Gemini (29 page)

But to have your hands tied behind you because your unseen enemy was using your actions to guarantee the fate of a noncombatant … this was intolerable. It was as if an army of chess pieces had suddenly broken the boundaries of the board and taken hostages from those watching the game. It wasn't right.

But what was right, and what was done in the name of blind ambition and avarice, seldom overlapped. However, the troops aboard the
Potemkin
would not view Peter's life with the same importance, and Kirk couldn't expect them to. No matter which decision he made, blood would be spilled … .

“Blood,” he said, as if never having pronounced the word before.

Spock and McCoy exchanged a glance. “Sir?” asked Spock, after a few seconds.

“Report to sickbay, Mr. Spock,” said Kirk, rising from his chair to his full height. Something in his voice, in his posture, told his friends that it wasn't over yet.

“Sir?” asked Spock, again, in the exact same tone. “My collapse on the bridge was, I assure you, a onetime occurrence which has not manifested itself again—”

“Doctor, draw a blood sample from Mr. Spock—”

“But, Jim, what—?”

“Don't interrupt. Draw a blood sample from Spock, and filter
out
the remnants of the neural parasite Spock was infected by on the planet Deneva—”

“Indeed,” said Spock.

“The same parasite Peter was infected by!” said McCoy. He and Spock exchanged another glance, but with an entirely different meaning.

“If there's more than one person on that planet who's been subjected to the Denevan neural parasite, I'll give up my command,” said Kirk.

“Your captaincy is in little danger,” said Spock. “The odds of such an occurrence are greater than—”

“Shut up, Spock,” said McCoy. “Let's get you down to sickbay—captain's orders.”

“Do you not have the pertinent medical data on file, Doctor?”

“Oh, I do,” said McCoy, dryly, “but a fresh batch of data never hurt.” He squeezed the Vulcan's forearm between thumb and forefinger. “At least, it never hurt
me.”

“May I assume your operating instruments will be properly sterilized this time?” asked Spock, archly, as they headed for the door.

“I may even sharpen them,” replied McCoy, brightly.

Their voices faded away as Kirk turned to the console to order a landing party, keenly aware of the conflicting forces at play here. The same monster that had taken Sam's life might now be responsible for saving the life of his son.

* * *

“Fortunately,” said Spock, in an ironic tone, “the virulence of the Denevan neural parasite renders it particularly susceptible to scans.”

“Less talk and more scanning,” said McCoy, impatiently.

“I am capable of both, Doctor,” replied Spock. He stood at his post on the bridge, Kirk and McCoy flanking him on either side. The relevant data had been prepared by sickbay's medical scanners and fed into the bridge computer, which now, tied into the ship's scanners, was poring over the entire planet of Nador, inch by inch.

“Scan of eastern continent completed,” said Spock. “Presence of Denevan neural parasite not detected.”

“Sulu,” said Kirk, “bring us over the planet's main continent and decrease orbit to three thousand kilometers. It stands to reason that Peter will be held at the insurrectionists' main base, and that that base won't be too far from the capital.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Scanning the main continent,” said Spock. For too many seconds he remained silent. Then: “I have detected the Denevan neural parasite, Captain.”

Kirk thumbed a button on Spock's console. “Kirk to Chief Giotto. Meet me in the transporter room.”

“We'll be right there, Captain,”
filtered back Giotto's voice.

“Spock, Bones, Sulu, you're with me. Uhura, you have the conn.” Sulu rose from his post immediately, winking with a self-satisfied grin at Chekov, who rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Uhura,” said Kirk, “as soon as we've beamed down, you will take the
Enterprise
out of orbit—”

“Out of orbit, sir? But what about—”

“—at one-half impulse power. The instant you have left the Nadorian solar system, you will immediately reverse course and return with all deliberate speed, placing the Nadorian moon between the ship and the planet and avoiding all contact with any vessels. You will then remain there until you receive further orders. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Uhura with a nod, comprehension dawning in her features. “You want to make it look to Peter's captors as though we're running away.”

