
proper that they should belong to the man who is able
to protect them." Kirk shook his head. "You are
guests on my ship. It's my duty to care for
everyone aboard. No special thanks are needed."
"It is also a matter of my honor that I cannot
remain married to those I cannot protect. I have no
honor if I do not permit these women to dwell with the
man who can provide for them what I cannot."
"That's the point, Mr. Ambassador. I'm a
ship's captain. All I have is my Starfleet
salary and a few personal possessions. There's
barely enough room for me in my quarters, let alone
three other people. I don't have any way
to accommodate your wives properly."
"Most respected Captain, the women we are
discussing are now your wives. It is not proper that you
should diminish their honor by calling attention to their
previous, unworthy husband. However, as captain,
do you not have the ability to command anything you desire?
Certainly, you should be able to order for your wives the
living space they require."
"Uh, right," Kirk stammered, taken aback by the
ambassador's immovable certainty and utterly
unsure how to get around it. The conversation was not going
at all as he had planned. He was still looking for a
new way to phrase his objections when they reached
Klee's quarters. "If the honored captain will
excuse me, I must now
attend upon my wives." The ambassador bowed
slightly and extended his arm in farewell. Kirk
did his best to repeat the gesture as Klee
disappeared into his cabin. How, Kirk wondered, was
he ever going to persuade the Kaldorni to take
back his wives? His arguments were useless against
Klee's talk of honor and obligations.
"All right, Tenaida-explain how the intruder
got into the computers this time." Kirk heard the edge in
his voice and realized his frustration from the interview with
Klee was spilling over into this discussion. The
Deltan dropped a plastic disk onto the table.
Kirk frowned. The Engineering access key carried
the operating codes for the computer-controlled stations in the
Engineering section. Anyone with that key could
completely disable the Enterprise.
"The intruder attacked Lieutenant Dettner
and used his key to get into the Engineering
control system. When I designed the new
security program, I didn't consider stolen
access keys."
"Or that the spy would know enough to steal one."
"True. Until this action, the intruder hadn't
shown such detailed knowledge of the ship's operations."
"Maybe someone told him. Or maybe he hid
out in Engineering long enough to pick it up. The question is
how bad was the damage, and how do we keep him from
doing it again?"
"I've assigned passwords to restrict the
access keys. I also designated codes for the
medical department's keys, although it would be more
difficult to disrupt the ship with the programs
controlled through the medical keys." "And how bad was
the damage this time?" Kirk asked. Tenaida
called up Brady's damage report on his
screen. "The initial power surge overloaded the
warp drive regulator units and fused half the
control circuitry. Commander Scott is still
assessing the minor 203
problems. He'll log those and report
progress of the repairs on the computer later."
"In other words, Scotty said, "Don't
bother me, I'm fixing my engines.""
Kirk gave Tenaida a strained, lopsided grin.
"How long will the repairs take?"
"Mr. Scott estimates he will need twenty
hours to replace the control circuits. And another
ten to bring the system up to operational
specifications."
"Thirty hours?" Until the repairs were
completed, the Enterprise was helpless-a sitting
duck for any threat that came along. "Did you get
all the intruder's programming out of the control
systems?" "I don't know, Captain. I disabled
the segments I found, but Commander Brady and I should
examine all the programming in the Engineering control
sys- tems."
Tenaida hesitated uncharacteristically for a moment.
"And, Captain-there's something else I think you should
know."
"Yes?"
The Deltan twisted the stylus in his hand,
fidgeting from nervous tension. "Word has spread
among the crew that the three Kaldorni women are
staying in your quarters. I have heard-jokes-about it.
Captain, it is not good for your image to have them there."
"Don't tell me about it! I thought I'd given
that problem to you to solve. Haven't you or
Commander Brady come up with anything to get me out of the
marriage yet?"
"I regret that we have not yet formulated a viable
plan."
"Well, if you get any ideas, let me know
immediately!" The intercom whistled. The captain tapped
the pad. "Kirk here." "Captain, someone just found
a body on the shuttle deck. It's one of the
Kaldorni."
"On my way. Kirk out."
Kirk thought the turbolift would never reach the

hangar deck. He sprinted toward the crowd
gathered behind the box-shaped shuttle and saw that the
body was sprawled on the deck, tangled in the
brightly colored and highly decorated Kaldorni
robes. The clothing was nearly intact, but the limbs
and facial features had been burned past any
hope of identification. In spite of the ventilation
system, the stench of the charred flesh hung in the air.
Kirk felt his stomach heave with revulsion. He
forced himself to look away from the body. On the deck
half a meter away, a carrying pouch had spilled
its contents on the floor. Among the items,
Kirk saw an identity disc.
"Whose is that?" Kirk pointed to the plastic
counter. Security Chief Chekov stepped around the
body, picked up the disc, and handed it to the
crewwoman who was recording the scene. She
slipped the disc into her tricorder. "Identity
disc belongs to k'Vlay t'Stror, of
Ambassador Klee's staff, from the United
Worlds of the Kaldorni Systems." "What?"
Kirk seized the tricorder to verify the
identification. The disc was t'Stror's.
McCoy worked his way over to Kirk. "What is
it, Captain?" Kirk pointed to the body.
"Autopsy that as soon as Security is through. I
need to know the cause of death and what burned the face
and extremities like that. Also, compare the
physiological parameters with the identity disc we
found."
McCoy glanced at the body, grimaced, and
looked awa . "Is there anything else you want,
while I'm performing miracles?" Kirk shook his
head. "We thought we'd found our spy. But the
identity disc says that's him on the floor."
"I'll get on it right away." McCoy
looked at the security chief, his eyebrow raised.
When Chekov nodded permission, McCoy
gestured to his assistants to load the body onto
a stretcher.
Kirk followed McCoy out the door. Tenaida
fell in step with him. "Have you identified the
intruder?" the Deltan asked. "Lieutenant
Whitehorse spent the morning in the briefing room.
She said that her predatory alien was Speaker
t'Stror."
"It appears that Speaker t'Stror is dead."
"Or we're supposed to believe he's dead.
McCoy will find out the truth." "I don't follow
your reasoning."
Kirk felt the weight of his
responsibilities drag on him. As captain,
his decisions affected the lives of everyone on his
ship. And once again, the spy had outmaneuvered him.
He scowled in frustration. "Murder is rarely
logical, Tenaida. But I'll bet the intruder
thought we were getting too close, and decided
to change identities by "murdering" himself. What
I haven't figured out is how he's going to pull
off the masquerade." Tenaida was silent until
they reached Engineering. From the way the young Deltan's
eyebrows were twitching, Kirk knew he had given
Tenaida a lot to consider.
Montoya was talking when Kirk entered the
briefing room. He waited until the commissioner
noticed him. "Captain Kirk, can we do something for
you?" "I have a message for Ambassador Klee.
I regret it's not a pleasant one." "You will
speak to me this message that you have," said the aide
seated at the ambassador's left. Kirk could not
remember the man's name. "I function
temporarily as mouthpiece while the Speaker
t'Stror meditates upon the imbalance of his
overzealousness."
"My message is that one of your party has been
murdered. The identity disc with the body belonged
to Speaker t'Stror. May I extend my deepest
sympa- 206
thies to the ambassador and the rest of your party on
the loss of your companion?"
Kirk's words sparked an extended discussion in
clipped, guttural Kaldorni. Two of
Klee's aides appeared to be offering
contradictory advice. When they had finished
arguing, Klee turned to Kirk. "There will, of
course, be reparations."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It is said that the captain is
responsible for all that occurs upon his ship. Therefore,
it is the carelessness of the captain that has caused the
loss of this valuable servant. As a man of
honor, the estimable Captain Kirk will wish
to give to us the life of one of his servants who is
equally valuable."
"Servants?" Kirk shook his head. "I
don't own the life of anyone on this ship. I cannot
do as you request."
"We do not request this, and all we see obey
your commands as master. We have observed the way of your
ordering your servants and the value of the duties that they
supply you. It is our opinion that there is one
among your servants who is seen by us to be of greatest
value. The insult to our people may be appeased by the
life of the one you call Tenaida."
"His life is not mine to give. He is a
free man."
"This cannot be. Free men give orders, not receive
them. Until reparations are made, we cannot continue
in conference with these others from your people. When your honor
is restored, we will talk again." The Kaldorni
marched from the room.
Kirk dropped into a chair. "How did I put
my foot in it this time? I'll never understand
those people."
"Captain, would you tell us about the murder?"
Norris smiled at Kirk. "Please?"
He rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of the
chaotic situation. "You people are the experts on the
Kaldorni. Maybe you can help figure this out."
Two hours later, Kirk felt qualified as an
authority on the Kaldorni and on Kaldorni
psychology. However, 207
he still did not understand the Kaldorni interpretation
of the Enterprise's command structure that had led them
to choose the Deltan Science Officer-in-
Training as the ship's most valuable officer. Nor
did he know how to convince Ambassador Klee that
he had no power to surrender Tenaida as a
compensatory payment for the death of Speaker t'Stror.
"ALL RIGHT, BoNE'S, what did you come
up with?" Frowning, Kirk closed the door
to McCoy's office. He turned a visitor's
chair to face the doctor and slid into it.
Seeing the expression on Kirk's face,
McCoy realized something must have happened since
Security found the body. "You look like you've got
another problem, Admiral."
"You can say that again! On top of everything
else, the Kaldorni are demanding Tenaida's
life as reparations for t'Stror's murder." "Would
it help if it wasn't t'Stror?" McCoy
looked smug, pleased with the results of his foray
into forensic medicine. Kirk stared at McCoy,
scarcely believing he'd guessed right. "You're
sure?"
McCoy gave an emphatic nod. "The body
isn't t'Stror's. The blood type, the antigen
matches, even the body mass is wrong. The
murderer tried to destroy all the identifiable
features, but every test I can run on what's left
proves it isn't t'Stror."
"Then who is it?"
"A Kaldorni. I don't know which one."
McCoy shrugged, and some of his satisfaction
vanished. "We've gone through our medical records
on the
ambassador and his staff, but they didn't tell
us much."
"What about the support files for their identity
discs?" "Invasion of privacy. You'd have to ask
Ambassador Klee or clear it through Starfleet
Command, the Diplomatic Corps, and the Federation
Council." "I could try, but I don't
think we can afford to wait that long. And if I asked
the ambassador-assuming he'd talk to me about it,
which I doubt-we'd alert the spy that we're onto
him. Maybe Tenaida can get around the
safeguards."
McCoy fiddled with his stylus to cover how
uneasy his next information made him feel. "There was
something else. The body was loaded with
Trisopen-5." "Tnsopen-5? That's nasty
stuff. How much?"
"Enough to make him remember his entire life in
vivid detail. I'd say the murderer pumped his
victim dry of information before killing him." "The
spy. It's got to be. We thought he was
masquerading as t'Stror. He must have guessed
we'd caught him."
"So he used the truth serum on another
Kaldomi, killed him, and assumed the identity of the
murdered man. It would fit the facts, though I
don't see how he expects to pull off the
masquerade for long." McCoy shuddered, appalled
at the killer's cold-blooded planning.
Kirk nodded. "It doesn't seem likely, but
he's apparently used mind control on some of us, so
maybe he thinks he can use it on the
Kaldomi to hide the substitution. Or, maybe
he's been using some type of mental manipulation
all along to cover the flaws in his disguises.
Otherwise, even with the most advanced biocosmetic
fabricator he could steal, I don't see how his
impersonations could be that good."
"He's been pretty successful so far,"
McCoy answered pointedly. "True, but this does
solve one of our problems If 210
one Kaldorni killed another one, they're both
the ambassador's responsibility because he
selected his aides and is accountable for their actions.
Bones, do you think that will get Tenaida off
Klee's hook?" McCoy doodled a pattern
on the desktop. "It might. It's certainly
worth a try." He shoved a datapad across the
desk to Kirk. "He should have this autopsy report,
since the victim was one of his people."
Kirk picked up the report. "I don't know
if this will work, Bones, but I'll give it my best
shot. Klee seems to think I'm his equal since
he gave me half his wives."
"Good luck, Captain."
"Thanks, Bones." Kirk looked at the
noteboard in his hand. "I think I'll
need it."
Tenaida loaded the tray with vegetables and
cheese. After several hours of unsnarling the
programming bugs in the Engineering control systems,
he planned to eat a light meal and meditate before
working out to relax himself.
"May I speak with you, Mr. Tenaida?"
Simons glided across the room. She stopped in
front of him and fluttered her eyelashes in a
manner that Tenaida recognized as one that humans
regarded as seductive. "Captain Kirk told
me to see you about getting access to the computer. I'd
like to send messages to some friends." She gave him a
helpless little smile. "There's not much for me to do,
since my husband is working so hard."
"Indeed." Tenaida set his tray on a nearby
table and gripped his hands behind his back to control a
sudden tremor. Simons' proximity created
spontaneous reactions in certain extremities.
He dug his fingernails into his palms, telling
himself that he was imagining things because he was tired. As a
Deltan bound by his oath of celibacy, he should not
be thinking of such matters. And as a Deltan trained
to control his reactions around less sexually advanced
races, he should not be experiencing such
sensations. Gritting
his teeth, he struggled to assume the Vulcan
poker face that his immediate superior used.
"Which programs do you require?"
Simons regarded him with wide, innocent eyes.
"I really don't know, Mr. Tenaida. I
usually just use Yonnie's, but he's been too
busy to tell me which ones I need. Could you just give
me his access code? I mean, if it wouldn't be
too much trouble?" She rested a hand lightly on his
shoulder. Tenaida's arousal increased.
"Madam, you must have your own access code. If
more than one person uses a given code, the computer
will cancel it and erase any information it protects."
He took a deep breath and tried again to quell his
physical reactions. His body resisted, acting as
if governed by an external force. With a start, he
realized what was happening on a primitive, almost
unconscious level, Simons was a telepath.
And she wasn't a typical Deltan or
Vulcan telepath-she was one of the rare few who could
impose her will on others. At the moment she was
projecting intrusive, overpowering lust, hoping
to distract him enough so that he would give her the access
codes she wanted.
