Chapter One

CAN SHIPS, as well as men, be said to limp?

James Kirk looked around the bridge of the USS

Enterprise. A less-trained eye would have seen only

an experienced group of men and women going about

their various duties, competently overseeing the mul-

titude of hardware and software systems that made

Enterprise more than a mere shell of metals and plas-

tics. But Captain James T. Kirk saw much more.

He saw weariness in the slumped shoulders of his

communications officer. He noted the signs of short

temper in the abrupt movements and tight-lipped re-

sponses of the helmsman.

If a ship can be said to be limp, thought Kirk, then

this one's limping.

The mission just completed had been more than

even a vessel of Enterprise's caliber should be asked

to endure. Only the figure bent over the Science Offi-

cer's station in disciplined absorption showed no out-

ward signs of fatigue. But then, Spock almost never

did. And yet he was called upon to give more than any

of the rest of us, at that outpost colony. Kirk shook

his head slightly in amazement and admiration.

Mistakes would not be made by this crew, Kirk

knew, in spite of their exhaustion, but he was not the

type of commander to drive his people unreasonably.

Thank God we're only hours away from Starbase

Seventeen, he thought. They can have all the rest and

recreation they need there.

I wonder what's waiting for me there. New orders,

of course. The ship would be repaired and resuppiied,

the crew given its chance to rest up, and then both

would be called upon yet again to do the Federation's

work. Sensitive work, Kirk supposed. Work requiring

the best, requiring men and women of competence and

subtlety, and a commander who had proven his ability

to cope with complex and dangerous situations often

enough.

It wore on him, this work. Every year, it wore on

him more, and yet he could not imagine doing anything

else with his life. For a time, of course, he had had to

do something else a desk job. But James Kirk was not

a man who belonged behind a desk. He was a ship's

commander whose place was on the bridge of his

beloved ship.

But there must be a limit somewhere, sometime.

That was his abiding fear. Would someone, some-

where in the Starfleet hierarchy, eventually decide that

Kirk was too old for active command, that a desk job

was all that he was really suited for now--an aging

officer who couldn't even read any more without wear-

ing archaic glasses? Horatio Nelson or John Paul

Jones, those two great admirals which would his own

career be likened to? Would he die in glory, at the

height of his career, during his moment of greatest

triumph, like Nelson, or on land, forced into retire-

ment by intrique and the changing winds of politics,

like Jones? A lifetime from now, when perhaps a very

different ship bore the gallant old name Enterprise,

how would history regard James T. Kirk?

Ridiculous, he told himself, suddenly impatient with

his own meanderings. Stop thinking like an old man

with one foot in the gravel "Mr. Sulu," he said aloud,

"estimated time to arrival?"

Sulu grinned. "Fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes

to Starbase Seventeen R and R, Captain." Kirk could

sense his crew perking up at that announcement--

which was of course why he'd asked Sulu to make it.

It was consideration in such small things, Kirk knew,

as much as competence in the big ones that gained a

commander his crew's loyalty.

"Captain," Uhura said from the Communications

console, "I'm picking up something." She frowned

and put her hand to her ear as if holding the commu-

nication earpiece would help her pick up the faint

signal. "Klingon emergency signal, sir. Heavy inter-

ference."

Ginny Crandall, at the Weapons and Defense sta-

tion, spoke up from Kirk's right. "I have them, sir.

Only a couple of million kilometers away."

What're they doing in Federation space? "Let us all

hear what they have to say, Uhura. Translated."

"Yes, sir."

From the speakers above the bridge crew came a

howl of subspace interference and then a heavy crack-

ling. A voice was speaking behind the noise, but it was

drowned out. And then suddenly the interference

ceased and the voice barked out at them, heavy and

menacing a Klingon voice, its words translated to

English by the Enterprise computer but the voice left

unchanged.

"... Klanth, commanding. Failure of vessel struc-

ture accelerating. Destruction of Mauler imminent.

Crew conduct exemplary. Request commendations be

sent to clans of all. I personally commend all of us to

the gods. Survive and succeed!"

The last words were washed ont as the interference

returned with a roar. Uhura reduced the volume to a

background growling. "I can't get it any clearer, sir."

Kirk nodded, "Spock?"

The Vulcan's face was hidden in the hood of the

Science station console. "It appears to be a magnetic-

ionic storm of some sort, Captain, and the Klingon

ship is in the middle of it. It does bear some resem-

blance to the storm Enterprise encountered in this

region some time ago. I'm sure you remember that

one, sir."

Kirk grimaced. How could he forget? For hours, he

had been trapped in an alternate dimension, victim of

a bizarre breakdown in spacetime, the air in his space

suit running out, desperately trying to signal his crew

during those precious seconds when he found himself

halfway returned to his own dimension. In the end,

Spock had been able to predict the time and place of

the next intersection of the two planes of existence

and had retrieved Kirk with no time at all to spare.

Another Starfleet vessel, Defiant, had been destroyed

by the storm.

It had all happened in a region of space claimed by

the Tholians, a prickly and uncommunicative people

who rejected membership in the Federation even

though they were by now surrounded by it. Federation

ships had been careful to avoid Tholian space ever

since Enterprise's experience. 'Mr. Spock, could the

Tholians be responsible for what's happening to the

Klingon ship?"

"Perhaps, Captain. We know little of Tholian capa-

bilities beyond their ability to generate the web in

space with which they trapped Enterprise. However,

since they can generate such a web, this storm would

seem to represent a prodigious expenditure of energy

to achieve an object they could encompass far more

cheaply."

"In other words, no?"

"Probably not, sir. And of course we do know that

strange natural phenomena occur in this region." Af-

ter a pause, Spock added, "The Klingon ship does

indeed appear to be breaking up. The structure of the

vessel is disintegrating."

That answered the question no one had bothered to

voice Was the Kiingon message genuine or a ruse? As

if to add confirmation that it was genuine, Crandall

said, "Sir their shields are failing rapidly. I think..."

She fell silent and concentrated on the readings dis-

played before her. "Yes, their life-support as well."

"Helm, take us in. As close as is safe. Mr. Spock

will warn you when we've reached that limit. Shields

up. Yellow alert." Kirk could feel the adrenalin level

rising, the blood racing in his veins. He could sense

his crew responding throughout the shily--responding

to his voice, his judgment. As the klaxons rang, Kirk

thumbed a toggle switch on the arm of the command

seat. "Transporter room. Get the coordinates of that

Klingon ship and try to lock on as soon as you can."

"Do you plan a rescue, Captain?" Spock asked.

"Regulations do not require that we respond in a

situation such as this one."

"This isn't just humanitarianism, Spock. I want to

know what they're doing inside our territory. Visual

of Mauler on screen."

On the great viewscreen at the front of the bridge,

an image of the storm grew, with the Klingon ship

trapped within it, struggling ineffectually like a fly in a

spideffs web. The storm was a rough sphere of shifting

colors and brightnesses. Parts of it vanished momen-

tarily and then flared out in painful brilliance. Mauler

was almost totally obscured, but now and then it

showed clearly for just an instant. The bridge crew on

Enterprise could see the Klingon ship wavering, its

predatory "wings" beginning to crumble.

The Kilngun ship was surrounded by sparkling lights

where the storm impinged on its deflector shields, but

that sparkling was diminishing even as they watched

it. Mauler's shields were failing under the storm's

assault.

"Less than ten minutes maximum survival time,

Captain," Spock said calmly. "Transporter room?"