“With our nacelles between our legs,” said Kirk, with a grim nod. “It's time we took off the kid gloves when dealing with these people. How far out is the
Potemkin?”

“Still twenty-five hours, at least, sir,” said Uhura.

“We may be able to save those troops from getting their boots dirty yet,” said Kirk intently as he headed for the turbolift. “Let's go, gentlemen. The insurrectionists have something of ours, and I intend to get it back.”

* * *

But as they entered the transporter room, Kirk's pace slowed. Waiting for them were Chief Giotto and Lieutenant Sinclair.

“Lieutenant,” said Kirk, briskly, “why don't you sit this one out?”

“Sir?” Giotto and Sinclair said in the same instant, and the same baffled tone.

“Not to second-guess you, Chief,” said Kirk, “but don't you think someone else deserves to see some action?”

As Sinclair drifted away from the group, Giotto turned to Kirk. In his voice could be heard his respect for both the office and the man vying for supremacy over his anger. “Sir, what's Sinclair done?”

“To my knowledge, nothing,” replied Kirk.

“She's going to think she's done something wrong, that she's being disciplined,” said Giotto.

“Nothing of the sort,” said Kirk. “But I have my reasons.”

“Which are?” asked McCoy, pointedly.

“Which are, at the present moment, solely the captain's business,” said Kirk, in the same tone. “Mr. Scott,” he said raising his voice, “would you care to accompany us?”

“About time I got asked t'dance,” said Scotty, strapping on a weapons belt. “I thought I'd be a wallflower fer sure.”

“I wouldn't hear of it,” said Kirk, dryly. “Mr. Kyle, if you'll do the honors?”

“Your touchdown point seems to be some sort of large storage facility on the edge of the city, sir,” said Kyle, examining the transporter console.

“Give us some cover, if you can,” said Kirk.

“I'm reading an area that appears to be obscured from view and a safe distance from any life-forms. I think I can set you down there.”

“That sounds good. Phasers on stun,” he said, to the landing party. “We'll have the advantage of surprise, but that won't last long.”

“Maybe we can hit them below the belt,” said McCoy, in a voice only Kirk could hear, “just like you did to Sinclair.”

“That's enough, Doctor,” said Kirk. “Energize.”

The last thing McCoy saw before his vision blurred was Sinclair, heading for the door, in the uncertain gait of a woman who has just realized she's walking through a minefield.

* * *

Kyle had done an excellent job of putting them down, Kirk realized, as his vision adjusted to the new setting. They seemed to be in a building of some sort, a cool, cavernous place, with small sounds echoing from all directions. Not a great deal different from the cavern they had left hours ago, but this setting had the advantage of a wider field of vision.

Of course, that could work against us, too,
Kirk thought, as he saw the stranger out of the corner of his eye. He wheeled and leveled his phaser, but the same instincts that had so often saved the life of himself and of his crew—the same instincts even Spock valued, while admitting he could not understand them—caused his finger to pause on the activator button.

The stranger was looking right at them, that was obvious, even though he was only silhouetted, but he hadn't moved. “Spock,” Kirk whispered, motioning his first officer forward.

“Not human, Captain,” said Spock, seconds later. “A statue. Of ancient origin, of the same derivation as those we saw in the Royal Palace.”

“Look at them all,” whispered Sulu. The structure, which seemed to be a warehouse, seemed to stretch off for nearly an acre; it contained hundreds of statues, each of them as beautiful as those whose beauty Kirk had enjoyed in the palace.

“That might be part of the motive behind this whole mess, Captain,” said Giotto, softly. “It wouldn't be the first time a smuggling ring has been behind a plot to upset a government.”

Kirk nodded and motioned them forward. The
Enterprise
team crept ahead like a single organism with six tentacles, each one feeling, sensing, examining the terrain ahead before continuing.

“Bones,” hissed Kirk. “Any reading on Peter?”

McCoy checked his medical tricorder and nodded. “I'm reading the Deneva parasite factor ahead a couple of hundred meters, inside some sort of other structure.”