"Can't you do anything so I can send my
messages?" She moved closer and stared in his
eyes. The sensuality she projected became even
stronger. Tenaida picked up his tray and jerked
free of her clinging hand. "I'll compile a list of the
programs you'll need. When I'm done, I will
assign you an access code and clear the programs
for that code. You will be given the list when I have
finished it."
"Would you do that for me?" she asked. "Could you do it
now? I'm sure the computer console in my quarters
is free. Yonnie is off somewhere having a meeting
with his aides."
"I cannot work on it immediately, as I have a prior
obligation." He bolted for the door, carrying his
dinner. Behind him, he heard her whisper a vicious
"Damn!"
In his quarters, Tenaida set the food aside
while he struggled to reassert control over his
body. Simons' mental assault had ripped through
the delicately balanced restraints that governed his
life. After his mind and body calmed and he
organized his findings, he knew Kirk would be
interested in his discoveries about Cecilia Simons.
However, at the moment, Tenaida's
concern was less intellectual. Simons had
triggered his mating instincts, and his body was throbbing with
desire. However, on a human ship, he could not
allow his physiology to follow its natural
course. The long hours of lovemaking would overload
the Enterprise's air purification system with
Deltan pheromones. Tenaida shuddered,
remembering his last leave on Delta Four and the
two weeks he had spent becoming reacquainted with
his three cross cousins and their soul mates. By the
time he had left, they had become so close, so
united in mind and body and spirit, that the merest brush
of a fingertip was enough for them to share a deep emotional and
mental intimacy. After a melding like that, what
Simons suggested was the foulest perversion he could
imagine. Tenaida fought his body, struggling to bring
his erratic hormone levels under control. When he
had calmed, he headed for the gym, hoping a vigorous
workout would bring his troublesome physiology back under
his conscious control.
Kirk knew little of the etiquette for visits
among equals on the Kaldorni homeworld, but after
some thought, he decided human customs would serve
for the occasion. The Kaldorni women watched him
curiously as he smoothed the imaginary
wrinkles from the braid on his dress uniform but,
observing his preoccupation, concluded they were not invited
to share this ritual. The dietitian had provided a
drink that tasted almost like Kentucky bourbon, but
contained nothing
more harmful to Kaldorni metabolism than
alcohol. Kirk was exceptionally pleased with the
container fabricated to hold the liquor a
rainbow-tinted glass bottle that changed colors as
it was rotated. After checking and rechecking his
preparations, the captain confirmed the meeting with
Ambassador Klee. The door of the Kaldomi
quarters whisked open at Kirk's first knock. As
he entered the dimly lit room, Klee greeted
him with a slight bow and a sideways roll of his head.
Kirk did his best to copy the greeting
"Honored brother, you grace our humble living
space with your presence." "The honor is all
mine, to be allowed to share your company." Kirk
extended the bottle. "May I present you with a
small gift to express my pleasure. It
resembles a beverage popular on the human
homeworld." Smiling, Kirk gave the bottle
to Klee.
In the room's corners, the extra
heaters Scotty had found somewhere were operating at
maximum, maintaining the temperature in the
Kaldorni's quarters in spite of the power
restrictions elsewhere on the ship. The temperature
made Kirk wish for a tall glass of iced tea,
but he knew he would have to settle for something else because
the caffeine it contained was toxic to the Kaldorni.
Much to Kirk's relief, Klee produced
glasses. "Would it be pleasing to the honored captain
to share in the drinking of his gift? It would be my
privilege to serve him if he would take a sitting
position on the rug."
Kirk followed Klee into the central living area
and sat beneath the large wall hanging. He would have
preferred a chair, but there were none in the room.
Klee joined him, handing Kirk a large, square
glass of the synthetic bourbon. There was a long
pause while they sipped their drinks. Kirk
schooled himself to patience, knowing he had to follow
Kaldomi custom here even though his own preference
dictated immediate action.
"It is extremely rare to find a being from your
Federation who is willing to conduct his affairs in
accordance with the Harmonies of the Universe. The
Captain Kirk is to be congratulated
upon his skills as a human being." Kirk gulped his
drink in surprise. With his struggle to understand anything
about the Kaldorni, such a compliment was the last thing
he had expected from Klee. "One learns from one's
instructors, and I've had a good teacher." "The
respected captain does his humble servant too
much honor. There was a matter you said must be discussed
before we arranged the matter of the reparations?"
"Yes. Dr. McCoy has completed his
autopsy on the dead man." Kirk told the
Kaldorni of the doctor's findings.
By the time Kirk had finished, Klee's face was
a study in confusion. "Is there a significance to this
story that I am failing to perceive? How is it that you can
display so much certainty that the body does not belong
to the man who is missing?"
Kirk considered his options. He was uncertain how
Starfleet would react to his telling the Kaldorni
about the spy-knowing Chen, he suspected she would
disapprove strongly-but under the circumstances, the
risk seemed justified. Klee listened, rocking
back and forth with intense concentration. He made no
protest and seemed to follow the logic behind Kirk's
conclusions. "If I grant the truth of this, it is
needful that I accept the blame for what
has happened because I failed to detect the disharmony
of an outworlder among my aides." His face creased
with a perplexed frown. "As yet, I see no proof
that this thing is true. How can I make a determination
on what I am told when both occurrences are so
disharmonious? The Harmony of the Universe rests in
the balance of its truths, but there is no harmony in
any of this.
"And what does the honored captain propose
to do for reparations? From either of these disharmonies, I
am now missing the services of my most valued
aide. The Captain Kirk cannot restore what is
lost, but honor demands that he submit to me the
life of his most valued assistant. "It is not
known how that one can replace the aide lost to me through
the carelessness of the Federation's servants, but it is
to be hoped that he will be trainable. It is most
certain that the skills he gives to the venerable
Captain Kirk are highly needed to protect those
that serve me against the dangers of your greatly
perplexing Federation."
At the word trainable, Kirk felt relief wash
through him. When Klee had demanded Tenaida's life
m reparations, he had meant the statement literally.
Also, Kirk realized, Klee had chosen
Tenaida as Kirk's most valuable servant
solely on the basis of the work he had seen
Tenaida do. The outline of a solution began to take
shape.
Kirk drew a deep breath, struggling against his
urge to rush now that he saw the pattern for solving his
dilemma. "If you failed to detect the spy among
your aides, wouldn't that carelessness negate the later
carelessness of my people?"
"It has not yet been proven that this disharmony
existed first. No explanation has been offered that will
cover the i mpossibility of this stranger looking so
much like one of my own that even I, the Protector of
my Clan, cannot distinguish this strangeness. If the
Harmony of the Universe is to be restored, the known
discordances must be atoned for. Reparations for alleged
disunities cannot be contemplated until the imbalance
is proven." "Until we determine what actually
happened, wouldn't it increase the disharmony to demand
reparations? What if you were to receive payment for an act
that was your fault?"
Klee, obviously troubled by the implications of

Kirk's question, took a long time to answer. "A
disunity exists. I seek to balance it in the
only way that appears reasonable to me. If I do
not protect the Harmonies of my people, I will be
judged unworthy to guide them in their search for
Balance."
"You've asked for Tenaida's life, but he's the
person on the Enterprise who is best qualified
to determine which of the possible-disharmonies-is the true
one. Would you suspend your claim to his services
until the matter is settled? Then we'll know
who's responsible and what reparations should be paid."
Klee took even longer to consider this strange
suggestion. Kaldorni custom contained no
provisions for delaying reparations. Finally, Klee
seemed to melt into himself with resignation. "It is not
possible by the ways of our world to address disharmonies
such as those you propose. Since the disunity cannot be
balanced without creating another, finding the solution to this
would seem the way the one called Tenaida can best
serve the interests of my people.
"It is not my wish to appear rude to my honored
guest, but I would meditate now that I might
select a clearer path through the disharmonies you have
brought me."
"I'm sorry my information was so disturbing, Mr.
Ambassador. If you'll excuse me,
I'll leave now. Perhaps we can talk again later."
Klee gave Kirk a deep bow, then
prostrated himself before the wall hanging. He ignored
Kirk as the captain let himself out of the rooms.
Once in the corridor, Kirk leaned against the
wall, savoring in equal parts his feeling of
relief and the cooler temperature outside the
Kaldorni's rooms. He had accomplished most
of his objectives, but the strain of guessing the
proper formalities had drained him. After a few
moments, he headed for McCoy's quarters. He
sorely needed to talk to someone who did not
practice circumlocution as an art form.
Janara Whitehorse was certain working in her
quarters was a direct violation of Dr.
McCoy's orders. On the other hand, what the
doctor could not see would not bother him, and Janara
found the Shansar equations more relaxing than several
other activities McCoy would have allowed.
Tenaida's suggestions had pointed to a solution for the
major difficulty. With that resolved, the rest of the
model was falling into place. She had been
absorbed in the equations for several hours when the
door buzzer interrupted her concentration.
"Come."
Tenaida entered the room. She looked at him
curiously, wondering why he had not called her before
coming. The man moved toward her with a predatory,
feline power foreign to the Deltan.
"Do you want something?" His actions seemed
abnormal, alien. She slip ed her hand over the
intercom button and waited for his next move.
"Y." He closed the distance between them and grabbed her
by the shoulders. She punched the intercom to
"Transmit" as he hauled her from the chair and
crushed her into a bodylock. With the first contact, the
savage, saber-toothed cat exploded into her mind,
stripping away her defenses. Her consciousness
cringed away from the mental onslaught. She struggled
against the physical hold and tried to regroup her
defenses on the psychic level. The intruder
flipped her against the wall as easily as if she were
a toy. She slid to the floor, half-stunned by the
impact, but used the brief time her assailant was
not touching her to reinforce her mental defenses.
Hampered by his Deltan form, the spy tried
to kick Janara. She saw the blow coming and lashed out
at her attacker's other leg. Thrown off balance,
the intruder fell heavily, but rolled away before
Janara could land a karate chop on his
neck. The spy regained his feet and was circling
warily, looking for another opening, when someone pounded
on the door.
"Open. Security." The man's voice was
muffled by the door. "Come," Janara gasped. Her
left side felt as if every rib had been broken.
Her assailant, snarling savagely, ran for the
bathroom to escape through the adjoining cabin.
The security team split. One man followed the
fugitive while another raced down the corridor
to intercept him. Janara heard a voice call for the
doctor before she lost consciousness.
Janara moaned and tried to block the bright lights
from her eyes. Pain lanced through her shattered
collarbone and broken ribs. "Lie still and don't
move." Dr. McCoy's voice seemed to come from
a great distance. Janara opened her eyes
cautiously. The doctor's pale face and dark
hair took shape against the blinding background. He
smiled to reassure his patient. "Captain Kirk
needs to talk to you now. I'll fix those bones as
soon as he's done."
"Understood," Janara whispered. "May I see
Shan Tenaida, too?" "That's up to the captain."
Janara closed her eyes. She heard
McCoy speak to Kirk, but the captain's reply
was drowned by a woman's shrill protest coming from the
adjoining room.
"What do you mean-let that Deltan animal see
my daughter, but not her own mother? Hasn't he already
done enough? He nearly killed her, and you're going
to let him in there to finish what he started? He
belongs in the brig, not running around loose
assaulting people. When their hormones are acting up,
they're capable of anything!"
"Madam." Kirk's voice was flat, betraying
his thinning patience. "If you don't leave immediately,
I'll put you in the brig. The rest of your
allegations aren't proven, and there's no positive
identification of the
attacker. You may discuss visitors'
privileges with Dr. McCoy after your daughter
comes out of surgery."
Simons started to protest, but Kirk cut her
off. He beckoned to a guard who had helped carry
Janara's stretcher to Sickbay. "Escort Ms.
Simons to her quarters, and see that she gets there."
The man nodded. Simons looked from Kirk to the
burly guard and left quietly.
Kirk called Tenaida to Sickbay.
While he waited for the Deltan to arrive, he
hovered behind McCoy, trying to interpret the readings
on the monitor panels. "How bad are her
injuries?"
McCoy set the large scanning unit for another
pass over Janara's torso. The computer added the
new data into the image, emphasizing the splayed
cracks in the ribs. "She's in a lot of pain, and
I need to fix those broken bones as soon as
Christine gets the operating room ready."
"I won't take long, Bones. But the
security men are positive her assailant was
Tenaida, so I have to get her statement."
"You don't think he did it? You're out of your
mind!" "I don't know, Bones. At first, we were
operating on the assumption that the spy could control
minds and make people do things they wouldn't ordinarily do.
Then Scotty saw his double in Engineering, so we know
the intruder is also a master of disguises. That means
I need to know everything I can about this attack. Was it
Tenaida? Or someone that just looked like Tenaida?
I've got to know what I'm up against."
McCoy scowled. "That's a problem."
"That's an understatement, Bones."
Tenaida entered the room. His damp
face was deeply flushed, his breathing was rapid and
shallow, and there was an uncontrollable tremor in his
mus- cles. For a moment, McCoy wondered if
Tenaida could have been the attacker. He inhaled
deeply and concentrated on his own reactions, but he
felt no more
than the usual physiological warmth he
experienced when he was exposed to Deltan
pheromones. That made Simons' suggestion of
attempted rape due to hormone imbalance
extremely unlikely. However, something had
happened to deeply upset the young Deltan. While
Kirk questioned Tenaida, McCoy went to the dispensary
to get him a mild tranquilizer.
"Where were you for the last hour, Tenaida?" Kirk's
tone was grim. "I was in the gym, practicing heavy
gravity movements."
"Was anyone else with you?"
"Not that I saw. However, the exercise logs will
confirm my activities." "I hope you're right."
Kirk told Tenaida what had happened, then
pointed through the door into the examining room. "Dr.
McCoy said she wanted to talk to you."
Tenaida stopped inside the door, studying the
slight form on the bed. When he moved to her
side, she seemed even more frail and delicate
than she had from across the room. A sudden rage
shook him at the sight of her bruised face, and he
fought the urge to inflict the same damage on her
assailant. When Janara sensed his presence, her
eyelids fluttered open. She tried to speak, but the
pain kept her from taking a deep enough breath. Her hand
stretched toward his, begging him to grasp it. He
looked at her, torn by a flood of unexpected
emotions. He tried to sort them out tenderness,
protectiveness, an overwhelming need to lose himself
in her thou89s and feelings. This is what my cousins
give to their soul mates. 1 shouldn't be feeling this.