The response came from the speaker in the arm of

his chair. "Sorry, sir. We can't punch through the

interference. We can't lock onto individual patterns in

that soup. We'd have to have feedback from their

transporter on the olher end, and even then it would

be chancy."

Kirk thought lbr a moment. "Uhura, open a hailing

channel." He paused and then spoke in what he hoped

was a calm and authoritative voice. "Mauler, this is

the USS Enterprise, Captain James Kirk commanding.

We are standing by and are prepared to beam you

aboard our vessel. Please lock in your transporter to

OURS. ' '

For a long moment, there was no reply. Then the

voice they had heard before said angrily, 'Mauter,

Klanth commanding. Leave us, Kirk! Leave us to die

bravely, like Kilnguns."

"Bravely or not, Captain," Kirk said soothingly,

"you will die without our help. Wouldn't it be better

to survive to serve your emperor again?"

"Not with human help!" The heavy Klingon voice

was replaced with the rushing sound of subspace

static.

"Uhura?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, sir. They're no longer

transmitting."

Kirk clenched his fist in frustration. He had to

retrieve at least one crewman from that ship! Whatever

the Kilnguns' mission, it was something Starfleet

would want to know about. "Spock, could one of the

shuttles make it?"

"Negative, Captain. The shuttles have far less de-

fense against this storm than the Klingon ship has."

Kirk had known the answer in advance. He had

simply hoped that Spock could pull a rabbit out of his

hat, as he had done in the past. He found the image an

amusing one despite the present situation.

But Spock did not disappoint him. "However, you

will remember that we have on board some of Star-

fleet's new transponders, designed for maintaining

subspace radio contact through the severest phenom-

ena Starfleet scientists could anticipate. Perhaps such

a transponder could be used to maintain contact

through the storm as well."

"Yes, but what good would that do us'?"

"The transporter cannot lock onto a Klingon pat-

tern through the storm, Captain, but it could certainly

beam one of the transponders from Enterprise to the

Kilngun ship. Then a Klingon holding the transpon-

ders could be beamed back to Enterprise."

Kirk laughed. "If any of the Kilnguns would coop-

erate to that extent. And if they were willing to coop-

erate, we wouldn't need the transponder in the first

place." Something occurred to him. "Spock, what if

one man were holding the transponder and another

man were touching him. Could they both be beamed

back?"

Spock was silent for a moment, then said, "I would

say yes, with a probability of point nine nine three.

But that's just a preliminary esti--"

"Never mind, Spock. That's only seven chances of

failure out of a thousand. Not bad at all. Get one of

those transponders to the transporter room immedi-

ately. Security, send a squad to the transporter room.

I'll meet them there." Kirk jumped to his feet. "Mr.

Spock, you have the con." He strode toward the turbo

elevator, feeling younger with every step.

Kirk nodded to the transporter operator and braced

himself. The Enterprise transporter room and the Se-

curity squad standing on the transporter platform with

him all faded from Kirk's sight. The Security team

faded back in again, but the background was no longer

the transporter room aboard Enterprise.

In its place was the gloomy, cramped bridge of a

Klingon warship, underlit and hot by human stan-

dards, and filled with shotits and yells and the groaning

of tortured metal. Kirk and the Security team were

grouped immediately behind the command seat. The

seat held a broad-shouldered, powerful figure Klanth.

Crowded as the arrival of the Federation intruders

made the bridge, the Kiingons were too preoccupied

with trying to save their dying ship to realize immedi-

ately who the newcomers were. A Klingon, his eyes

on the display of a small computer in his hand, pushed

one of Kirk's men aside impatiently as he strode past.

The group from Enterprise split in two and moved

to either side of the Klingon captain's command seat.

But just then one of the Klingons in front of Klanth

happened to look up and right at Kirk. He frowned in

puzzlement, and then registered what he had seen. He

yelled a warning and pointed, and Klanth spun around.

He saw Kirk and leaped to his feet.

Moving smoothly and simultaneously, the Enter-

prise Security squad surrounded K!anth, gripping his

arms and immobilizing him. They also held onto each

other and Kirk, forming an unbroken chain, a circle

facing outward, impregnable, with Klanth in the mid-

dle. Kirk flipped open his communicator, which was

slaved to the transponder hanging from his belt, and

spoke to his ship. "Transporter room! Mass beam-in.

Now !"

On the bridge of Enterprise, where Spock sat in the

command seat, the message cut through the noise of

the storm and filled the air. The forward screen showed

the Klingon warship wavering in the grip of the storm.

Spock waited for the message from the transporter

room that Kirk, his Security team, and the Klingon

captain had all been successfully brought in.

What seemed like a vast stretch of time passed, even

though Spock knew that it was less than five seconds.

If anything had gone wrong, the technicians in the

transporter room would be working frantically to rem-

edy it, and his proper course of action was to leave

them alone and not interfere and delay them. Yet part

of him longed to contact the transporter room and

urge haste, or to go there himself, even though it would

all be over--Kirk returned successfully or overpow-

ered on Mauler and a prisoner of the Klingons--long

before he could get there. And so Spock sat in the

captain's seat, face and body outwardly relaxed, but

his two halves at war behind the calm facade. And then Mauler disappeared.

Behind Spock, someone screamed, a short sound,

choked off in the middle. Spock identified the voice as

Uhura's. He turned, saw her slumped across her con-

sole, and toggled a switch on his chair. "Sickbay to

the bridge---urgent," Spock said. "Science station?"

"N-nothing on sensors, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Hilg. A prompt response." Dis-

passionately efficient as always, Spock registered the

young Ktorran's attention to duty. It was Hilg's first

posting--and an initiation by fire.

A signal light blinked on the arm of Spock's chair.

He flipped another switch. "Spock here."

The small, tinny voice cried out, "Mr. Spock, this

is the transporter room. We've lost the transponder

signal! We can't lock onto the Captain or the others

again."

"That is because they are no longer there," Spock

said quietly.

"The storm, Mr. Spock!" It was Ginny Crandall, at

the Defense station.

Spock came back to sudden alertness. In the pri-

mary screen, the storm was ballooning outward, filling

the view. Like a living thing, Spock thought. "Full

power to shields, Mr. Crandall."

"Sir," Hilg said, "it's heading right for us."

"Helm," Spock snapped. "Reverse, maximum

warp."

But he had been a moment too late. Even before de

Broek, the helmsman, could react, the storm engulfed

Enterprise.

The starfield on the forward viewscreen was gone,

replaced by a swirl of glaring colors. The bridge lights

dimmed. Everything was bathed in the shifting colors

of the storm on the viewscreen. Heavy vibrations

boomed through the fabric of the ship. Spock found

his entire body shaking, his teeth rattling together; he

clenched his jaws and gripped the arms of his chair.

Through gritted teeth, he said, "Communications--

alert Starbase Seventeen of our position and situa-

tion."

"Shields failing, sir? Crandall said. "Can't bring

them back !"

"Helm, reverse, maximum warp," Spock repeated.

"Nothing, sir," de Broek said. "She's not answer-

ing."

Suddenly, "down" began to change meaning. Arti-

ficial gravity was being disrupted. Crewmembers fell

sideways out of their seats. Spock gripped his chair

arms all the tighter. Then he freed one hand enough to

flip a toggle switch. "Engineering!"

"Engineering, sir!" It was a voice Spock didn't

recognize. 'Gaiaym here." "Where is Mr. Scott?"

"Injured, sir. We're all being thrown"--the sound

of a crash--"down here. All the systems are being

overloaded by something. We're losing--" The voice

disappeared.