“Fine,” nodded Kirk, “let's—”

“Captain,” came Spock's urgent whisper, “I read eleven life-forms, three approaching—”

The beam from the controlled force weapon lanced out of the semi-darkness, burning clear through the load-bearing beam Kirk was behind. The split second gave him enough time to roll clear.

He returned fire, allowing himself a moment to glance over his shoulder. The other five members of the landing party were scattering for cover, looking for posts from which to return fire.

Kirk shook his head ruefully. He had been so concerned for Peter that his first action was to check for his nephew's presence, rather than that of hostiles. That was a good way to get them all killed, Peter included. He let his anger with himself take the form of a stinging beam of phaser 2, flung at a furtive movement in the gloom, but heard nothing strike the floor in response.

Giotto had taken Scotty and Sulu with him and fanned out behind and to one side of the rest of the landing party, deploying them with hand signals.

They prowled noiselessly among the stone forest, watching for moving shadows, occasionally letting off a phaser beam, more often dodging controlled force beams—or trying to. Their progress across the warehouse floor was far slower than it should have been. If Kirk didn't reach Peter before they did …

“Captain,” hissed Scotty, over the communicator, “Giotto's down.”

“On my way,” said McCoy, who wasn't far away.

“Blast it,” said Kirk, fervently, “they know the terrain, we don't. We can use the statues as cover, but so can they, so there's no—” His voice trailed off.

“Captain?” asked Spock.

“Rule Number One in combat, Spock,” said Kirk, adjusting his phaser. “Never let the enemy make the rules.” He swept his phaser beam in a wide arc around him, screaming energy meeting and disintegrating any statues it happened to touch.

“Captain,” said Spock, in a regretful tone, “are you certain—?”

“I like art as much as the next man, Spock,” replied Kirk, “but this is war. Fire.”

They advanced, firing at selected statues at random, to avoid giving their enemy a clear idea as to their presence. Around them, random fire came from all sides, the act of desperate people with no other recourse.
They're panicking,
Kirk thought.
That will make them careless—but more dangerous.

In the cleared path before him, Kirk could see something. It was a gray object, a hut, or—no, a small ship! Its hull, rather than sleekly curving and tapering, was oddly faceted, almost a little clumsy-looking, as though her builders had had nothing to work with but straight pieces. Spock's first supposition was correct: It was this that gave the ship a refractive index of nearly zero, making it virtually invisible to sensors. Right now, one of its flat panels had opened. From a small hatch he could see shadowy forms entering at great haste.

“Come on, Spock!” he shouted. No need for stealth now. Cutting their way through a small cadre of what seemed to be hired thugs, none of them with much of a taste for combat, Kirk neared the ship, making out two rather bulky forms in the gloom.

“Counselors Docos and Hanor,” commented Spock.

“I guess there are some issues they're able to reach agreement on,” said Kirk, grimly. “This is Kirk!” he shouted, advancing on the small craft. “Drop your weapons!”

From Hanor's meaty hand dropped a small weapon—Kirk doubted if she even knew how to fire it. Her ugly features held a sneer of superiority, even in surrender. “Very well,” she croaked.

“I disagree,” said Docos, his delicate features, which had always seemed unaccustomed to the ways of diplomacy, seemed far more comfortable here. He tucked his right hand deep into his royal blue robes, seizing Hanor from behind with his left hand. His right hand withdrew, now brandishing an object that glinted in the dim light.

“Docos, let her go,” said Kirk. Behind him he could hear the rest of the landing party cautiously approach.

Docos did not seem to have heard Kirk. He looked to one side and slightly behind himself, deeper into the ship, his expression first inquisitive. Then he nodded.

Overhead there was suddenly a great rumbling as a portion of the warehouse ceiling began to roll back, revealing a concealed door. At the same moment, the engines of the small craft began to fire up.

“Let her go!” shouted Kirk, over the whine of the engines.

Docos retreated a few steps more deeply into the ship, the blade still at Hanor's throat. Then he seemed to relent; he stepped forward a little, then abruptly swept the object that glinted in the light across Hanor's throat. She collapsed, shoved forward by Docos at the same time, the steps of his hasty retreat covered by the rumbling of the hatch closing.