He forced the emotions down and clasped Janara's
hand. With the physical contact, he sensed the images
in her thoughts, which were blurred by the painkiller Dr.
McCoy had given her. She reached for the dark,
cool textures of his mind, letting herself drift
among the surface patterns of his awareness.
Then she was gone, leaving behind a sense of her caring
and her impressions of the being that had attacked her.
He probed the memory, shuddering involuntarily as
the image of the savage saber-toothed cat erupted
in his brain.
"Tenai da, what is it?" Kirk's
voice penetrated his concentration. The Deltan
shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality.
He forced his fingers open and laid her hand gently on
the bed. His whole body was trembling, and the wetness
on his cheeks was not sweat. He took a deep
breath and met Kirk's concerned look.
"She gave me her perceptions of her
assailant and her memories of the attack. If you
will excuse me, Captain, I need a few
minutes to examine the information."
"Wait for me in McCoy's office," Kirk
ordered. "Then we'll collect Commander Brady and
go somewhere where we can talk." He turned to Janara.
"Who attacked you?"
"Alien. Not . . . Tenaida." She spoke in
a faint whisper, and Kirk had to lean over to hear
her words.
"Are you positive?" Kirk knew he could not
afford a mistake. Even though McCoy was hovering
at the door, impatient to begin surgery, he had
to be sure of Janara's statement.
"Not . . . Tenaida." Her whisper was
definite, and Kirk knew he had not
misinterpreted her response. He straightened.
"Your patient, Bones." He strode
from the room.
"Well, Tenaida?" Kirk threw himself into the
chair before the worktable in the Deltan's quarters.
Behind him, Patrick Brady lounged against the
wall, trying to conceal his tension with a casual pose.
Tenaida sat opposite the captain, stiffly
erect in his chair. "The assailant projected the
image of a large predatory felinoid into Shan
Janara's mind during the
attack. It would appear that was to keep her from
defending herself against the physical assault."
"I'd say the plan very nearly succeeded,"
Kirk said. "Yes. But why should the intruder
attack her now? She's reported similar mental
impressions since the Kaldorni came aboard."
"The spy has decided Lieutenant
Whitehorse poses a threat to him. But-what is this
spy? The security team reported they chased you-you,
Tenaidafrom the lieutenant's quarters. At that
point, they had the turbolift on security
override. No matter how good the spy is at mind
control, your-body-could not have gotten from the crew
quarters down to the gym in ten minutes without using the
turbolift. I'd say that effectively rules out
the mind-control hypothesis and every variation of
it that we might consider." "Agreed, Captain. The
exercise logs will show I was in the gym when the
attack occurred. It is equally unlikely,
given Shan Janara's efforts to defend herself, that the
intruder's disguise could have remained intact.
Biocosmetic appliances are notoriously
fragile during the first forty-eight hours after
application, and such a violent struggle should have
damaged or dislodged a significant percentage
of the intruder's disguise." "Does this mean what I
think it does?"
Tenaida nodded. "For the spy to create the
difficulties we have been experiencing, I believe
the intruder has the ability to alter its body shape
at will. When someone has appeared to be in two
places at oncethey were. The spy has been
assuming our forms to disrupt the ship's operations."
"A shapechanger?" Kirk examined the idea. It
explained a lot, but he had never heard of any
creature who could do what this one apparently could. In
particular, the ease with which the alien assumed new
identities was hard to believe.
Brady straightened his posture as he considered this

concept. "Are such complete
transformations physiologically possible? You're
talking about a thorough duplication, even to the point that
key physical pa- rameters are reproduced.
Like voice patterns."
"To account for the observed facts, the creature would
have to have the shapechanging ability I have just postulated.
In which case, we are dealing with a previously unknown
race."
Kirk nodded. "I'll accept that. But back to the
attack. Why now? Do you think the spy noticed
Lieutenant Whitehorse in the briefing room this
morning?"
"That's possible." Tenaida frowned. "That would
require the spy to be telepathic-actually, that
ability is probably necessary to carry off these
impersonations. At the very least, I would assume
sufficient psychic abilities to sense when a
disguise is not sufficiently convincing." "But how
telepathic is that? The intruder obviously
doesn't know everything about us. And why did he
impersonate you for the attack?" The lines around
Tenaida's mouth deepened. "I don't know.
Insufficient information."
Kirk frowned. Tenaida's unspoken thoughts
hung in the air, almost as if they were in
mental contact. Each of the three men knew that
events were rushing toward a climax. Kirk felt
an almost tangible aura of danger gathering around them.
Somehow, he needed to regain control, to get the upper
hand in the situation-for once, to be waiting when the spy
made his next move. "A trap. We need some
kind of trap."
Tenaida took a deep breath. "The bait must
be something the intruder will find irresistible."
Brady stepped forward, "He seems to have a
taste for Deltans. You could confine Lieutenant
Tenaida to the brig. It's a good place to spring a
trap." "Yes." Tenaida stared at the corner of the
worktable, refusing to meet Kirk's eyes. "Perhaps
you should confine me to the brig, as Ms. Simons
suggested."
Kirk grimaced at the idea of considering anything

from that source. "Let's leave that for a last
resort. Anyone in the brig is a sitting
duck."
"A sitting duck, Captain?"
"A-a target that isn't moving-one that's very
easy to hit. The spy would know exactly where to find
you, but you wouldn't have any way to defend yourself
without giving away the trap."
"I'll keep that in mind." Tenaida fell
silent. Brady moved to Kirk's side.
"Captain, if you don't mind, I'd like to run some
simulations on this shapechanging idea. See if I
can come up with its operational parameters."
"Sounds like a good idea, Mr. Brady. Let
me know what you come up with." "I promise, you'll
be the first to know." Brady stepped back, resuming his
place against the wall.
Tenaida shifted nervously in his chair.
"Captain, may I change the subject?"
"What's on your mind, Tenaida?"
"I may have discovered something important about
Commissioner Montoya's wife." Tenaida
described his meeting with Simons, complete with a
clinical account of his own reactions, and finished with his
conclusions about her telepathic abilities.
"Subconscious projections of intense lust.
Sounds unbelievable?" Kirk's face took on
a far-off, thoughtful expression. "But it explains a
lot. She was always so desirable that it was almost
impossible to see beyond that." Tenaida seemed
genuinely puzzled. "It's irrational to spend one's
entire life coercing other people to do things against
their will and that lead to results harmful to them."
"Irrational. But human." Kirk frowned as a
new perspective occurred to him. "Who?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I assumed she did it solely for her own
amusement. But with that ability, she would make a
formidable operative for someone. If everyone is
watching
her sexual exploits, no one will take anything
else she does seriously." Kirk rubbed his
forehead, trying to focus his tumbling thoughts. The
idea, once formulated, had an inevitability he
found compelling. Simons' act was too good, too
well-rehearsed, to be played for low stakes. He
shook his head in disbelief. "An interplanetary
playgirl and spy. I thought such things were the
product of bad fiction."
Brady shook his head. "You're speculating."
Tenaida seemed perplexed. "There's no
evidence to support that position, Captain."
Kirk shrugged. "Call it a hunch, Tenaida.
If we start looking, I'll bet we'll find enough
facts to convince even you."
"Wouldn't our time be more profitably spent trying
to trap the murderer?" "Perhaps." Kirk
shot a speculative look at Tenaida. "On
the other hand, we might get lucky and catch both
at the same time."
"Perhaps." Tenaida's tone was heavy with
skepticism. Kirk's optimism asked more of the
universe than the Deltan believed it would
deliver.
Simons kicked her shoes at the far wall of the
room and threw herself on the bed as hard as she could.
She balled her left hand into a fist and pounded the
pillow. The action barely diminished her anger, but
her quarters lacked a more suitable punching bag.
Damn this job! And damn her restrictive
position as Montoya's wife! And, especially,
damn anything that put her within a megaparsec of her
ungrateful, telepathic, and all-too-Deltan
daughter! As long as Simons was not around the girl,
she could forget she had a daughter. For that matter,
Simons was sure Jane-Anne was equally
grateful not to be reminded of her mother.
With her anger somewhat abated, Simons stretched
out on the bed. Something about that last scene in
Sickbay nagged at her subconscious. What was
it? She 226
ran the scene back in her mind her
protests against Tenaida, Kirk's anger at her
words, his order to forcibly remove her. What was it
he had said-that the assailant had not been
positively identified, in spite of the eyewitness
reports from the security men? Unless-
Snatches of overheard conversations and hints of
information dropped by Montoya's aides
reorganized themselves in Simons' brain. Someone
else on the Enterprise was working her territory, and
that person had a better cover than hers. She ran
through the possibilities and realized suddenly who the
spy was.
Simons bounced off the bed, and pulled her
collapsed suitcase from the closet. The
miniaturized phaser was hidden in the base, so she was
able to retrieve it without re-expanding the case. She
put the weapon in her pocket and returned the
suitcase to the closet. One Kaldorni had
differed from all others. If Simons' guess were
correct, her competitor would be no more successful
at hiding that difference in his new identity than he
had been in his old.
She wa s smiling to herself as she left her quarters.
With luck, the Kaldorni ambassador would be so
incensed at losing another aide that he would
termi- nate the negotiations immediately. If
not-well, at least Simons would be able to operate
without tripping over someone else's mistakes. The
sooner she concluded this mission, the sooner she could
get off the Enterprise and away from Montoya.
She went to the lounge for a cup of coffee while
she waited to spring her trap.
Srrawll Ktenten prowled her quarters, snarling
at the transcriber. It took an eternity
to produce the hard copy that Ambassador Klee
had requested. "s'Flen, do this. s'Flen, fetch
that." Srrawll snarled again. From the standpoint of
rank and privileges, k'ationavle s'Flen had
been the logical choice when she needed a new
Kaldorni identity to replace t'Stror's. But
s'Flen
was not a member of the Clan Stror, and
Ambassador Klee distrusted him accordingly.
His true function on the negotiating team was
to prevent Klee from concluding an agreement that would
give Clan Stror an advantage over rival
families. And-much to Srrawll's
disgust-s'Flen's major duties were errand running and
operating the transcriber. The last piece of paper
popped out of the machine. She gathered the
sheets together and knocked them on the table with more
violence than was needed to align the edges. With the
transcript ready for the ambassador, she paused
to calm herself and double-check her Kaldorni disguise
before venturing into the corridor. When s'Flen
knocked on the door, Klee was talking with his
wives. Much to Srrawll's relief, the
ambassador took the papers without inviting s'Flen
to join his family for the evening ceremonies. There
were, after all, advantages to not being of Clan
Stror. After a day of being Klee's errand boy,
Srrawll needed the freedom to roam the ship,
seeking the critical vulnerability that would topple
her enemies and save her world. She paused outside
s'Flen's quarters, but could not force herself to reenter the
room. First, she decided, she would get something
to eat. The crew would not expect s'Flen to understand
their language, and she might overhear something that would
tell her how to eliminate the troublesome Deltans.
Her lips drew back from her teeth, and she barely
suppressed the yowl that rose in her throat as she
remembered how the little mind hunter had foiled her
plan to dispose of both Deltans in one move.
If the security men had arrived a minute later,
the Whitehorse tavra would have been dead
and the Tenaida nuisance confined to the brig for murdering
her. She entered the recreation lounge and thrust
s'Flen's diet card into the food dispenser. The
selector pads absorbed her savage
keystrokes as she ordered 228
the least obnoxious of the Kaldorni slop that the
card prescribed. When the panel slid open, she
took the tray to an empty table along the far
wall. "May I join you?"
Srrawll looked up. Cecilia Simons
stood beside the table. Of all the humans she did not
want to see-to One of the benefits Srrawll
expected from disposing of the t'Stror identity was not
having to service Simons' sexual appetites in
exchange for the information the woman provided.
Unfortunately, acting rude to the vrith k was not in
character for the diplomat s'Flen. "It would be my honor
to with the reverent lady Simons speak."
Simons placed her coffee cup on the table and
slid into the chair. She flipped back the long
sleeve of her dress, revealing the phaser she
held in her hand. It pointed at Srrawll, and
Simons' hand was trunksteady. "You can drop the
awkward sentences, t'Stror. I know you speak
better English than that."
"t'Stror is dead. Known am I as k'ationavle
s'Flen."
"Nice try." Simons' mouth split in a
predatory grin. "But your walk gives you away.
All the other Kaldorni move as little as possible,
and that with obvious difficulty, because of the ship's
heavier gravity. You try, but anyone with eyes can
see how easily you move. I wonder why
Captain Kirk hasn't noticed yet."
"What you are talking about, I understand not." Even
to her own ears, Srrawll's protest sounded weak.
"But Captain Kirk would. Should I call him?
And a security team?" Simons moved the phaser a
few millimeters. Srrawll followed it with her
eyes, barely restraining herself from swatting it out of the
woman's hand. She knew Simons would be able
to fire before she could reach the weapon. "What is it you
wish of me?"
"Talk. I want to know what you're up to. I
think we're working toward the same goals, and we could
profit by combining our forces."
"I do not know what it is you mean, but if you will
conceal again your weapon, I will consent to whatever
discussion you feel is appropriate to the situation."
A satisfied smile spread across
Simons' face. "Act naturally and finish your
food, then we'll adjourn to the briefing room where
the negotiations are being held. Don't try any
tricks, because I don't intend to let you pull a
double cross."
"I lack understanding of what causes you this worry,
but it will be as you say. One hopes this discussion will
relieve the discordances that disturb your Harmony."
"I'm sure it will. Simons glided to the coffee
dispenser for a refill. Srrawll watched her,
snarling under her breath and wishing for a whisper-gun
to throw a dart into the arrogant human's back. No
double cross, indeed! SrraWII added another name
to her list of nuisances scheduled for elimination.
"DOCTOR, MAY I ASK Lieutenant
Whitehorse a few more questions about her assailant?"
Chapel looked up from her computer screen. Even
in the quiet of Sickbay, Tenaida's approach
had been so silent that Chapel had not heard him.
"I'm sorry, sir. She was extremely restless
after surgery, and Dr. McCoy ordered a
sedative."