"Mr. Galaym," Spock said. 'Mr. Galaym!" He

toggled the switch a few times, but he knew he'd get

no reply.

The lights were fading still further. Somcone said,

'Life-support failing, sir." Spock didn't bother trying

to place the voice, and he ignored the cries of pain

from all around him from the other people around

him. He was listcning with all of his senses, listening

to the ship, to the booming vibrations and the creaks

and groans coming from the vessel's fabric. He was

listening the way he knew James Kirk would have

done. Enterprise, James Kirk's ship, was dying.

Suddenly all was as it had been. The storm had

vanished; the forward viewscreen showed a calm and

empty starfield.

For a moment, Spock listened to the abrupt silence,

the absence of ominous sounds from the body of the

ship. And then there was a flood of voices coming

from the rest of the ship, telling of damage or calling

for help. Spock leaned forward and stared into the

forward screen. But it didn't matter how intently he

stared the storm had disappeared, and so had Mauler;

and with the Klingon ship, so had James Kirk.

Chapter Two

AN EERIE GREEN-BLUE GLOW played around the ap-

paratus.

"Nope," Elliot said. "Sorry. Same thing again.

Energy leakage. We're just wasting energy. If we can

see it, it's no good." He reached for the power switch.

"But, sir!" An agonized cry came from the young

woman standing on the other side of the experiment.

"I think I'm really close to it! Give me a few more

hours, sir. A few more minutes. Please!"

Elliot hesitated, his hand hovering over the switch.

Finally, however, he made his decision. "I'm sorry,

Brashoff. It was a good idea. Still is, in fact. But you'll

need to do a lot more theoretical work on it." He

flipped the switch and the glow of escaping energy

died away. A faint whine dropped into the audible

range--audible to Brashoff; Elliot had been able to

hear it all along--and continued to drop in pitch,

fading into silence as it did so.

"Great," Brashoff said. "If you don't authorize me

to continue modifying the equipment, I'll be trans-

ferred, and then I won't have any opportunity even to

work on the theory."

Elliot's face stiffened. "I said I was sorry, Brashoff.

I'm not really required to do even that much. Be

thankful you've been able to spend even this much

time on your pet idea."

Brashoff flushed. "Sorry, sir. I'll go start taking

care of the paperwork to wrap this up." She saluted

and marched from the room. Elliot stared at her back

with a frown, unsure whether her manner indi cated

anger at his decision or embarrassment at her reaction

to it.

From across the room, old Admiral Kim said, "Tsk,

tsk. Kids these days. Want everything."

Elliot laughed. Kim always had the ability to make

him laugh, even with the most innocuous remark. "It

was a good idea, though," Elliot said.

"Indeed," Kim said. "Had it been successful, it

might have given us a very useful weapon against the

Kilnguns. Still, you sounded encouraging. Once the

young woman has developed the theory further...?"

Elliot shook his head. He looked around to make

sure Brashoff really was gone and then said quietly,

"I didn't want to discourage her too much. She has so

much promise. But I'm afraid the work was going

nowhere; it's a dead end. Getting her off it and onto

something else is the best thing I can do for her career.

Her idea was a fantasy, really, nothing more."

Admiral Kim sighed. "A pity," she said. "A real

pity. Such an appealing idea... ! But of course your

judgment is the one that counts. By now, you know,

the entire Science Division feels that way about you."

Elliot looked embarrassed. "Everyone places too

much confidence in me, I'm afraid."

"Nonsense!" Kim snorted. "Not too much at all!"

Obviously sensitive to his embarrassment, however,

she changed the subject. "Shouldn't you be leaving

abut now? Or have you changed your mind? I don't

want to have to order you to take time off!"

Elliot grinned at her. "Since you're twisting my

arm, I'll leave right away."

"Where are the two of you going?"

"Luisa wants to go to England." Elliot shrugged to

indicate his helplessness.

"England again? Your wife has an unhealthy fasci-

nation with the Hole."

"Don't I know it! I've hated that place ever since

the disaster. I wasn't there, of course, and now I don't

want to go back. It's... so changed."

Kim nodded understandingly. "I can imagine how it

makes you feel. But you can't talk Luisa out of it?"

"I've never been able to in the past. You know how

fascinated she is by England--especially Devon. Any-

one would think she had been born there, although in

fact she grew up utterly ignorant of the country. I'm

the first Englishman she ever met." He paused

thoughtfully. "She says my past is buried in the Hole,

and she wants to absorb it by being there."

"Ghoulish."

Elliot smiled. "And it's not cheap, either."

"Don't forget your medication."

"No, Mother." A rare thing he elicited a laugh

from Admiral Kim.

He left the room, quite satisfied. Perhaps he did

deserve that vacation--for his success with Brashoff.

"But we are already on our way to Starbase Seven-

teen, Doctor, as I have repeatedly told you," Spock

said. "We will be there in less than twenty hours. To

be precise--"

"Don't be precise, Spock!" McCoy said. "I don't

need the third decimal place. What I do want to know

is why it's going to take so long when I distinctly

remember being told by someone that we were only

sixteen hours away from Starbase Seventeen, and that

was a couple of hours before the storm."

"Because I am holding us to Warp Factor Two,

Doctor. I am not willing to risk greater stress on the

ship's systems or structure."

"Spock... !" McCoy threw up his hands and turned

away from the Vulcan First Officer, breathing in and

out deeply. "Spock," he began again, speaking more

calmly this time, "I'm understaffed and undersupplied

because of what we went through a few days ago, on

that outpost. On top of that, one of my nurses and one

of my surgeons were injured so badly during the storm

that I've had to put them into induced comas while

they heal. And in addition to that, I have two dozen

other injured people down here, many of them seri-

ously hurt. It's more than my remaining staff and

supplies can take care of. Safely, I mean--safely and

for an extended period. The ones with minor injuries,

we've already patched up and sent back to their quar-

ters because we were so overloaded. Or sent back on

duty in a couple of cases, because you insisted," he

said bitterly. "But the two dozen in Sickbay now, I

have to get to better facilities. Some place without a

shortage of manpower or drugs. Like Starbase Seven-

teen."

"I understand the needs of your department, Doc-

tor," the Vulcan said. He was aware, as always, of the

emotional demon Leonard McCoy constantly kept

reined in, and Spock wished he could control his voice

and choose his words when speaking to the doctor so

as to help him in his task. But that was an ability he

lacked, based as it was on empathy and understanding

of what the other man was experiencing. It was a skill

at which James Kirk excelled; indeed, Kirk's facility

at that was a large part of his competence as a starship

captain. Not for the first time, Spock wished he did

have that ability himself.

"However, I must balance the needs of each depart-

ment against the well-being of the ship itself." Perhaps

he could win McCoy's support by spending valuable

time giving him a detailed explanation of the ship's

status, since he was unable to win that support by

playing on the doctor's feelings.

"Our life support and drive control systems were

also injured by the storm, Doctor, and if they fail,

hundreds of now healthy crewmen will die, not just

those you have in Sickbay. I cannot risk overstressing

the drive control system or the ship's structure, and

because of the storm I do not have enough functioning

repair personnel to keep the systems operating should

there be a major failure. I have calculated that Warp

Factor Two exerts a stress upon the ship's structure

and systems that is below the current advisable limits,

within a reasonable safety factor, and yet will allow us

to reach Starbase Seventeen with an acceptable

chance of survival for essential personnel--also within

a reasonable safety factor."

"My God," McCoy said slowly, "I've been wrong

about you all along. I've always joked about you being

green-blooded and thinking like a computer, but I

think this is the first time I've realized that you're

really and truly devoid of all feelings. It's not the color

of your blood that's the problem it's the temperature.

You cold-blooded, unfeeling--"

"As you know quite well, Doctor," Spock inter-

rupted calmly, "my blood temperature is higher than

yours. I will expect reports from you every hour on

the status of your patients. Summary reports only--

totals, not indiviudals. Except for deaths, of course,

since I will need to compose individual letters to

families."

"Hah! I can just see those letters now! Never mind,

Spock. I'll write any letters of condolence myself. I

guess with Jim gone and Scotty unconscious, I'm the

highest-ranking creature with any feelings on the ship,

aren't I?"

Spock chose not to answer and turned to go. Before

he could leave Sickbay, McCoy called out, "This isn't

the way Jim would do it, you know!"

The Vulcan hesitated and then turned back to the

ship's doctor. "On the contrary, Doctor. This is pre-

cisely the course of action the captain would have

followed. I have arrived at it by logic, and he would no

doubt have arrived at it by intuition, but the result

would have been the same." He spun about and hur-

ried away before McCoy had a chance to say anything

more. He had to remove himself far from the doctor's

presence; McCoy's emotionalism was dangerously

contagious.

McCoy was not aware, and Spock would never deign

to tell him, of the Vulcan's pleas to Starfleet Command

to allow him to keep Enterprise in the vicinity of

Mauler's disappearance so that he could continue to

search for James Kirk. To Spock's reminder of the

success of a similar search years earlier, when Kirk

had disappeared into another dimension in almost the

same spot, Starfleet Command had responded with the

same argument Spock had just used on McCoy. The

argument had ended with an order bring your ship in

and report to the commander of Starbase Seventeen.

Back on the bridge, Spock reassumed the con. "Mr.

Sulu, estimated time to arrival?"

Sulu jumped, struck by djd vu, and then answered,

"Nineteen hours and ten minutes, Mr. Spock."

Spock remembered that he had intended to ask

Mc12oy specifically about Uhura's Condition. She had

screamed before the storm had struck at Enterprise,

and it seemed reasonable to Spock that her injury,

whatever it was, had happened then, rather than dur-

ing the storm's attack. But the tense confrontation

with the doctor had driven the question about Uhura

from Spock's mind. It annoyed Spock that McCoy had

had that effect on him it was annoying and demeaning.

And now he had not heard a question someone had

asked him. Truly, conversations with Leonard McCoy

had the evil effect of strengthening his human side and

weakening his Vulcan. "Please repeat yourself, Mr.

Crandall."

"Sir, some of my friends have been telling me about

the other time Captain Kirk disappeared near here."

Spock stared at her. Perhaps he lacked James Kirk's

empathy, his natural understanding, but he was none-

theless not completely incapable of analyzing human

body language or perceiving feelings expressed suffi-

ciently clearly by means of tone of voice. In this case,

he could detect CrandaU's hostility quite easily. As he

became aware of her hostility, he also saw similar

signs of disaffection in others on the bridge. Perhaps

he would never understand why humans, faced with

the same choices as his Vulcan ancestors had faced

long ago, still chose a path that allowed their emotions

to dominate their actions so completely. "I remember

that incident vividly, Mr. Crandall. Did you have a

question about it?"

"Yes, sir, I do." She spoke with nervous bravado.

"As I understand it, you didn't leave the area. You

hung around until Captain Kirk reappeared, and then

you rescued him!"

There was no need for her to ask the obvious

question. Unspoken, it hung heavily in the emotionally

charged air of the bridge Why are you leaving this

time?

"I did not 'hang around', Mr. Crandall," Spock said

mildly. "I was able to calculate precisely the moment

the two spaces would intersect, and it was that time

that I was waiting for. The situation is quite different

now. It is also the case that, ever since that time, the

Tholians have been extremely sensitive about what

they see as intrusions upon their sovereignty. For that

reason, Federation ships have been careful to spend

as little time as possible in the space the Tholians

claim as theirs. Starfleet Command is thus quite cor-

rect in ordering us to leave."

"But you could have persuaded them to let you

stay, Mr. Spock!"

Overemotional, and they had trouble understanding

their own language. "Even if I could have done so,

there would have been little point to it, Mr. Crandall.

The Tholians are no mean opponents. We still have no

idea how they spun their web around Enterprise. We

do know that we lost a ship, Defiant, in much the same

way Mauler was lost. What would we accomplish by

destroying our own ship, as well? Hundreds of us

would die, depriving the Federation of our services,

and Captain Kirk and the Security team with him

would still be lost."

There was no further argument or questioning, but

the atmosphere on the bridge did not improve at all

during that shift, or the remaining long, slow hours of

the trip to Starbase Seventeen.

Chapter Three

FOR A WHILE, James Kirk dreamed he was still in the

thick of the fight.

He saw Klanth flinging himself furiously at the en-

circling wall formed by the Enterprise Security squad

and almost breaking through. And then he and Klanth

and the Security team and the Klingons were all

thrown about violently inside the bridge of the boom-

ing, groaning ship. He managed to grab the railing

around the dais on which the command seat was

mounted and hold on, for a moment keeping himself

from injury. He had a confused impression of bodies

flying past him, of Klingon bellows and human

screams. For a moment he floated in zero gravity,

holding tightly to the railing, and then he fell heavily

to the floor again. The next instant, he was jerked

violently to one side, as if "down" were now some-

where off to the side.

Then a sudden feeling of nausea assailed him. But it

was something more than the effect of the changing

direction of "down" and the resulting abrupt falling

and floating, or the effect of the sounds the ship was

making as its structure was twisted and flexed in

bizarre ways. He felt the nausea throughout his body,

in every finger and toe, in his torso and head and arms

and legs. And it increased rapidly, almost like a phys-

ical force pressing on his entire body. It became heat,

a fierce heat filling him. It overwhelmed his mind; he

could think of nothing else. All their strength gone, his

fingers slipped from the railing, and he was thrown

across the bridge. He slammed with shattering force

into the twisted, jagged remains of one of the bridge

control stations, but by that time he had already lost

consciousness.

He awoke slowly.

The noises were gone. So was the nausea. He was

lying on his back. He opened his eyes slowly, slightly,

but the light was so bright that he squeezed them shut

again. Voices murmured around him.

Kirk tried to push himself up, but gentle hands

pressed him back down. He had little strength to

resist. Slowly, under the pressure of the hands, he

sank back down. The surface beneath him was soft

and inviting.

"That's better, James Kirk." It was a woman's

voice, soft and soothing. "You still need rest to re-

cover."

But there was a faint accent to the voice, and after

a moment's hesitation, Kirk recognized it Klin-

gonese !

Kirk forced his eyes open. They filled with tears,

and he could make out nothing more than blurred

figures surrounding him. He struggled weakly against

the restraining hands, hitting out feebly. They with-

drew, and Kirk levered himself to a sitting position.

The movement brought terrible dizziness and nausea,

but Kirk gripped the sheets beneath him and held on,

willing himself not to fall.

"This is not wise, Captain Kirk." It was the same

Klingon voice that had spoken before.

Kirk's eyes were slowly growing accustomed to the

light. He squeezed them shut, forcing out the tears,

and opened them again more slowly. He had been

right he was surrounded by Klingons.

So Klanth had won. Kirk realized immediately what

must have happened. Some of the Enterprise Security

team had been knocked unconscious in the same way

he had been, and the Klingons had then been able to

overpower the rest and take them prisoner. Somehow,

after that, Mauler must have been able to escape both

Enterprise and the storm. Well, he might be weak, but

he would fight as well as he could.