"You don't agree with those orders?"
As she tried to decide how to answer, Chapel
drummed her fingers on the counter. McCoy
would consider discussing diagnoses with someone outside
the medical department insubordination-or worse.
However, Tenaida was the one person on the ship who
would understand her concern. "I'm no expert on
psi-related disorders, but I spent six months
working with Tai Jorrel when he was rehabilitating
the children from the Zebulon-Theta disaster." Chapel
fell silent, remembering.
The initial surveys of Zebulon-Theta had
detected no native life forms larger than a
coyote. After reviewing the surveys, the Federation
had established a research station on the planet.
Six months later, the outpost's record logs
began showing evidence of mental instability among the
research personnel.
Ninety percent of the humans on
Zebulon-Theta were dead before someone discovered the
planet's secret it had once been populated
by a race of long-lived, powerfully telepathic
beings. The last of these creatures were still on the
planet, profoundly insane and craving death. A
handful of children survived the Zebulonis' racial
suicide, but they were deeply traumatized by the
psychic overload, which provided a catalysis for
their own latent abilities. Intensive
psychotherapy and massive doses of
psi-suppressant drugs had been required before
the children could function again in normal society.
Chapel shook herself mentally, returning her
attention to the present. "What Lieutenant
Whitehorse needs is a psi-suppressant, but
the ship's dispensary doesn't have any that are safe
to use on Deltans."
"I see. Would you be able to use boretelin under the
present circumstances?" Chapel searched her
memory. It had been several years since she had
worked with the Zebulon-Theta survivors, and it took
her a moment to place the drug. "Tablets, right? Do
you have some available?" When Tenaida nodded,
Chapel continued in a more confident tone, "Few
interaction problems with other drugs, targets
specifically to the psi-centers, no side effects.
It's ideal."
"I'll bring it at once." Tenaida left as
quietly as he had arrived. While she waited for
Tenaida to return with the medication, Chapel went
to Janara's room to examine her patient. Janara
was in good condition, except for another set of cuts
and bruises. McCoy had fused the broken bones
and closed the major wounds. Now, Janara
needed rest so her body could repair the damage the
Enterprise's medical services could not. Tenaida
returned with the boretelin and gave the bottle
to Chapel. After giving Janara a mild
stimulant, she shook two tablets from the bottle and
set the
container on the counter beside the bed. When Janara
stirred, Chapel slipped an arm around her shoulders
and helped her into a half-sitting position. "Here,
swallow these," Chapel ordered in a low voice,
holding out the boretelin. Janara stared at the
tablets, her head swaying with groggy confusion, until
she recognized the medication. She fumbled the tablets
out of Chapel's hand and into her mouth. Chapel held
a glass of water for Janara while she drained it,
then eased her under the blanket. Janara was uncon-
scious almost before her head reached the pillow. Chapel
straightened. "It'll be at least an hour before the
sedative wears off enough for her to talk. You can ask
your questions then." "Thank you, Doctor." Tenaida
turned and was gone, leaving Chapel alone with her
patient.
The day's events had driven all thought of his
Kaldorni wives from Kirk's head until he
entered his quarters. The stifling heat
reminded him he had yet to find a way of returning
the women to Klee, but before he could retreat to safety
elsewhere, the Kaldorni women surrounded him. They
led him across the room and pressed him against the
pillows they had piled on the bed.
Kirk was too tired to oppose three determined
females, so he settled back without protest.
Shade-inSun removed his boots and uniform, while
Joy-of- Morning brought slippers and a li ght robe
for him. Both were decorated with ornate designs that
matched the women's own clothing. Looking at the
decorations, Kirk decided his wives had learned
the quartermaster functions of the ship's computer
entirely too quickly.
He had just found a comfortable position after donning the
robe when Fire-in-Night appeared with a tray of
food. She presented it to him with an elaborate
bow and then balanced the tray across his legs. Stepping
backward, she stood beside the bed, waiting 233
for commands. Joy-of-Morning brought a decanter
and a matching wine goblet inlaid with a complex pattern.
Fire-in-Night held the glass while Joy-of-
Morning poured the wine. When it was full,
Fire-inationight offered it to Kirk with a liquid bow
and a sultry smile.
Kirk took the wine, struggling to hide his
impatience with the elaborate formality-this round was being
played by Kaldorni rules. He reached for his
detox pills, washing one down with a mouthful of wine
before he started on the food. The meal consisted of
spiced meat and vegetables served over a cooked
grain. The combination of flavors and textures was
unusual but pleasing. When Kirk had emptied the
bowl, the women offered him fresh fruit and sweet
cakes to finish the meal.
Kirk pushed the tray aside, hoping he had
eaten enough to compliment the women's culinary skills.
He pantomimed for the Universal Translator.
Shade- in-Sun handed it to him and he thumbed it
on.
"That was a very good meal. I thank you for it." He
tried to speak slowly and to give his words the sense of
ceremony the Kaldorni expected. "It honors
us to serve our most worthy husband. Is there anything
else you require that Shade-in-Sun can provide
you with?" "Yes, I'd like some information." He paused
a moment, wondering where was the best place to start.
"What would happen if I sent you back to your
planet by yourselves? It's not that I don't
appreciate you," Kirk added hastily
when the women started to cry, "but living like this, crowded
into the captain's quarters on a starship, is no
place for ladies like you." Shade-in-Sun dashed
her hand across her face to wipe away her tears.
She fired a series of questions to the other women,
speaking so rapidly the Universal Translator
could not keep up with her. Her co-wives answered in
the same staccato dialect, and the overlapping speech
from the three threatened to 234
over-whelm the computer. Kirk turned the machine
off, hoping the women would tell him their conclusions when
they finished talking. After what seemed an interminable
debate, the women fell silent and
Shade-in-Sun faced Kirk. He reactivated
the translator. "We do see the logic in our
honored husband's statement that his room is most
crowded, but as captain of this ship, our husband has
the power to command that his lodgings reflect his more
important status. We wonder why it is that our
husband has not already done this."
Kirk groaned, wondering how he was going
to convince these women of the difficulties inherent in their
suggestion. By Starfleet standards, the cabins in the
Enterprise were quite large. On a smaller ship, a
cabin the size of Kirk's quarters would have
accommodated nine officers on rotating three-man
shifts.
Here, the space was assigned to his exclusive
use. However, to increase his living space would
necessitate major remodeling of the adjoining
cabins and moving half of his senior officers to new
quarters. Kirk shuddered to think how most of them would
feel about the idea. "It's hard for me to explain,"
he said, "but the captain's quarters can't be enlarged
that easily." Shade-in-Sun looked skeptical
but continued. "My co-wives and I agree it would
cause us great sorrow never to see our homeworld again.
However, if we go there with no husband or clansman
to protect us, there would be small enjoyment of the little
time we would have."
dis.why?"
"There are many dangers on our world, and everyone must
have a protector to shield them from harm. A husband
defends wives, children, and perhaps even his younger brothers
or cousins.
"Throughout one's life, one grows in strength and
wisdom and is better able to determine what the
Harmonies of the Universe are. But there are always

those who are discordant and who seek
to disturb anyone they can touch. Without the protection
of a husband and his clan, a woman has little chance of
surviving the discordant ones. Is this not how it is
with your people?" Kirk wiped his forehead, feeling hotter
than ever. "Adults in our society are expected
to take care of themselves."
"But then how do you achieve Harmony with the
Universe, if there is no one to guide your
searching?"
Kirk started to say most humans never considered
the subject, but then he saw a way out of his
dilemma. "Our people look for harmony in other
ways. Would you explain the duties of a Kaldomi
husband so I don't accidentally destroy your
Harmony?"
Shade-in-Sun bowed to him. "Our husband is
most wise." The women clustered on the bed,
explaining to Kirk the duties expected of a
harmonious Kaldorni husband.
Kirk escaped to the refuge of the lounge to mull
over what the Kaldomi women had told him. On
their violent, danger-filled world, protectors for the
weaker members of the society made sense. What
he would never understand was the complex web of ritual and
obligation that formalized relationships in the
culture. While he worked to unravel the puzzle,
he listened with one ear to a duet between Lisbeth
Palmer of Communications and a botanist he could not
immediately place.
Kris Norris, wandering past the room, heard the
music. She glanced through the door and saw Kirk.
On impulse, she walked over to him and pointed at
an empty chair. "Is anyone sitting there?"
"No." Kirk smiled at her. "I can't
promise to be good company this evening though."
"A hard day? Goodness knows, I can sympathize
with that, considering ours." "I was working on an
unresolved problem-by 236
trying not to work on it. Is anything happening with the
negotiations?" Norris shook her head. "I
don't expect much before morning. Joachim asked
if we could negotiate around your alleged lack of
honor and harmony, and I expect Klee will
suggest that we discuss the possibilities in more
detail. And so on, until we reach a consensus for
reopening the formal talks." Kirk started to tell
her about McCoy's autopsy and his own talk with
Klee. Chekov entered the room and stopped beside
Kirk. "Captain, may I have a word with you?"
"Business?"
Chekov gave a brief nod.
Kirk stood. "You'll have to excuse me yet
again, Kris. A captain's work is never done."
She grinned back. "What can I say? A
diplomat's job is only slightly better."
Kirk laughed and followed Chekov from the room.
In the corridor, he moved up and fell in step with
his security chief. They were silent until they
reached Chekov's office. "All right. What is
it?" "I was looking at the recordings from the
monitors we installed outside the quarters
assigned to the Kaldorni. After listening to Commander
Brady's hy- pothesis, I assumed t'Stror was
altering his form and that he had disguised himself as
t'Stror before coming aboard the Enterprise. was "The
body Security found on Starbase 15 was
probably the real t'Stror." "That would appear
to be a reasonable hypothesis. At any rate, I
assumed that any distinguishing characteristic that separated
t'Stror from the other Kaldorni would identify him
in his new disguise."
"I agree. Did you find something?"
"I think so. I would like you to judge for yourself what
I have here." "By all means."
Chekov activated the computer console and
then 237
stepped to the side to let Kirk watch the display.
Scenes of Kaldorni in the corridor played
across the screen, including several shots of
t'Stror. "Captain, do you see how easily
t'Stror moves? All the other Kaldorni have
trouble walking in our gravity, and they say they find
it difficult because it is so much heavier than what they
are used to."
"t'Stror told me he had made several
trips off planet and enjoyed the change." Kirk
stopped, shaking his head to clear it. "What am I
saying? That was the spy talking. But could it have been the
real t'Stror's opinion on the subject?"
"I don't know. However, I would like to show you some
other recordings. This one was made this morning, just before
everyone was going to lunch." The screen showed two
Kaldorni entering the turbolift. One walked
easily and supported the other, who moved as if
heavily drugged. With a start, Kirk realized the
clothes on the dazed man were the same as those on the
corpse found on the hangar deck only a short
time later-they were watching the murderer lead his
victim.
"That looks like enough evidence to accuse
someone of murder. Do you know who?"
"I think so. I searched this afternoon's recordings,
and have identified which one of the ambassador's aides
I think the intruder has replaced. However,
Captain, I wanted you to confirm my conclusion before
I took further action."
"All right, Mr. Chekov." The computer cycled
through the Kaldorni's movements during the afternoon.
Kirk watched the sequence three times before he said
anything. "There isn't much doubt, is there?" "I
did not think so, Captain. However, I did not
want there to be any chance of error."
"Who is the spy now, Lieutenant? Do you have a
name?" "If my information is correct, he is the
one called k'ationavle s'Flen. He has a very
high position in the 238
ambassador's party. However, he belongs to a
rival clan and Ambassador Klee does not
trust him."
"I see. Now that we've identified the spy
again, what should we do about it?"
A frown creased Chekov's forehead. "According
to Federation law, you cannot put one of the ambassador's
aides into detention unless Ambassador Klee
waives diplomatic immunity for him."
"That's going to be troublesome. Unless-was A
satisfied grin spread over the captain's face.
"If we convince Ambassador Klee the person
we want is an impostor, he should be willing
to let us make the arrest."
"I do not see how you expect to accomplish that,
Captain."
"I can't, but McCoy can. He's got the body
of the real s'Flen down in the morgue. Now that we can
tell him what to look for, I'll bet he can make
a positive identification of the body within an hour.
When we have his results, we'll tell the
ambassador."
"Do you want me to put a guard on s'Flen?"
The thought was tempting, to always have the suspect within
sight of someone Kirk trusted, but he forced himself
to reject the idea. "No. If we gave s'Flen
his own personal watchdog, it would tip the spy off
that we've figured out his disguise. However, you'd
better keep extra teams patrolling the
corridors until this is cleared up."
"I hope that will be sufficient, Captain."
"So do I, Mr. Chekov. So do I. And if
you'll excuse me, I'll get McCoy started
on that autopsy. Get those extra guards
posted as soon as you can." "Immediately, sir."
The briefing room door whisked shut behind them.
Srrawll whirled around, but the phaser had
reappeared in Simons' hand. Not yet, then,
Srrawll thought. The Kaldorni shape could not withstand
the phaser fire. She concentrated, rearranging the
cell
structure across her chest and abdomen. The
asbestoslike hide of the adult fire-fury would not
repel a sustained burst of fire, but it would give
her the critical seconds needed to reach Simons
when the opportunity came. Srrawll clenched and
unclenched her fists, feeling the fingernails strengthen
and sharpen.
"Why don't you explain who you are and what your
purpose is? I'd also like to know how you manage
to change identities so easily." Simons gave
SrrawIl a frigid smile and wiggled the hand that
held the phaser. "For starters, that is. And if you
don't talk, I know some tricks with a phaser that
aren't in the owner's manual."
Srrawll eased into a chair without taking her
eyes off the weapon. "You were told correctness
before. I am the ambassador's aide that is known as
k'ationavle s'Flen. It is not within my
understanding to know why you suspect me of being a different
thing."
A pitying smile spread across Simons' face.
She shook her head. "Try again. You're really not
that good a liar, t'Stror."
"The one called t'Stror is no more. The men of
Captain Kirk found his body on the hangar
deck. Why do you insist that I am that person?" "The
way you walk. The way you talk. Little things like that."