His nausea and dizziness were ebbing. The Klingons

surrounding him were making no hostile moves but

were watching him carefully. In fact, Kirk detected an

air of nervousness about them. He was sitting on some

sort of bed and wearing a long, one-piece, white

covering. He slid his legs over the edge and rested his

feet on the floor. He could see winking lights on

nearby machines that reminded him of those in the

Enterprise Sickbay. He knew what that meant drug-

mediated interrogation. "What--" His voice was

scratchy and scarcely audible. Kirk cleared his voice.

"What have you been doing to me? You can't hold me

prisoner. Where are my people?"

The Klingon woman who had spoken before said,

"You are not a prisoner, Captain. You are our guest."

Kirk snorted and carefully slid off the bed. He

swayed on his feet and would have fallen had one of

the Klingons not stepped forward quickly and grasped

his arm. Kirk tried to jerk away, but the grip was too

strong. Another Klingon, a woman, took his other arm

before he could hit out at the man. At the best of

times, Klingons were more powerful physically than

humans, and right now Kirk was so weak that he could

not free himself no matter how hard he tried.

"Kirk! Stop before you hurt yourself!" This was a

voice used to command, the voice of a newcomer, an

older man who had pushed through the group sur-

rounding Kirk.

Exhausted, Kirk stopped struggling and waited,

staring at the newcomer--a Kiingon, tall, dark, and

saturnine, with a dark goatee and drooping mustache.

"My name is Morith," the Klingon said. "I'm in

charge of this base. I headed down here as soon as I

was told you were conscious. I apologize for taking so

long to get here. Now, get back on that bed. You're in

no shape for such exertions."

Shakily, Kirk sat down again. "I don't understand

what you're up to, Morith, but I demand that you

return all of my people to me and deliver us to Star-

fleet. I was attempting a rescue of Klanth from his ship

when we were captured. It was not an aggressive

action. ' '

"Sir," Morith said in a voice that was both sad and

gentle, "you are not a prisoner." "Yeah, I know. I'm a guest."

"A highly honored guest. Look around you, Cap-

tain. Does this look like a prison?"

Kirk had to admit that it did not. The room was

pleasant and large. Here and there were other beds,

all empty. Each bed was surrounded by a wide space,

except at the head, where monitoring equipment was

mounted. The arrangement confirmed Kirk's earlier

impression of a hospital ward, although an unusually

roomy and airy one.

This was not at all the cramped, dark interior of a

Klingon spaceship. The lights were still a bit too bright

for his taste; they should therefore have been intoler-

able to a Klingon.

The Klingons, though, looked familiar enough.

There were seven of them standing around his bed--

three men, three women and Morith, who stood di-

rectly in front of Kirk and somewhat apart from the

rest. Here were the familiar swarthy skins, the black

hair and eyes, the heavy, black brows, the strong jaws

and cheekbones, the erect, powerful bodies. But look-

ing more carefully at them, Kirk could see that even

these Klingons weren't quite what he was used to.

The Klingons he had met previously all projected an

underlying sense of menace. But menace was clearly

absent from this group. Moreover, they were trying as

hard as they could to be friendly; from their behavior

thus far toward him, he could almost believe their

attempts were genuine. Their faces lacked the animos-

ity he was used to seeing in Klingons.

Military man that he had been for decades, it was

their clothing that was the telling blow. It was unlike

anything he had seen before on Klingons, and it was

quite different from the uniforms Klingons normally

wore. The clothes varied in color and form from one

Klingon to another. Some wore wraps that looked like

togas, while others wore tunics. There was even one

wearing a collarless, sleeveless shirt and shorts. The

colors ranged from scarlet to plain white; one of the

togas was rainbow-striped, the bands of color running

diagonally. Kirk felt more shaken by this departure

from the norm than he had felt a few minutes earlier

because of his physical weakness.

"Well, Captain?" Morith himself wore a simple

tunic, Grecian in style, and colored a warm, earth

brown. His exposed shoulders, arms, and legs were

heavy and powerfully muscled.

"You speak English well."

Morith smiled--a strange sight in itself. Kirk had

seen Klingons with fierce grins of cruelty or marital

delight, but he had never seen one smile in genuine,

relaxed, human-style pleasure. The heavy, dour Kiin-

gon face was transformed by warmth and amiability.

This did more to c onvince Kirk that he was not where

he had assumed himself to be than anything else he

had seen since waking.

"Good," Morith said. "I can see you are at least

willing to listen now. I have to tell you something both

remarkable and unsettling. More than unsettling, in

fact, but I hope to have some other news for you later,

when you are physically and mentally ready for it, that

will mitigate the shock."

"I'm all ears." Kirk was also not used to Klingons

who beat around the bush.

"Later, Captain Kirk. For now, you need much

more rest." Morith signaled, one of the other Klingons

stepped forward, and quickly--before Kirk could pro-

test or act--touched something to Kirk's arm.

Strength fled Kirk's body and he wilted down onto

the bed. He was faintly aware of someone carefully

lifting his legs up and placing them onto the bed so

that he lay fully on it, and then he dropped into deep

sleep.

When Kirk awoke the second time, he was alone in

the room. He felt wonderfully refreshed and energetic.

He got out of bed and experienced neither dizziness

nor nausea.

His uniform lay on a nearby stool, neatly folded

stripping his white hospital gown off quickly, he

dressed himself in it. No sooner had he finished than

Morith strolled into the room. This time, he wore a

tunic of pale blue.

"Welcome back to this world, Captain Kirk," the

Klingon said, smiling. Before Kirk could say anything,

Morith said quickly, "Yes, this time I'm here to tell

you just what is going on. Now you can handle what I

have to tell you, whereas before ! don't think you

could have.

"Come walk with me."

Side by side, the two men walked out of the room

and down the corridor beyond. "This constitutes your

release from our little hospital," Morith remarked.

"We do things very informally out here, not at all like

at home on Klinzhai."

Kirk stiflened at the mention of the Kiingon home

world and then forced himself to relax again. Until

that moment, he had been letting himself be lulled into

forgetting just who these people were they were so

different from what he had always thought of as Klin-

gons that he had temporarily ceased to think of them

as Klingons at all. He had fallen asleep in that frame

of mind, and the thought had in a sense become fixed

during sleep. Now, try as he might, he couldn't stir up

any animosity within himself toward Morith. This man

walking beside him was not a Klingon, at least not in

the old sense of the implacable, dreaded enemy; this

was simply another man, and at that an unusually

intelligent and sympathetic one.

They walked in companionable silence for some

time. They passed other Klingons, also apparently

civilians; these smiled and greeted Kirk and Morith in

English of varying degrees of fluency. "Do many of

the Klingons on this base speak English?" Kirkasked.

"Most Klingons speak English nowadays," Morith

said.

Kirk stared at him in amazement but decided to hold

his peace. Morith was obviously having trouble gath-

ering his nerve to say what he had to say, and Kirk

felt unwilling to press him.

Finally, Morith led the way into a room containing

small tables and, at one end, food-dispensing ma-

chines. It could have been a recreation lounge in any

Federation starship. Form follows function, Kirk told

himself. They sat down at a table, and Morith left

immediately to visit the dispensing machines. He came

back with two steaming cups, handing one to Kirk.

"Try it. I'm afraid it's the best imitation we can come

up with."

Kirk sipped carefully. It smelled and tasted suffi-

ciently like coffee. "Good," he said. "And now that

you've delayed as much as you can... ?"

Morith sighed. "I suppose I can't put it off any

longer," he said. His voice, his face, the very stance

of his body proclaimed how nervous he was. "I've

told you that you aren't a prisoner, and that's true. As

I said, you're an honored guest. It's also true that you

must not count on ever going home again."

Kirk gripped his cup tightly and waited.

"You see, Captain--may I call you Jim?"

Kirk nodded impatiently.

"Jim. You see, Jim, that storm that Mauler encoun-

tered was apparently more than just some curious

magnetic-ionic disturbance. It was a temporal phe-

nomenon as well. Mauler was almost destroyed by the

storm, but instead, the ship and all aboard her, includ-

ing you and your Security team... well, you were all

flung forward one hundred years into the future.

That's where you are now."

Chapter Four

KIRK STARED AT MOR1TH without speaking.

"Jim," Morith said, "I understand what a shock

this must be to you--to lose your entire universe,

everything you've ever known."

Understand.t Kirk thought. How could you possibly

understand? Nor could Morith see that this was not

the first time James Kirk had been marooned in time.

Before this, though, he had been lost in the past.

Irrationally, it seemed worse this way instead of imag-

ining the time familiar to him waiting in the future, he

had to learn to see itmand all the people who lived in

it--as irretrievably dead and gone.

"What about my men? The Security team I brought

onto Mauler with me?"

Morith shook his head. "They were all too seriously

injured during the storm. You must remember how

violent that was?"

Kirk nodded. "I remember being thrown all over

the bridge of Mauler. I managed to hold on to some-

thing for a while, though."

"Yes. Presumably, your men didn't manage to do

that. Neither did the Klingon crew. Some of your men

and some of... our people were killed during that

turbulence. You'll remember too how physically se-

vere that passage forward through time was?"

"Extreme nausea. I remember that, mostly."

"Exactly. But for a man who was injured more

severely than you were, what you experienced only as

extreme nausea could be deadly. As far as we can tell

from our autopsies, the time passage killed those of

your men who weren't killed by the shaking up Mauler

experienced during the storm."

"Did Mauler survive?" Kirk was asking more to

gain time, to regain equilibrium, than because he really

wanted to know.

Morith nodded. "The ship itself did, although its

structure was seriously weakened. Captain Klanth sur-

vived, as did a handful of his crew. As for them--"

"I'm in the future," Kirk said softly, more to

himself than to Morith. "I'm a hundred years in the

future..."

"You were severely injured as well," Morith contin-

ued hastily, "but thanks to the medical knowledge we

possess in our time, we were able to heal you. You

may still experience moments of weakness, but our

doctors tell me that that should not be a serious

matter. They have every confidence that--"

"I don't understand what you are, why you're so

different from Klingons I've encountered before."

Kirk's voice was filled with desperation, confusion. It

was as though he had heard--or absorbed--little that

Morith had been saying, as though his earlier intelli-

gent attentiveness had been a facade that was now

deserting him.

Morith replied gently, speaking slowly. "A great

deal has happened in the last hundred years, Jim. I

would say it has been the most eventful period in the

entire histories of the Federation and the Klingon

Empire. But I have someone else who will explain all

of this to you." He rose, but Kirk grabbed his arm.

"Wait! What do you do with prisoners of war in this

century?"

Morith sighed. "No, Jim. We've told you you're a

guest, an honored guest. I see we haven't yet con-

vinced you. Have you been treated the way prisoners

were treated in your own age?"

"My own age," Kirk muttered. "That's a tough one

to get used to. No, you haven't treated me that way.

More like a... friend."

"Exactly!" Morith said, smiling. "The perfect

choice of words. You are a friend, and FIt tell you

why. Haven't you noticed also how good my English

is?" he said with obvious pride.

Kirk grinned. "Better than mine. As good as Mr.

Spoek's." At the mention of the name, though, Kirk's

temporary good humor disappeared Spock was lost

in the past, too, as lost as any of the rest of his crew,

or his beloved ship, or the Federation he served. "Yes,

I've noticed that."

"There is a reason for that," Morith said. "We---

the Federation and the Klingon Empire, that ismare

at peace. Klingons serve aboard your starships---and

your scientists work in our laboratories. The friend-

ship between our peoples which the Organians long

ago predicted has come to pass. I speak English so

well because it is the official language of my people's

closest and dearest ally."

Kirk shook his head, dazed.

Morith smiled. "Of course you have innumerable

questions. You would scarcely be human if you did

not. I will try to have all of them answered. First,

though, I must point something out to you.

"You, Jim Kirk, are a living artifact from the most

crucial period--incident, rather--in our history. Or in

the history of the United Federation of Planets. There-

fore you are of inestimable importance to our histori-

ans. I understand that you are overwhelmed with grief

and loss, but our historians are panting, champing at

the bit, frantic to deluge you with questions, and I

hope you will be willing to answer at least a few of

them. You see, it's more than curiosity. There is a

much more vital matter involved, although I want to

wait until later to tell you about that."

"You're piquing my curiosity quite skillfully. Why

not tell me whatever it is now?" Nothing, Kirk

thought, nothing he had known none of that existed

anymore. The Federation still existed, from what Mor-

ith had said, but not his people or his ship, and without

the ship and the people, what was he? How much of

James T. Kirk was there apart from the ship and the

people he loved?

"Because," Morith explained, "despite what the

doctors may say, I'm not convinced that you are

sufficiently recovered to handle too many psychologi-

cal shocks. I'd like to take it a step at a time, slowly

and easily. And I think you need to learn more about

this time, the time you now find yourself in, before we

overwhelm you with certain facts about the past."

Morith signaled to someone behind Kirk.

Kirk twisted around in his chair. One of the Klingon

women who had been standing by his bed when he

first woke up had entered the rec lounge and seated

herself at a nearby table. At Morith's signal, she arose

and came to join them.

"This is Kalrind," Morith said. "I've appointed her

to be your tutor. It should require no more than a few

days for her to educate you as necessary. In fact, it's

most important that it take no more than a few days. I

have much other work to do, Jim." He rose. "I think

you'll find Kalrind more than capable of taking over

for me. I'll be speaking to you again in a few days."

He walked away quickly.

"So," Kalrind said, seating herself as Morith left,

"this is the famous Captain James Kirk. You can't

imagine how many Klingon adolescents idolize you."

"That's an incredible concept," Kirk said. He

found himself for once embarrassed by open admira-

tion in a young woman's face. This was, after all, a

young Klingon woman. He supposed Kalrind would

be considered attractive by a Klingon. In fact, Kirk

could even see her attractiveness, if he made the effort

to see her face as a Klingon would. But simultane-

ously, like a doubly exposed picture, he could see her

from a human perspective heavy-browed, heavy-

boned face, strength with an atmosphere of danger.

"I'm not sure you realize just how different you are

from the Klingons of my time."

"Certainly I know, Captain. I know from three

sources. First, there are our own historical records of

the old time. Second, there are still many in the

Empire who are too much like the Klingons you knew.

And third, there are the Klingon survivors from

Mauler. Klanth and some of his crew."

"Ah, yes. Klanth." How curious that Klanth and

his few surviving subordinates were the only other

beings here from his own time--the only others, per-

haps, who could be expected to really understand how

Kirk thought, how he saw such things as pohtics.

"You see, Captain--"

"Jim. Call me Jim, please."