Simons' smile widened and became more predatory.
"Have you ever seen the damage a phaser will do to naked
skin when it's set for narrow beam and one-quarter
power?" "I do not understand why it is that you continue
to threaten me. What is it I have done that has
menaced you?"
"You know as well as I." Simons' finger
twitched on the firing stud. "Of course, if you're
telling the truth, we could call for the ship's
security people-to see if you really are the person your
identity disc claims you are."
Protect! Protect! The urge crashed over
Srrawll like a 240
cloudburst. Images of her warm, dark jungle
flooded her mind. She fought the compulsion to rip out the
woman's throat since Simons would
expect such a reaction from a cornered opponent.
Srrawll forced herself to slump in apparent defeat.
Struggling to avoid the defiant snarl that bubbled in
her throat, Srrawll asked, "What do you wish for
me to tell you?" "How about your identity and the nature
of your mission?" Simons allowed a small smile
of triumph to play across her face. Srrawll
studied her opponent, waiting for success to make
Simons overconfident. Gathering herself for the spring,
Srrawll slid lower in her chair. When she
spoke, however, she kept the proper tone of defeat
in her voice.
"We call our planet The World. It has no
other name that has meaning to us. I am here to protect
The World from those who would rob us of it." Her head
sank into her chest in despair. "I have failed. You
may use your weapon now."
"No." Simons shifted her phaser, aiming for a
crippling shot at Srrawll's shoulder. "That's a
start, but you can tell me more than that." Srrawll
uncoiled her legs and sprang in a powerful leap,
striking at Simons' phaser hand. The weapon
discharged, but the beam's main force was absorbed by the
fire-fury skin across Srrawll's chest. The
shapechanger's claws slashed the tendons
in Simons' wrist, sending the phaser flying toward
the wall a dozen paces away.
The momentum of the leap carried them both to the
floor. Srrawll pinned Simons flat and
covered her mouth with one hand. She pulled a syringe
from her carrying pouch and injected Simons, waiting
for the Trisopen to take effect before loosening her
grip. A sound halfway between a purr and a snarl
gathered in her throat.
"Why?" Simons' voice was weak and blurred from
the drug.
"I don't owe the enemy any explanations. But
in a few minutes, you won't remember it
anyway." The shapechanger's lips stretched into a
defiant snarl. "I do it to save my world. The
fat ones come to steal it or fight over the theft with
others as bad as they. If I knew how, I would
kill all of them, just so they would leave my world
alone!"
"That's nice." Simons' eyelids drooped as
she slid into the drug-induced trance.
The spitting, snarling cat smashed through Janara's
mind, ripping away the layers of drugged
unconsciousness. McCoy's sedative was wearing
off, but its action still interfered with the
boretelin Chapel had given her. She struggled
to block the cat from her awareness, but its attack
grew stronger. She moaned and tried to open her
eyes. Her eyelids felt as if they were made of
solid lead, but with effort, she forced them apart. At
first, she did not recognize where she was. Even
with the subdued lighting, she knew she was not in her own
quarters. As the room came into focus, she
identified the medical equipment and patient
monitors, but could not remember how she had gotten
to Sickbay. She tried to recall the events of the
past few hours, but she was too groggy and the
details refused to come.
As the savage cat renewed its psychic
attack, Janara reached for the bottle of boretelin
tablets. Her hand clutched it as if it were a
lifeline. She shook out several pills and gulped
them down, struggling to hold the cat at bay until
the drug took effect.
Slowly, the cat faded to a darkness as black as
its hide. The last thing that registered on her
consciousness was the pain of phantom claw gashes
across her torso.
Montoya looked up from the computer screen as the
door closed behind his wife. "It's getting
late. I
was starting to wonder if something had happened to you."
"I was walking around." She dropped onto the
bed, looking distraught and helpless. "That Deltan
animal beat up my poor little Jane-Anne, and
Captain Kirk won't let me see her. Her
own mother!" She blinked several times, trying to hold
back the tears that filled her eyes. Montoya
turned off the computer and crossed the room to join
her. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders,
holding her close. "I'm sure Captain Kirk
has his reasons, but if it will make you feel
better, we can go to Sickbay now and talk to the
doctor. That way, you'll at least know what's going
on."
"Do you really think they'd tell us anything?" He
looked at her pale, woebegone face and smiled
tenderly. "You're her mother, aren't you? The captain
was probably trying to say you'd be in the doctor's
way while he was treating her. I'm sure they'll
let you see her now, if she's awake."
"At this time of night?" Her voice cracked, and
she looked away to hide her tears.
"I thought you said she worked the night shift."
Montoya kissed her forehead. "Besides,
if Dr. McCoy is as good as everyone says,
Jane may be out of Sickbay by now."
"Do you really think so?" She looked up at
Montoya, blinked her eyes several times, and
swallowed hard before she spoke. "Could we go right
now? I would feel so much better if I just knew
how she was."
"I think we can manage that." Montoya stood
and pulled her to her feet. She leaned against him for
support as they left the room.
Chapel looked up from her terminal as two people
entered Sickbay. Commissioner Montoya stopped
beside the admitting station. "My wife is concerned about
her daughter. We hope you can give us some
information, and possibly allow Cecilia to see the
girl."
Chapel stood. Montoya was not particularly
tall, and Chapel's uniform boots gave her an
additional advantage. She used it to emphasize
her words. "I don't have the authority to allow
visitors. Dr. McCoy left strict orders
that Lieutenant Whitehorse was to see no one."
Simons sniffled. A large tear coursed down
her cheek. "Is she in such bad shape that even her
mother can't see her?"
"I don't know why Dr. McCoy said no
visitors." Years of reassuring patients made
it easy for Chapel to hide that lie. She summoned
her most reassuring smile and continued, "The last
time I checked her, she was resting comfortably. You
don't need to worry on that count."
"Doctor, could we see her for a few moments?
I'm sure that would relieve my wife's mind
considerably."
"I'm not authorized to overturn my superior
officer's orders in that matter." A trace of
annoyance crept into Chapel's voice. "However,
if you insist, I'll ask Dr. McCoy whether
he wants to make an exception to his orders."
"We would greatly appreciate that, Doctor."
Chapel gestured toward the outer office. "If you
will please wait in the other room, I'll try
to find Dr. McCoy." When Montoya and
Simons were seated, Chapel called McCoy, who
was washing up after running additional analyses on the
dead Kaldorni.
McCoy scowled when Chapel told him
Montoya and Simons were in Sickbay, but while
Chapel talked, he returned the body to the
mortuary locker and traded his surgical
whites for his regular uniform. When Chapel signed
off, McCoy called Captain Kirk. He
waited in the corridor until the captain arrived.
McCoy and Kirk entered Sickbay together.
Montoya planted himself in front of McCoy.
"Doctor, 244
my wife is concerned about her daughter. Is there
any way she can see her?" Kirk stepped forward.
"Commissioner, those orders are mine. They are for
Lieutenant Whitehorse's protection."
"Surely you don't suspect the girl's mother of
threatening her safety?" Kirk glanced at
Simons. She seemed strangely quiet.
Uneasy but unable to isolate the cause, Kirk
focused his attention on Montoya. "Commissioner,
at the moment, everyone on this ship is under
suspicion. Too many strange things have been
happening."
"I still don't see-was
"Excuse me, sir," Chapel said, interrupting
Montoya. "Captain, would you allow the
commissioner's wife to see her daughter if you and
Dr. McCoy were in the room?"
Kirk gave the idea a moment's thought and nodded
grudging assent. "But only for a moment,"
McCoy said. "She needs rest and shouldn't be
bothered with visitors." He started toward
Janara's room. Kirk followed them, frowning with
concentration. It was not his imagination-there was something
different about Simons' behavior.
"What?" McCoy rushed to his patient. The
diagnostic panel displayed a mass of confused
readings. Janara was drugged, but McCoy did not
recognize the effects of any medication he knew.
He moved closer and his foot kicked something.
Leaning over, he picked up a small, square,
rough-textured bottle. Its top was missing, and it
held four or five brown, oval tablets.
McCoy frowned, unable to identify the pills.
He glanced toward Kirk. "Jim, tell
Christine to get in here at once."
"How long has she been like this?" McCoy asked
when Chapel joined them. Chapel looked from Janara
to the diagnostic panel,
comparing the readings with the ones she had been monitoring
just before Simons and Montoya arrived. She shook
her head. "Not long. I was monitoring her from the
other room."
She circled the bed and opened the control panel
for the monitoring equipment. The
diagnostics program registered a null output.
When she got the same results a second time,
Chapel snapped the cover shut. "The transponder
circuit is malfunctioning. It isn't sending any
warning signals to my console."
"What's going on." Kirk demanded.
McCoy held out the bottle to the captain.
"Lieutenant Whitehorse took an overdose of
something. I don't recognize these pills."
Chapel straightened to attention, looking like a
trainee waiting for a reprimand. "The pills are
boretelin, a Deltan psi-suppressant. I
thought it would be more beneficial than sedatives for
her."
"Deltan?" Simons pushed her way into the
group. "First, you let that animal beat her up, and
now you let him poison my poor little Janie. I
want that creature punished!"
"Ms. Simons," Chapel said, "the drug may
be Deltan, but it's hardly a poison. And if
anyone is at fault here, it's me. I left the
bottle within reach."
"I want that Deltan punished!!"
Kirk's thoughts snapped into focus and he
realized what was nagging at his
subconscious. Simons' words and gestures were the
same, but she lacked the overpowering sexuality he
identified with her. While he tried to unravel the
significance of that insight, Kirk went to the
intercom and called Tenaida to Sickbay. When he
finished, McCoy was still questioning Chapel about the drug.
"The function of any psi-suppressant is
to block off the areas of the brain involved with the psi
functions. Boretelin was formulated for use on
untrainable telepaths. It can be administered at
high dosages for long periods without side
effects." Chapel scanned the 246
diagnostic panel again. "As far as I know, the
only effect of a large dose is unconsciousness,
but I've never heard of anyone taking quite that much."
Footsteps sounded in the outer room. Tenaida
walked through the door in time to catch the last of
Chapel's explanation. "Doctor Chapel's
information is essentially correct. There have been
occasional reports of allergic reactions, but no
other harmful effects have ever been observed." He
raised an eyebrow in a questioning gesture when he saw
the almost empty bottle in McCoy's hand, but he
said nothing.
"He's lying!" Simons' voice
rose in a despairing wail. "First, he beat her
up and said he didn't do it, and now he's tried
to poison her with a drug he says is harmless."
Montoya had followed Tenaida into the room.
Simons went to her husband and buried her face
against his shoulder. "Yonnie, can you do something, if these
people won't?"
Montoya's arm tightened protectively around
her. "Captain, wouldn't it be wise to restrain the
suspect until you investigate the matter? I
think my wife has a valid point."
Kirk felt as though a trap had closed on
him. He knew Simons' accusations were
ridiculous, but he could not afford to antagonize
Montoya by saying so. The captain looked toward
Tenaida, wondering what he was thinking. The
Deltan caught Kirk's eyes and nodded almost
imperceptibly. Kirk remembered Brady's
earlier suggestion to confine him to the brig as bait for the
intruder. Though the idea still troubled him, he saw
no other choice. "Very well, Commissioner. If that
will satisfy you."
"Jim, you can't-was McCoy protested.
Kirk gave a shake of his head, hoping
McCoy would recognize the warning. When
the captain spoke, his voice sounded tired. "Not
now, Doctor. We'll talk about it later." He
cut off further protests by sending for the security
guards.
"I want someone with Lieutenant Whitehorse
at all 247
times. She's been having too many accidents
lately, and it's about time we practiced a little
"preventive medicine." Also, just to be safe,
I'm posting a security guard outside the door
until further notice."
McCoy started to object, but a second look
at Kirk's grim expression changed his mind.
When the security men arrived, Kirk had them arrest
Tenaida. After politely but firmly removing
Montoya and Simons from Sickbay, Kirk went
to the brig, ostensibly to interrogate his science
officer.
By the time Kirk reached the brig, Security
Chief Chekov was waiting. Kirk jerked his head
toward the office. "I'll be with you in a minute,
Mr. Chekov." He turned to the two guards.
"Johnstone, Ramirez-put Tenaida in
maximum security. And guard that door until I
bring your relief." The guards exchanged
puzzled looks. Access into the cell block was
controlled from Chekov's office. Tenaida was
calm, accepting his arrest with complete equanimity,
making such extreme precautions seem unnecessary.
Kirk glared at the two guards to warn them that his
orders were not to be questioned. Johnstone palmed the door
lock and waited for Chekov to release the
forcefield. They escorted the Deltan down the
corridor, and they locked him in a cell behind
another force barrier. When the door field was
restored, Johnstone and Ramirez took up their
places on either side of the opening.
"Captain, would you explain what is happening
now?" Chekov asked, stepping into the corridor.
Kirk pointed toward the security chief's
office. The room was small and sparsely
furnished, with surveillance screens covering one
wall. Kirk closed the door and pulled a chair
around to watch the monitors on the security cells.
Satisfied with his arrangements, he finally answered
Chekov's question. "Bait. I think the spy was in the
room when I arrested Tenaida. If so, she 248
will attack now while she believes Tenaida is
confined and unable to defend himself.
"I want your two best men to trade
shifts on that cell. One of them should be there at all
times. Don't let either of them leave this area or
get out of sight of another guard for any reason
until this is settled. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Captain."
"When your men arrive, I'll give them the
passwords I'll use if I want to see
Tenaida. Absolutely no one else is to go
into the cell, unless they're accompanied by me. If
someone tries to get in without the correct password,
or if I'm not with them, I'm ordering the guards
to shoot first and ask questions only after the person is under
restraints. Even if the person looks like me."
"Do you really think the spy will try to attack
Lieutenant Tenaida while he is in maximum
security?"
"Tenaida and I discussed it, Lieutenant, and
we think there's a chance. Besides, what have we got
to lose? If the spy doesn't move soon enough,
I'll let Tenaida out and hope we've got a
better idea by then."
Chekov called in two more guards. Kirk gave
them their orders and passwords, and took them
to Tenaida's cell. "Remember," he said,
repeating his orders for emphasis, "keep
in sight of another guard at all times. Don't
even go to the head by yourself. I don't want to give the
spy any opportunity to replace you and attack
Tenaida."