Kalrind smiled happily, and Kirk had to admit that

her smile lit up her Klingon face and made it warm

and happy, the same effect that Morith's smile had

had upon his face. It was when they smiled, most of

all, that Kirk ceased to think of these people as Klin-

gons. But in Kalrind's case, the wide, relaxed smile

did more than make her face look friendly it made her

pretty in a fully human sense.

"Jim. That's nice. I've always like your human

names more than our own. Well, as I was about to say,

it was most of all the change in ourselves that made

the Roj tin, the Great Peace, possible. Some of our

historians have always contended that the change in

our nature was not natural but was caused somehow

by the Organians, without our knowledge. The idea is

that the Organians became impatient with waiting for

their prophecy to come about, and so they decided to

force matters along. However, they have always re-

fused to confirm that suspicion, so there's no proof for

it. At any rate, after the Tholian Incident, we became

much the way we are now, which is to say, very much

like you."

"Soft and contemptible, as your ancestors would

have said?"

Kalrind laughed. "Yes, exactly. Soft and contempt-

ible. We call ourselves the New Klingons, the thlIngan

chu." ;?

"Well, I won't try to imitate your pronunciation, so

I'll just call you the New Klingons."

"I'd prefer it if you just called me Kalrind."

Kirk laughed uneasily and looked away. He was

disturbed to discover that he was finding Kalrind phys-

ically attractive--as if exposure was making him less

sensitive to the uniquely Klingon aspects of her face.

Resolutely, Kirk turned his attention away from Kal-

rind's physical presence and to her words. "New

Klingons. Tholian Incident," he said. "You use these

terms without a second thought because you've grown

up with them, but I still don't know a thing about

them, and I find it all very confusing."

Kalrind nodded. "Of course. I'll try to get to it in a

more organized way. I didn't mean to tantalize you

with these vague references."

"You're right. I'm already tantalized."

Kalrind grinned and laughed. "By the way, how are

you feeling? Physically, I mean?"

Kirk sat back and concentrated on his body, on the

way it felt--rather the way it didn't feel, on the absent

pain "Surprisingly good, as a matter of fact. That's

strange, though. I remember being thrown about vio-

lently on Mauler's bridge during the storm and banging

into various bridge fixtures. I should be in much worse

shape than I am--broken bones, torn muscles, or even

internal injuries. Instead, I feel pretty much normal.

Maybe even better than normal--more energetic than

I've felt for a few years."

Kalrind smiled at him again.

"It isn't strange at all, Jim. It's a by-product of the

Great Peace. Ever since then, you see, our researchers

and yours have exchanged scientific data freely. The

way I understand it, comparative biology has benefited

especially. So our joint medical technology has ad-

vanced, accelerated enormously during the last cen-

tury. That's why our doctors were able to heal you so

quickly and so thoroughly."

Kalrind leaned forward and grasped Kirk's hand

and spoke with great earnestness. "Do you under-

stand, Jim? That's just one aspect of what's so won-

derful about the Great Peace. It changed my whole

civilization completely. It was the most important

single event in Klingon history. It must be safe-

guarded."

Kirk was uncomfortably aware of her strong hand

gripping his. "Are you saying it's in danger?"

Kalrind released his hand and leaned back in her

seat again. "Later. We'll get to all of that later." She

seemed suddenly subdued, even a bit sad. "That's for

Morith to explain." Then her mood changed again.

She sprang to her feet. "We'll worry about that later.

Right now, I'm going to show you your new world.

Come on!" She leaned forward, grasped his hand

again, and pulled him from his chair.

"You're as impetuous as your ancestors."

She grinned. "The Universe destroys the sluggard.

Old Klingon proverb. They weren't entirely worthless,

those people."

"We say, 'Time and tide wait for no man,' but the

Old Klingons said 'destroy,' instead."

Kalrind nodded. "An unforgiving race, and so they

saw the universe as unforgiving, too. Now, let's get

moving! Kalrind doesn't wait for sluggards, either."

The base was big, and the two of them found much

to see and explore. Kirk found two differences be-

tween this Klingon base and a Starbase of his day; the

second of these was pleasing, but the first was depress-

ing.

That was the strangeness he encountered in certain

areas---a technical unfamiliarity. As Kalrind showed

him places where technical work was being done, he

was bewildered by what he saw--and depressed by his

bewilderment.

After he and Kalrind had watched a group of Klin-

gon technicians performing an unidentifiable task, he

said to her, "You know, I expected everything to be

advancedJa century ahead of what I know. So I can

accept being puzzled. But I'm having trouble accept-

ing just how advanced everything must be. I have no

idea what those people were doing. It makes me

wonder if I ever will be able to learn what people know

now, ever be able to catch up. When I get back to my

own people, I won't be qualified to captain a starship,

or any kind of vehicle. I'll be a historical curiosity, a

resource for historians, and that's all."

"Some things don't change, Jim," Kalrind said.

"Administration, running thingsmthat's still the same.

People don't change, after all." She laughed. "Well,

your people don't. Mine have, as you know. I'll bet

you could still be useful to Starfleet that way."

Kirk grimaced. "Desk work. It took a hundred

years, but it finally caught up with me again."

The difference that pleased him was the freedom

they were being allowed except for the hospital area

and parts of the base where an ignorant and careless

tourist could cause major damage, such as the power

station, they roamed at will.

"It wasn't like this in my day," he marveled. "I

don't just mean that a Klingon wouldn't have given

freedom to wander on a Starbase. I mean that even I

wouldn't have been various places would still have

been off limits."

"Well, you can thank the Great Peace, you're seeing

all these 'wonders of the future,' "Kalrind said. "And

don't forget this is just an outpost! We're roughing it,

by the standards of Klinzhai. Why, back home, you'd

see much more expensive equipment. But out here

. . well, the fact is, out here we get the leftovers.

We're still not as rich as the Federation, so outposts

like this just have to make do with what they can get.

The best still has to be restricted to Klinzhai and the

other central worlds. Someday I'll show you the heart

of the Empire, and then you'll really be amazed."

"Klinzhai," Kirk muttered. Center of the enemy

nation, wellspring of evil, a word with which to

frighten children. How difficult it was, at times, to

abandon those old attitudes. "You still call it an em-

pire?" he asked, changing the subject.

"In name only. The old authoritarianism is long

gone, but the legal forms haven't changed. We're

really a parliamentary democracy now, a constitu-

tional monarchy. That's a respectable enough tradition

in huma n history, isn't it?" she asked with a trace of

anxiety.

Kirk smiled at her, thoroughly disarmed. "Oh, yes.

Very respectable. Some of my own ancestors, on one

side--well, never mind about all of that."

"But I want to know about it, Jim! I want to know

all about your family and your ancestors. It's all so

fascinating! Tell me about your family, Jim."

Kirk's smile faded slowly. "My family... I used to

have a brother. I was very close to him." He winced

in remembered pain.

Kalrind put her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Something has happened to him?"

Kirk stared off into space silently for a moment. At

last he said, "Years ago, yes." He looked off to the

side, avoiding Kalrind's gaze, but she moved her hand

to his cheek and pressed until he looked at her.

"My brother's name was Sam. Actually, George

Samuel, but we always called him Sam. A good man,

a very good man, and a fine scientist. He was married

to a wonderful woman named Aurelan. They were

both killed on one of our colony planets."

"How terrible! I'm sorry I forced you to talk about

it, Jim."

Kirk drew in and released a deep breath. "Thank

you for getting me to talk about it." He laughed.

"You're damned good at human psychology, for a

Klingon!"

"Did Sam and Aurelan have any children?" Kalrind

asked.