"We understand, sir." The looks of grim
anticipation on their faces told Kirk how
badly they wanted to get their chance at the spy. He
hoped the intruder would make her move before a long
vigil wore down the guards" fighting edge.
When Kirk re-entered the office, Chekov was
examining his monitor channels. "Would
Lieutenant Tenaida mind if we used the video
monitors to watch the inside of his cell? And
listened with the enhanced audio sensors?"
"Take any precaution you think necessary. The spy
has the advantage-she knows right where Tenaida
is."
"All right, Captain. We will use all our
sensors at full sensitivity." Chekov began
keying in the commands and Kirk escaped to the relative
peace of McCoy's office i n Sickbay.
Kirk stared at the wall, trying to isolate the
thought that he could not-quite-drag out of his subconscious
mind. If, as he suspected, the shapechanger had
replaced Cecilia Simons before
Simons and Montoya came to Sickbay, then where
and when had the substitution occurred? And what had
happened to the real Simons? That afternoon, both he and
Chekov had thought the shapechanger was disguised as the
Kaldorni k'ationavle s'Flen. He turned on
the computer, worked through the security clearances, and
called up the afternoon's recordings from the intercom
monitors. After five minutes' search, he found
Simons and s'Flen entering the turbolift on
Deck Seven. Kirk scanned forward and found where
they entered the briefing room, but Simons was the
only person who left.
After calling for a security team to investigate,
Kirk went to the briefing room himself. The armed
guards went inside, but returned immediately, looking
worse for the experience. "There's a body in there,"
Tiilson, a stocky blond ensign, reported.
"It's not a pretty sight."
Kirk entered the room. Simons' nude body
was sprawled on the floor. The torso had been
sliced open by parallel gashes that ran from
collarbone to pelvis. Blood covered the body and the
surrounding floor. Kirk turned away,
grimacing.
"Get a stretcher down here at once,"
he ordered. "We'll need an autopsy on that
body. And search the room for any clues."
"Yes, Captain." Tiilson hurried to the
intercom.
Kirk listened to the guard's agitated voice for a
moment, then turned to his tall, dark-haired
partner. "Keth, tell McCoy I want the
autopsy report the minute it's ready. I'll
talk to Commissioner Montoya now and will be available
after that." He paused, glancing over at the corpse
once more. "Have the doctor wake me up when the
report is ready."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Kirk stared at the intercom, wondering how to tell
Commissioner Montoya of his wife's death.
Montoya would not take the news well, especially
given the circumstances of the murder. Finally, Kirk
hit the control pad. There was no good way to break the
news, so he might as well quit procrastinating.
The voice that answered the call was blurred with
sleep. "Montoya here." "This is Captain
Kirk. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but
something important has come up. Are you alone?"
"My wife is asleep, Captain. Can't this
wait until morning?" If I put it of
Kirk thought, there may not be any morning for you.
"I'm afraid not, Commissioner. Could you come to Dr.
McCoy's office at once?" When Montoya
answered, his voice sounded more awake. "Very well,
Captain. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"I'll be expecting you. Kirk out." He
slapped at the intercom pad. "Chekov? Kirk
here. Put a triple guard outside Commissioner
Montoya's quarters. If his wife leaves those
rooms, arrest her immediately. Use extreme
caution; she's to be considered armed and dangerous."
"Yes, Captain."
"On second thought," Kirk said, cursing himself
for his stupidity, "pass Montoya through, but arrest
anyone else that leaves that cabin." "Acknowledged."
"Kirk out." He slumped in his chair, fiddling
with the strap on his chronometer. Five minutes, he
told himself. If Montoya isn't here in five
minutes, Ill have to assume he's been replaced,
too. He activated a medical scanner and linked
its output to the computer, setting the system to warn him
if the scan registered less than 95 percent
correspondence with Montoya's identity files.
The phaser in his lap felt comfortingly solid.
Montoya entered and took the seat Kirk
offered. "All right, Captain, would you mind telling
me what's so important it cannot wait until
morning?" Kirk glanced at the computer screen. It
showed a solid 98 percent on all scans. Knowing
he faced the real Montoya did not make it
easier to choose the right words. "Half an hour
ago, we found a body in the briefing room,
Commissioner. We're certain of the identification; it
was your wife." "That's impossible. I left
Cecilia in our quarters not five minutes ago."
"I'm afraid that was an impostor, Commissioner.
When we found her, your wife had been dead for some
time."
Montoya opened his mouth to protest, but no words
came. His jaw muscles twitched convulsively,
and his face took on a numb, bewildered look.
"You've seen the body, Captain?" he asked when
he could speak. "Yes. It wasn't a pretty
sight, but I'm certain of the identification." Kirk
shuddered, remembering just how well he knew
Simons' body. "I would like to see her,
Captain. I have to be sure."
Kirk searched Montoya's face for clues
to his emotional state. He seemed in control, as
calm as the proverbial stone Vulcan.
How long that restraint would last, Kirk could not
guess, but for the moment, he decided to play things
Montoya's way.
"Very well, Commissioner."
McCoy was doing the autopsy when Kirk
escorted Montoya into the ship's morgue. The
doctor threw a
sheet over the torso to conceal the deep wounds from
Montoya. He stared at his wife's face for
several minutes without registering any emotion.
Finally he walked out of the room, his movements slow
and wooden. Kirk heard him drop into a chair.
"Bones, do you have any preliminary results?"
McCoy gave him a disgusted look the condition
of the body should have been enough to tell Kirk what the
doctor's initial findings would be. "Cause of
death loss of blood and internal damage. You
saw those slashes. Also, she was given a massive
dose of Trisopen-5 shortly before she died."
"Just like the other one." It gave Kirk little
satisfaction to know the spy was being consistent. Also, with
Simons dead, they might never learn what her
interest in their mission had been.
"There's something I'd like to show you, though."
McCoy switched on a display screen.
"I did a full body scan. Notice the dark
area behind the left ear."
"An implant of some sort?" Kirk asked.
"It looks like one of the code-receiving chips
Intelligence uses for their agents."
"It's similar, but I don't recognize the
design and the neural connections are wrong. It
isn't one that our people admit to using."
"Can you get it out so we can study it?"
"I don't know. I'll try, but I'd prefer
to have Tenaida and Scotty help me with it. These
infernal gadgets often incorporate
self-destruct mechanisms." "In that case,
don't do anything for a while. Tenaida should be free
to help you in an hour or so."
"Good." McCoy returned to work as Kirk
left the room. He was analyzing the slashes,
hoping to learn what had made them, and he wanted
to finish the job as quickly as he could.
Kirk stopped beside Montoya's chair, waiting
for the other man to notice him. Montoya raised his
head, giving Kirk a dazed, hopeless look.
"What will you do about the thing impersonating my wife?"
"With your permission, sir?" When Montoya
nodded, Kirk called Security.
"Tell the guards on Commissioner Montoya's
quarters to arrest anyone inside." He turned off
the intercom.
"Thank you, Captain. Is there somewhere I could be
undisturbed for a while? I need to sort some things
out." He stumbled over the words, stretching them out as
if talking was too great an effort.
"Use Dr. McCoy's office. He's busy
and won't need it for some time." "Thank you."
Montoya staggered out of the chair. His motions, like his
words, were stiff and mechanical. He acted as though
his brain had divorced itself from the rest of his body.
Kirk took Montoya to McCoy's office.
Montoya seemed oblivious to his surroundings, but
Kirk gave him a glass of McCoy's
medicinal scotch anyway. For a moment, Kirk
found himself wishing he could join Montoya and postpone
his next unpleasant duty, but he knew he would be
needed soon in the brig. Before he reached the
turbolift, the intercom paged him. "Kirk here."
"Captain, no one was in Commissioner
Montoya's quarters. And the guards saw no one
leave the cabin."
"Acknowledged. Kirk out." He looked
nervously over his shoulder as he hurried
into the turbolift. Somehow, the spy had outguessed
them once again and had evaded the trap. She was
loose on the Enterprise, and Kirk had no idea
where to start looking.
WHEN KIRK CALLED MONTOYA,
Srrawll suspected someone had found the body in the
briefing room. Leaving it there had been sloppy
work, but removing the evidence without attracting
attention had been impossible. She had considered
disfiguring the body, but without a false identity
to mislead the investiga- tors, the effort would have been
wasted.
Destroying the body with Simons' phaser would have
been better, but to Srrawll's disgust, the device
had been keyed to Simons. By the time Srrawll
discovered that, the flesh of Simons' hand had cooled
enough that it would not trigger the sensors in the phaser's
handle. When she left the body in the briefing
room, Srrawll had hoped it would not be found
until morning. Once Montoya was sound
asleep, she could drug him as Simons had done
when she had slipped out at night. Then, using
Montoya's form, Srrawll could execute the fat
ones. When Kirk finally discovered who was
responsible, the negotiations would be over.
Now, however, she could not replace Montoya.
In the short time available to her, even with the
Trisopen, she might miss critical information
needed to carry off the sustained impersonation of so
impor- 255
tant an individual. She feigned sleep
until Montoya left, then opened the cabin's
air duct.
Concentrating carefully, she visualized the sur
snake of her home jungles. After a moment, she
felt her form shift, lengthening and stretching. And then
she moved inside, feeling the walls of the air duct
against her scales.
Kirk drained the dregs from his coffee cup and
grimaced. With the best food synthesizers and
technicians in the Federation at his disposal, he still
could not get a good cup of coffee. He reached for the
carafe to pour another cup, wondering whom he had
to bribe to get something that tasted like the real thing.
"Assistant," he said to the computer. "Scan and
evaluate Commander Brady's files on the
shapechanger theory. Is such an entity possible?"
After a long moment, the computer replied, "Commander
Brady's files contain much speculation but no
data amenable to analysis."
"But could such a being exist?"
"Insufficient data. Commander Brady
postulates an ability for total transformation of
cellular material. However, he does not
stipulate the time parameters of such a transformation,
nor does he specify how much of this hypothetical
creature's metabolism would be directed to fueling
the transformation. Other factors needed for the
analysis include the physical size of the
creature and its biochemistry. Without such basic
information, no meaningful analysis of this problem is
possible."
The door buzzer interrupted Kirk's
irritated reply. "Come," he called as he
deactivated the computer.
With a swish, the door slid aside. Patrick
Brady, looking tousled and rumpled, entered
Kirk's office. He threw himself into a chair and
reached for the other coffee cup. "Captain, if you had
to have a meeting at this ungodly hour, at least you
provided 256
the amenities. Though I'm sure your chief
surgeon wouldn't approve of you serving it by the
pot."
Kirk shrugged. "Is the dress uniform
for my benefit, or did I interrupt something
important? Does it have anything to do with that ensign
you've been admiring?"
"Captain!" Brady said with injured innocence.
"I'll have you know I've been working so hard lately
I haven't had time for pursuing said fair ensign.
Do you always run such a sweatshop?"
He gulped a mouthful of his coffee and almost
choked. "Where did you get this stuff? It tastes
exactly like the witches' brew they serve on
Starbase 34. And I have it on good authority the
mess officer there uses the engineer's sweat socks
to give it the proper punch."
"Maybe that's what they modeled our synthesizer
program after. But the coffee's not what I wanted
to talk to you about."
"I didn't think so." Brady dropped his
joking manner. "What's up?" Kirk described
the events of the last hour, concluding with Simons'
death and Tenaida's arrest. "So that's the plan.
We're hoping the spy will make a move and we can
catch her. Is there anything I've left out?"
Brady reached for the coffee. He lifted the lid,
then swung his arm, emptying the carafe in Kirk's
face. Kirk yelled as the hot liquid
hit him. Brady launched himself at Kirk. He
cleared the desk with ease, and his hands closed around
Kirk's throat.
The attack took Kirk by surprise. He
tried to twist away from his attacker and fell
sideways out of his chair, pulling Brady down on
top of him. Brady's hands squeezed harder,
closing off Kirk's windpipe. But Kirk had not
survived Finnegan's attacks at the Academy
without learning a few things about gutter fighting. He
slapped his hands hard against Brady's ears.
Brady grunted in surprise, and his hold on
Kirk's throat loosened. Before he could recover,
Kirk slammed one knee into Brady's crotch,
then rammed both fists into his kidneys, knocking
the wind out of him. Brady struggled to keep his hold
on Kirk, but the captain grabbed his thumbs and
jerked. There was a sharp crack of breaking bone.
Brady yowled and scrambled to get his feet under him.
Kirk kicked out with both legs. Brady flew
backward, crashed into the wall, and slid to the
floor, stunned. Kirk pulled himself to his feet,
gasping for breath. He slapped at the intercom
pad. "Security. My office. On the double."
Brady let out another frustrated yowl
and struggled to his feet. Before Kirk could move,
he stumbled out the door. Kirk tried to follow, but
by the time he reached the door, Brady was out of sight.
Frustrated, Kirk leaned against the wall, trying
to catch his breath.
The turbolift whisked open and four security
men jogged up to Kirk. "Security reporting as
ordered, sir."
"Search the area. The spy just attacked me, then
escaped into the corridor. He's disguised as
Commander Brady."
"Commander Brady? We'll find him right away,
Captain." The security men split into two teams
and began searching the corridors. Kirk leaned against
the wall, still trying to gather his scattered wits. The
attack had caught him completely off guard,
especially since the spy's conversation had sounded so
much like Brady's. Did that mean Brady had met
the same fate as Cecilia Simons-or was the
spy a very observant actor? And what was her next
move?
As soon as he asked the question, Kirk began
cursing himself for a fool. Of course the spy would head
for the brig. Whatever she wanted with Tenaida, she
would hope to accomplish by speed, to get
to Tenaida while Kirk and the security men were busy
elsewhere. Kirk hit the intercom switch. He
warned Chekov of his suspicions and ordered him
to find out what had happened to Patrick Brady.
Then, still swearing under his breath, Kirk headed for the
turbolift at a dead run.
Captain Kirk entered the brig and approached the
two guards flanking Tenaida's cell door.
Both guards remained impassive, one watching the
corridor while the other kept his eyes on the
prisoner. Srrawll massaged the poison sacs
at the tips of her fingers. "Let me in the cell with
him," she ordered.
The guard inspected her. For a moment, she feared
he had found a flaw in her impersonation, but he
turned toward the forcefield control mechanism. With
his hand poised over the touch pads, he said in a
conversational tone, ""Tis a wee bit early for
playing poker, is it not, sir?" Srrawll
blinked, wondering what to say to the irrelevant
remark. When she hesitated, the second guard
fired his phaser. She crumpled td the floor,
knocked unconscious by the heavy stun setting.
The watch officer looked up when Kirk entered the
guardroom. "Captain, I thought you just
went in to talk to the prisoner."
"No, I-was A grin of triumph split
Kirk's face. This time, he had guessed right!
"We've got her!" He charged from the room and into the
maximum security area, just in time to see his double
collapse on the floor. "Report," he
ordered, skidding to a halt beside the guards. "This
person asked to enter Lieutenant Tenaida's
cell. He didn't know the response to the code
phrase." The guard repeated the poker question. "It's
later than you think, Mr. Kelowicz," Kirk
replied. "Let's get Tenaida out of there and
lock up our prisoner. Have McCoy send someone
to collect
physiological data on-whoever that is-before the
prisoner wakes up. And put a guard in there with
her. If she tries anything, stun her again. I
want her to still be here when I return."
"Yes, sir."
They lowered the forcefield and carried Kirk's
double inside the cell. With the spy locked up and under
restraints, Kirk and Tenaida left the maximum
security area. After telling Tenaida what had
happened in the last few hours, Kirk sent him
to Sickbay to help McCoy extract the
implant from Simons" body. That left Kirk
with nothing to do until the prisoner regained
consciousness. He got another cup of coffee and
settled into a chair to wait.
"Captain?"
Kirk pushed his head off the table and struggled
to open his eyes. "Captain, the prisoner is
awake. Do you wish to question him now?" Kirk
straightened in the chair, stretching his back. "Yes,
Kelowicz. I'll be there in a minute." He
picked up his half-empty cup and downed the cold
coffee in three gulps. Scowling at the bitter
taste, Kirk left the cup on the table and followed
Kelowicz to the prisoner's cell. It was a shock
to see himself strapped to the bunk. Extra restraints
had been added, making it almost impossible for the
prisoner to move. Seeing Kirk's expression,
Kelowicz said, "Lieutenant Chekov ordered the
additional restraints, sir."
"A wise precaution." He entered the cell.
The spy glared at Kirk, putting all her hatred
into the look. Kirk was grateful for the weapons held
by the guards behind him.
"I am Captain James T. Kirk of the
starship Enterprise, was the prisoner said.
"You are an impostor and I demand to be released
at once!"
Kirk moved closer. Even from this distance, he could
detect no visible flaws in the impersonation. He
shuddered, chilled by the uncanny resemblance and the
eerie sensation of seeing and hearing himself. "The medical
department examined you while you were unconscious. You
are not, in spite of outward appearances, James
Kirk. Who are you?"
The double tensed, testing the restraints. They
tightened automatically, holding the captive's
body firmly against the bed. "A prisoner of war.
You have no authority over me."
"A prisoner of war?" Kirk's voice rose
in disbelief. "You are a spy, a saboteur, and a
murderer. So if you have anything to say for yourself, you'd
better start talking."
The double clamped his jaws shut and turned his head
toward the wall. "All right, let's try this. If
we don't find out anything more about you, we can't
reprogram the food synthesizers to meet your
dietary needs. You might have trouble finding enough energy
to hold your borrowed form." Kirk turned and walked
out, signaling the guards to restore the forcefield.
"It is not your plan to starve the prisoner,
is it, Captain?" Chekov asked when he and
Kirk were seated in Chekov's office. "That would be
considered a very cruel and unusual punishment."
"Of course not, but what I said is partly true.
We'll need information before we can program the food
synthesizers properly. I'm guessing it must take
a lot of energy to maintain an alien's shape, so
I'm hoping the threat of starvation will encourage the
prisoner to talk sooner." Kirk glanced at the
monitor to see if h is words had had any effect
yet. "I understand, Captain. We will continue
to observe the prisoner, and we will notify you the
minute anything changes."
"Carry on, Lieutenant." Kirk pushed himself
out of
the chair and forced his legs to carry him through the
door. He stopped at Sickbay for McCoy's
report on Patrick Brady.
"A bad concussion, and assorted bumps and
bruises." McCoy blocked the door to keep
Kirk from moving to Brady's bed. "He'll be
fine, but he needs rest. Same as you, Captain.
Are you going to your quarters, or do I give you the
bed next to Mr. Brady's?"
"I'll take my own, thank you."
"By the way, what happened to him?" McCoy
nodded his head toward Brady. "Apparently, the
spy attacked him. Fortunately, she didn't have
enough time to finish him off."
"What about you?"
Kirk shrugged. "We've caught the spy. Now
I think I'll go sleep for a week." "Just what
I was going to prescribe."
With great effort, he made it to his quarters before
collapsing from exhaustion. The Kaldorni women were
asleep on blankets piled on the floor, so the
bed was unoccupied. Kirk fell across it without
bothering to undress. As his head hit the pillow, he
recalled the double's words about being a prisoner of
war. "What was that supposed to mean?" Kirk mumbled
to himself. If it was important, he would figure it
out in the morning. Right now, he was too tired to think.
The intercom buzzer woke Kirk. He shoved
himself to a sitting position and looked at his
chronometer. 0700. It was past time for him to be
up, even if he had gotten only four hours of
sleep. He rubbed his eyes and reached for the control
pad.
"Captain," Tenaida's voice came through the
speaker, "I thought you would like to know what we
learned from the implant in Ms. Simons' body."
"Definitely, Tenaida. I'll be down in five
minutes."
Kirk bounced off the bed, suddenly feeling wide
awake. Finally, he was starting to get some answers

instead of only finding more questions. The room was
oppressively hot, and he considered taking a
shower. After a moment's thought, he decided to postpone
it until after he had seen Tenaida. He traded
the rumpled uniform he had slept in for a clean one,
tugged a comb through his hair, and was out the door before the
Kaldorni women had roused themselves from their
makeshift beds on the floor.
At this hour, most of the crew were on duty,
asleep, or eating, and the corridors were deserted.
Kirk saw no one as he hurried to Sickbay.
He charged through the door, out of breath from his haste.
"Let's have it." Tenaida handed him a noteboard
showing the circuit schematics for the implant. The
Deltan looked tired but his expression was
confident, as if he were well-pleased with his
results. "We were able to disarm the self-destruct
circuits in the implant, so we could remove it from
the body with its information intact. I dumped
its data into our computer for analysis."
"And came up with what?"
"The implant was a cipher chip for Simons
to encode and decode her communications with the people who
hired her. We decoded the message she added
to Commissioner Montoya's dispatch tape. It
suggests she was working for Dalien Cenara."
"Dalien Cenara?" Kirk stared at Tenaida in
disbelief, wondering if he had heard the Deltan
correctly. Dalien Cenara was the most notorious
underworld figure in Federation space. He controlled
an immense organization and was involved in every
illegal activity that would turn a profit.
Rumor claimed that Cenara could find a person for
any job-if the customer could pay his price.
"Someone must have wanted something pretty bad if they
went to Cenara for it. Do you know what her instructions
were?" "I infer her mission was to disrupt the
negotiations. That would have led to war between the Kaldorni
Worlds and the Beystohn League over the disputed
planet."
"Then someone who would profit from the hostilities
paid Cenara to sabotage the discussions." It was a
grim, ugly, and all-too-probable scenario.
"That's my conclusion." Tenaida's mouth
quivered in agitation. "Captain, there was something
else about the implant."
"Ye-es?" Kirk drew the word out into a question,
afraid if he pushed too hard Tenaida would not
tell him what was bothering him. "I am disturbed about
how the implant was placed in the skull." Tenaida
took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was totally
encased by bone, and there were no insertion marks-Dr.
McCoy believes that bone was grown around the unit
and the plate grafted into the skull."
"If that's true, is this discussion heading where I
think it is?" Tenaida nodded, his mouth compressed
into a harsh line. "It means that someone has greatly
improved implant techniques. A device
installed like Ms. Simons' is virtually
undetectable to all but the most thorough medical
scans. Furthermore, given the neural connections
required for a person to operate the implant, it could
not be removed from living tissue. To attempt to do so
would immediately activate the self-destruct
mechanism." "Destroying the person, as well as the
device." Kirk shuddered, thinking that someone had found
an incontestable way to insure loyalty. "Federation
Security will want to know about this as soon as
possible. Dispatch your report to them,
Priority One, when it's finished."
"Very well, Captain."
"To change the subject, where does our friend in the
brig fit into this?" "I don't know." A puzzled
look spread across Tenaida's face. "How long
do you intend to deprive the prisoner of food? If
she's been eating the Kaldorni 264
food, you can't expect her to take your threat of
starvation too seriously." Kirk gave Tenaida a
sheepish grin. "I was improvising-and hoping she
doesn't like Kaldorni food. What I'd
planned to do was question her again this morning, and then see
if McCoy and Leftwell have had time to work up her
nutritional requirements from the medical exam the
doctors did last night." "I see. When were you
going to conduct the interrogation?" "After I've had a
shower, breakfast, and enough coffee to keep me awake.
Do you want to help with the questioning?"
"Definitely."
"Then meet me in the brig in an hour."
Janara opened her eyes and looked around the
room, cataloging the monitors and equipment of a
standard room in Sickbay. She focused her
awareness inward, probing her body for new
injuries. Her collarbone and ribs had
been repaired, but she found a fresh assortment of
bruises on her body. She ran a hand down her
torso, half expecting to find a long knife
cut. The motion attracted Chapel's attention and
she came to the bedside. "How are you feeling this
morning?" she asked.
"All right." Janara checked herself again. The
residual damage was minor and, for once,
McCoy's sedatives had passed through her system
without making her feel like one of the rock specimens in
the lab. Even the predatory cat was seeking other
game for the moment. "Actually, I feel quite good."
"That's great. Dr. McCoy said I was to feed you
breakfast, and then he wants to talk to you." Chapel
sent for her breakfast tray. McCoy entered the
room as Janara finished her cereal. After he had
ordered Chapel to remove the 265
tray, McCoy paced the room, avoiding
Janara's curious look. When he realized what
he was doing, he stopped beside the bed.
"I have some bad news," he said, trying to meet
Janara's eyes. "Your mother was murdered last
night."
"A knife," Janara said in a flat tone,
drawing a line from her collarbone to her
pelvis.
"More like giant claws." McCoy stopped when
he realized what Janara had said. "How did you
know?"
"I-felt it."
"Then you already knew your mother was dead?"
Janara shook her head, denying the specifics.
"I knew someone was attacked. I didn't know
who."
McCoy searched her face for any sign of
emotional reaction. "You act as if it doesn't
matter that your mother was killed."
"Should it matter, Doctor? Our relationship was
due to an accident of biology, nothing more. Would you
like me to cry for you?" "No, but I don't think it's
healthy for you to bottle up your feelings, either."
"What feelings do you mean, Doctor? I
don't feel anything. Just tired . . . and
empty." Janara closed her eyes and turned her
head away. "If you don't mind, I think I'll
take a nap."
McCoy waited for several minutes, but Janara
ignored him. Finally, realizing Janara would not
continue the discussion, the doctor left. There were
limits to how much help he could offer
to someone who did not want to accept it.
"Captain, it was the strangest thing! We were
watching the prisoner on the monitor like
Lieutenant Chekov ordered, and suddenly his-I
mean, herentire body started to melt and . . . and
change shape. It took three or four minutes.
You can see the final results of the transformation."
Kirk took a long look at the screen. The
prisoner
was still strapped to the bunk, but a compact felinoid,
definitely female, had replaced the duplicate
James Kirk. She twisted against the
self-adjusting restraints, and the motion drew the
uniform tunic tight across four small, rounded
breasts. Her nose was broad and flat, and her
narrow, lipless mouth was twisted in a vicious
half-snarl. Two pointed, triangular ears
twitched in short, angry movements as she strained
to hear any sound her captors made. The five
centimeters of black fur on her head stood on
end. Her unblinking amber eyes stared toward the
concealed video pickup, and Kirk wondered if she
knew it was there. "Analysis, Tenaida?" "If
that's her true form, she doesn't belong to any
race known to us." "But is that her natural
appearance? Could it be another disguise?" "I
don't know. However, Shan Janara consistently
reported a black, catlike being. If her
appearance is for our benefit, she would confuse us more
by continuing to look lik e you."
"Then let's talk to her, because we're not going
to get any more answers sitting here."
"Agreed."
Kirk signaled to the three waiting guards
to follow him. He left one man outside the
shapechanger's cell and took the other two men
inside with him. The man already in the cell moved to the
far wall. Each of the guards braced himself against a
wall and trained his phaser on the prisoner. The
felinoid stared past Kirk. Only the increased
twitching of her ears showed she had noticed him.
"Are you ready to talk yet?"
"Am not obligated to talk with murderers and
thieves." She punctuated the words with vicious
snarls.
"Murderers? What do you call killing my
security guard? Or Cecilia Simons? Or
the Kaldorni ambassador's aides?"
"Thieves and friends of thieves. They are not
important."
"And what is important?"
"I defend my people. My solitude. I am
prisoner of war because I failed." "Where do you come
from?"
"The World. Where else?"
"That's not particularly helpful. Many beings call
their planets The World. his
"Prisoners of war are not required to tell their
captors anything. That is your law. My law
says thieves must be killed like the animals they
are." "What does this have to do with the Enterprise or
anyone aboard her?" "The fat ones are thieves.
You aid the fat ones, so you are no better than
they. In war against the enemies of my planet, I
kill all that interfere." "Yagra," Tenaida
said. "The prisoner is from Yagra IV."
"Is not name of The World!" She hissed and
snarled, arching her body against the restraints that held
her. Her struggle was so violent Kirk was afraid
she would hurt herself.
"Is Yagra IV the name used by members of the
Federation for the planet you come from?"
"Yes!" she answered between yowls and snarls.
"Captain, this changes the situation for the
negotiations. The Prime Directive
clearly prohibits colonial development under
these circumstances." "Yes, a native
intelligent race on the planet negates both the
Kaldorni and the Beystohnai claims
to exploitation rights." Kirk was not sure if
discussing the Prime Directive in front of the
prisoner would persuade her to cooperate, but at the
very worst, he did not see how she could become less
compliant.
"Of course, we must prove the prisoner comes from
that planet." Kirk glanced at the shapechanger.
She was listening intently to the discussion, but her
expression was
hostile. Clearly, she did not believe what
he and Tenaida had just said. "How long will it take
you to prove she comes from Yagra?" "I don't know,
Captain. I'll start on it at once."
"Unless the prisoner wants to tell us anything
now-was The felinoid clamped her jaws shut when she
saw Kirk looking at her. "comI think we'll
continue this later."
The prisoner stared at the ceiling, pretending she
had not heard anything Kirk had said. The captain
motioned to the security guards, and two of the three men
followed him and Tenaida out of the cell.
"May I see the patient, Doctor?"
McCoy looked up from his computer screen. He
had not heard Tenaida approach. "I don't see
why not. I'm keeping her here for observation, but she can
have visitors."
"Thank you, Doctor."
Janara was sitting against a pile of pillows, with the
computer screen in front of her. When Tenaida
entered the room, she shoved the machine away with an
annoyed grimace. "The doctor set this thing for
"read only," and I haven't been able to counter the
blocks. I'm getting tired of what little I can
do."
Loose strands of dark hair framed her face and
accented her smooth olive skin. Her expression
softened as she forgot her irritation with McCoy. A
wave of tenderness for the small woman washed through
Tenaida, and he was overwhelmed by her beauty. Why
have I never noticed it before? he thought. He
swallowed, trying to bring his voice under control. She
shook her head and gave him a half-smile.
"That's the nicest thing anyone has thought about me in a
long time, but you know it isn't true." "To me, it
is," Tenaida responded. He swallowed and
continued, barely able to keep his voice from
shaking. "I would ask if there is a soul mate for
you. She who was bonded to me died many years ago, and

until now, I have not found anyone I would wish
to take her place." Janara sank into the pillows
and closed her eyes. After a small eternity, her
eyelids fluttered open again. Tenaida let himself
drown m her gaze. She smiled, breaking the
spell. "There is much to consider in your proposal.
It will give me something to do until the doctor
releases me from his tender care. I had never thought
to find one of my own kind to share my life."
Tenaida wrapped his hands around one of hers, holding
it like a precious jewel. It was so small it
seemed lost between his wide palms. At last,
reluctantly, he laid her hand on the blanket.
"I must go. The alien we captured is from the
disputed planet, and the captain wants my advice
on the scientific and technical aspects of the
discovery."
"Tell me what's happened," she said, touching his
hand. "It will help you organize your thoughts for the
captain."
After a moment, he nodded in agreement. He
told how they had captured the shapechanger
and what finding a native intelligent race on
Yagra would mean for the Enterprise's diplomatic
mission. When he had talked himself into silence, she
suggested an idea he had overlooked. He glanced
at his chronometer, judging how long he had before
Kirk would need him. "I must run some simulations
on your suggestion, but I think you have solved our
problem."
"I hope so. There isn't much else I can do from
this bed."
"I'll ask the doctor to allow you full use
of the computer, although he is most stubborn about such
things."
"Don't I know!" Janara watched Tenaida
leave with a soft smile on her face.
Kirk downed another mouthful of coffee and set the
cup aside. Three hours of continuous subspace
communications with Admiral Chen and the Federation
Council's legal department had sorely tried his
patience. The diplomatic briefing that followed had
done nothing to improve his frame of mind. "That's
about it." He gave Kristiann Norris the
noteboard with the last of the documents he had just
summarized for her. "When Tenaida compared the
prisoner's physiology to our files on
Yagra IV, it confirmed her claim that she came
from that planet. Since her race is obviously
intelligent, the need for negotiations between the
Kaldorni and the Beystohn League no longer
exists."
Norris nodded. "The next thing we have to do is
explain this to Ambassador Klee. He isn't
going to be happy at losing those resources for his
planet." "Lieutenant Tenaida suggested a
solution. We submitted it to the Federation Council
along with a recommendation to permanently quarantine
Yagra IV. We're waiting for the reply."
"What was Shan Tenaida's idea?"
"When we were called to Starbase 15 to pick up
your party, we were working on the first phase of a routine
exploration and mapping assignment. We had just
finished scanning the Shansar system. It's a little
farther from the Kaldorni Worlds than Yagra, which
may explain why they haven't discovered it yet.
There are no intelligent inhabitants in the
system, and Tenaida reports the second planet
is similar to the Kaldorni homeworld in climate
and gravity. We proposed that the Kaldorni be
given the exclusive right to develop that planet."
"That should satisfy Ambassador
Klee, but what about the Beystohn League?"
"Conditions on the fourth planet in the Shansar
system should be much more to their liking than anything on
Yagra."
"Isn't it something of a coincidence that you just
happened to have a solar system waiting to be parceled
out?"
"Not really. There are plenty of uninhabited-and
unexplored-planets in this sector. The
Enterprise could have found something suitable with very little
effort, although neither the Kaldorni nor the Beystohn
League have the spaceflight technology for
extensive exploration-yet. If there's any luck
involved, it's that we didn't have to search for what we
needed." "And what about the prisoner? She may
consider herself a hero protecting her world, but that
doesn't justify her actions in everyone's eyes.
Joachim, for one, wants to see her properly
punished."
Kirk sighed, wondering if any answer would
satisfy Montoya. The commissioner alternated between
periods when he seemed functional and times when he
refused to leave his quarters or see anyone. "I
don't know what will happen there, Kris. The
Federation Council will decide that." Before
he could say more, the intercom sounded. He tapped the
switch. "Kirk here."
"Captain, we have a message for you from the
Federation Council." "What is it, Uhura?"
"The Council concurs with your recommendation
to terminate the scheduled negotiations between the United
Worlds of the Kaldorni Systems and the Beystohn
Amalgamated League of Planets because of the
identification of a native intelligent race on the
disputed planet, Yagra IV. "Further, given
the nature of said race and their expressed desire
to remain isolated, the Council provisionally
accepts your recommendation to establish a
quarantine, which will become permanent if approved
by the resident sapient population of the planet.
"The prisoner is to be handed over to the
authorities at Starbase 15, where she will be
confined pending discussions with representatives of her
homeworld to decide the appropriate punishment for
her activities against individual Federation
citizens.
"Proposal for the disposition of planets of the
Shansar system to the Kaldorni Worlds and the
Beystohn League is approved, if the
respective negotiating teams can
conclude appropriate treaties. Under the
circumstances, Federation regulations against disclosing
locations of Class -G exploitable worlds
to governments with less than Class-VI
spaceflight capabilities are waived.
Detailed instructions will follow shortly. End of
message.
"Also, Mr. Scott reports most repairs
are completed and warp capability is restored."
"Thank you, Uhura. Tell Mr. ben Josef
to set course for Starbase 15, and let me know when
the next message arrives. Kirk out." He
grinned at Norris, letting her see his pleasure
at the Council's answer. "That's the word. Now you
know as much about the situation as I do."
She stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her
tunic. "Thank you, Jim. I'd better see if
Joachim is ready to be briefed on this, and then I
have to set up a meeting with the Kaldorni."
"I'll walk you part of the way." Kirk rose and
moved to her side, offering her his arm. "Do you think the
Kaldorni will accept our proposal?" "They should.
In their own way, they're reasonable beings."
Kirk entered the Kaldorni's quarters. Klee
bowed to the captain. Kirk returned the
greeting and seated himself on the floor. The short
Kaldorni joined him.
"I've come to discuss the discord created when my
security people did not prevent the murder of your
aide, s'Flen," Kirk said. "This discordance is
a matter of the most concern. But the honored captain
should know that my failure to detect the impostor
among those that serve me is a matter of greatest
shame to me."
"There is truth in your words, Mr.
Ambassador. However, my superiors charged me
with finding the intruder, so the disgrace at failure
must be mine." "It would seem your failure is
indeed disgraceful. If you are at fault, you owe
me reparations for the loss of my aide. It would also
seem that your Commissioner Montoya wishes
reparations for his wife because I failed to detect the
discordance of an alien among those who serve me. The
compounding of these errors is becoming more than the
Harmony of the Universe can balance."
"May I suggest a resolution to the problem?"
"I will listen to your words and hope they may be as
harmonious as the ones given my people by your commissioner."
Kirk felt the relief wash through him. If
Mee liked the Federation's solution to the
Yagra problem, he should approve the captain's
next idea. "I will persuade Commissioner
Montoya to waive reparations for the death of his wife
if you will waive compensation for s'Flen."
After a moment, Klee extended his hands and bowed
to touch his forehead to his palms. "I believe this can
be made acceptable to my people." "I also wish to give
you a personal token of apology. I ask you
to accept the right to care for my three wives. My
honor owes you this additional apology because of my
responsibilities to protect everyone on my
ship. I hope you will receive the women and cherish them in
the spirit of brotherhood and harmony that prevails between
our peoples."
"If your honor demands this of you, I will
protect
these women as long as I hold the strength to defend
them."
"I thank you greatly, Mr. Ambassador. You
have restored my harmony with the universe." With an
overwhelming sense of relief, Kirk headed for his
quarters to tell the women.
Epilogue
KIRK AND KRIS NORRIS leaned against the
wall, watching luggage being loaded onto
the transporter pad for transfer to Starbase 15.
The Kaldorni had returned to the base half an
hour earlier. And with their departure, the Enterprise's
official duties were over.
"Well, Jim," Norris said, "it's been an
interesting trip."
"I'm sorry about that. I could have used a little
less excitement." "We have to take events as they
come, I guess."
"Speaking of that, how is Commissioner Montoya
handling things now?" She laughed. "Actually, he's
over most of the shock, and we'll have lots of work
hammering out the final agreement with the Kaldorni.
That's what he needs right now-something to keep him
busy. "What about you? Where's the Enterprise off
to next?" "Would you believe, to a detailed
exploration of the Shansar system? The Federation
Council wants more information, now that they've
assigned development rights to the second and fourth
planets. Since we did the preliminary scans,
we got the assignment." "That's good. Will you be
stopping over on Starbase 15 anytime soon?"
276 ENEMY UNSEEN
"I don't know. It depends on our schedule."
"Anytime you're in my neighborhood,
stop in. I'll buy you dinner, and I promise it
won't be from a Starfleet regulation menu." "I'd
like that. Good-bye, Kris." "Good-bye, Jim."
She gave him an impish grin and stepped onto the
transporter pad. "Do I detect a hint of
romance there, Captain?" Brady asked. Kirk
jumped, startled for a moment that he had company. "I
don't think so. She's just a very nice lady-and a
friend." "I see you returned the Kaldorni
ambassador's wives to him." Kirk allowed a
smug expression to spread across his face. "Once
l explained it in the proper terms of honor and
harmony with the universe, I think he was as glad to have
them back as I was to give them to him. You don't know
what a pleasure it is to have the temperature in my
quarters set at a reasonable level again!"
"Speaking of warm climates, when is Mr.
Spock due back?" Kirk glanced at his
chronometer. "Anytime now. He was supposed to be
here half an hour ago, but Base Traffic
Control said his shuttle had been delayed." The
door whisked open, and Tenaida and McCoy
entered, almost colliding with Kirk and Brady.
McCoy circled around to face the captain.
"Jim, why didn't you expedite the rest
leave I recommended for Janara Whitehorse?"
"What rest leave?" "I can answer that," Tenaida
said. "Shan Janara asked that the recommendation not
reach the captain until we finished our work on the
Shansar system." "She needs rest. And time
to adjust to her mother's death." Tenaida shook his
head. "I don't see why you think everyone should
react to such an event by dissolving into a pool of
useless emotions."
277 ENEMY UNSEEN
Kirk glanced at Tenaida, noticing his bland
expression. He suspected the Deltan was not
telling them something, but saw no way to find out what.
"Bones," Kirk said finally, "I think you're
outvoted this time. If Lieutenant Whitehorse
wants to finish her investigation of the Shansar system,
it sounds like the best prescription to me. But I
promise she'll get her leave as fast as possible
when I see the request." "And what about you,
Captain? This mission has been stressful for you
too." "I think I'll manage." Kirk gave
Tenaida a questioning look. "Do you suppose,
gentlemen, that we are fit for a quiet game of
poker? Or does the doctor think it would be too
strenuous, considering our current weakened
conditions?" While the transporter whined, McCoy
glared at the three of them. As Spock
materialized on the pad, the doctor announced,
"In your current weakened conditions, I should confine
the lot of you to Sickbay!" Spock responded,
"May I inquire as to what weakened conditions you are
referring?" "These men have had an extremely
strenuous two weeks," McCoy announced with a
theatrical flourish. "I can't begin to tell you how
difficult it's been for them." Spock lifted an
eyebrow. "Indeed, Doctor. I was under the
impression that the ship was undertaking a routine
diplomatic mission." Brady grimaced. Kirk
chuckled at his expression and turned to Spock,
shaking his head. "Just once, Sock-just once-I'd
like to see what a routine diplomatic mission was
like." Spock's eyebrow rose even higher. "Then
may I assume that the advice program you were
testing proved useful?" Kirk shook his head. "The
program needs work, Spock." "That is not
unexpected. It was a very preliminary version."

Kirk allowed himself a grin. "Well, Sock,
I hope your last two weeks weren't half as
exciting as ours." "I would not presume
to make comparisons until I know what happened on
the Enterprise. However, I have had an extremely
stimulating leave. T'Slar of the Vulcan
Academy of Sciences and her associates have
made some astounding discoveries on the structure of the
space-time continuum. Within the next twenty years,
their theories will completely revolutionize our
concept of space travel. And the Andorian group
led by Tarlev of Gan-was McCoy rolled his eyes
and shot Kirk an exasperated glance as Brady
looked on with amusement. Tenaida, however, listened
carefully to Spock's monologue, committing each
detail to memory. Kirk grinned and gestured
toward the door. "Gentlemen, shall we go mind the
store?"