Kirk nodded. "Their son, Peter." He smiled fondly

at the thought of his nephew. "Pete's a good kid. He's

a research biologist now, just like his father. From

what I hear, he'll be even better at it than Sam was."

And then the depression returned. "What am I saying?

That was all a hundred years ago! Pete's probably long

dead, already. I've even lost him--my last surviving

family." And my ship and my crew, my substitute

famity, too.

"I won't allow this," Kalrind said firmly. "You said

something about your ancestors and parliamentary

democracy. I want to know all about them, Captain

Kirk, so start talking!"

Kirk forced a smile and began to tell her about

Abernathy Kirk, who sat in the Long Parliament under

John Pym and later fought for his faith and his repub-

lican beliefs under the great Cromwell, only to be

forced to flee to the New World colonies when the

Stuart monarchy was restored to England in 1660.

And as Kirk talked, his old fascination with the

history of his family and his world took over, his

depression lifted, and soon he was lecturing a smiling

Kalrind with enthusiasm.

Chapter Five

"WELL, SPOCK, they all made it," McCoy said testily,

reluctant to admit the truth to the Vulcan. Spock nodded and turned to go.

"Wait a minute!" McCoy said. "Aren't you going

to point out that you were right to do what you did?

Crow a little?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I can see no point in

doing so, Doctor. It would not give me the satisfaction

it would give a human, and it would not prevent you

from behaving in the future in the same dense and

obstructionist fashion." He left the cramped office

McCoy had been using since Enterprise had arrived at

Starbase Seventeen.

McCoy watched him go and then muttered, "Well,

it would give me satisfaction to crow over your mis-

takes, if I ever got the chance."

Spock had stopped at McCoy's office on his way to

an appointment with Commodore Hellenhase, the

commander of Starbase Seventeen. For many hours,

he had been reevaluating his choice to continue to the

Starbase at a low warp speed. His unemotional pose

when explaining himself to McCoy aboard Enterprise

had been only a pose; in fact, Spock had gone about

his duties constantly aware that some among the in-

jured might die, and it would be his fault. Wouldn't

Jim Kirk, with his logic-defying intuitive leaps, have

come up with some better course of action, some

brilliant compromise, a middle path between excruci-

ating alternatives?

Spock was relieved to hear that no one had died

after all. Not only was a moral weight lifted from his

shoulders, but also he could finally concentrate on

regaining his normal Vulcan equilibrium, on becoming

the controlled, logical being he pretended to be in

front of McCoy.

Hellenhase was in his office waiting for Spock. The

commodore was a man of medium height, slender,

with hair so blond it was almost white. He was a

serious, reserved man usually, but today even Spock

could detect signs of distress.

He waved Spock into his office. "Come in, come in.

Close the door. Now, listen, Spock, I've read the

transcript of your message yesterday over and over

again, and I just can't understand what happened. Oh,

I understand what you described," he said, holding up

his hand to prevent Spock from launching into a repe-

tition of the report he had sent to Starfleet Command

and Hellenhase after Kirk and Mauler's disappear-

ance, "but I don't see what it means. What's your

opinion?"

"Insufficient data, Commodore. We know only that

the Tholians disclaim all knowledge of the incident

and that our sensor readings are quite different from

those obtained when Defiant was destroyed in the

same place. I would say this was not the same phe-

nomenon as at that time, but rather something quite

new."

"That means we're helpless to get Kirk back,

then?"

Spock hesitated and then said, "At the moment,

yes. However, it's our lack of data that cripples us,

and therefore I feel it is imperative that we expend

great efforts to gather more data in the area. I must

once again urge---"

"Yes, yes, Spock," Hellenhase interrupted. "As

you did yesterday. I won't say I disagree with you,

even though Starfleet Command does. Send ships in

to roam the area and uncover whatever they can.

Except that we don't even know what to look for. We

could just issue a warning to Federation ships to avoid

that area from now on. Solve the problem that

way."

"True, Commodore. But we have a Starfleet captain

and a top-rated Security team missing, perhaps be-

cause of natural causes and perhaps not, and we would

be shirking our duty to the Federation if we did less

than we're able to."

Hellenhase stared at him penetratingly for a mo-

ment. "Hmph. I get your point, of course. The Tholi-

ans. Hmm. They'll be their usual touchy selves, of

course. But we're making progress with them. Have

to put all of that to the test, and a lot sooner than the

Federation might have wished. And I suppose you

want to be assigned to one of those ships so that you

can be on the spot, eh?"

"I would, sir, but I would also like to stay with

Enterprise while she undergoes repairs. And also with

the crew while they are cared for here. Captain Kirk

relinquished command to me, sir."

"The Vulcan sense of duty. Not always entirely

logical, is it?" Spock chose not to answer.

Hellenhase waited a few seconds for a reply and

then gave up. "All right, all right, Spock. I'll get in

touch with Starfleet Command right away and see

what I can arrange." He waved a dismissal. As he

watched Spock go, Hellenhase thought again of the

Vulcan sense of duty. And yet, he told himself, where

would Starfleet be without it, eh?

He said to his desk, "Get me Chung. In San Fran-

cisco. ' '

A computer voice replied from his desk. "Power

usage curve projections show that such a call would

best be placed in five point two hours."

Hellenhase shook his head in exasperation. Vulcans

and computers! One couldn't out-argue them, so one

had to intimidate them. "Since I'm a commodore and

you're a computer, I would say that the call would

best be placed right now, when I asked for it !"

"Yes, Commodore," the computer replied meekly.

"Although," the supposedly emotionless voice replied

with unmistakable smugness, "it is just after two A.M.

in San Francisco..."

Hellenhase grimaced. The damned machine's right,

of course. He should have done the mental subtraction

himself and figured that out. Just shows how dealing

with Vulcans fouls up my sense of time and everything

else. "All right, all right. Wait for nine hours and then

place the call. And," he groaned, "when you get

Chung, call my quarters and wake me up."

Officially, it was the Devonshire Excavation. Locals

called it the Devon Ditch and the Devon Deeps, delib-

erately implying something dark and sinister down

there, a gateway to demonic nether regions. Tourists

from outside the area, even from off Earth, usually

called it the Hole. That was all one needed to say no

one ever confused it with two other similarly named

tourist attractions, the Great Hole of Kimberley or the

site of the Black Hole of Calcutta, even though all

three were man-made.

Unlike such natural excavations as the Grand Can-

yon or the Fish River Canyon or Mariner Valley, the

sides of the Hole were not vertical. Even though there

was a sturdy fence just past the observation platform

to keep tourists from descending into the Hole, in fact

the walls of it sloped down at a gentle angle and

walking down into it would have been easy and without

danger. But that would have robbed the place of its

mystery and sinister air, and that would not have been

good for tourism, and hence it was forbidden. Luisa

Tinrail longed to walk down into it.

"Nothing," she said. "It'd be nothing. We could

get down there in a couple of hours or so and be back

up before dark. We made much more strenuous hikes

in the Rockies during our vacation, and that was at a

much higher altitude."

"Aah, you passionate, impetuous Latins," Elliot

said.

Luisa vindicated his use of the first adjective by

stamping her foot angrily. "Seriously, Elliot! Why do

you have to joke about everything? Is that because

you're English?"

Elliot pondered the question. "I suppose the only

thing we English are consistently serious about is the

inferior races. Like Panamanians." He dodged the

punch she aimed at his arm.

"I said I'm being serious!"

"I k now you are, my little Spanish spitfire. Sorry

Panamanian pimienta."

Luisa burst out laughing. "Damn you, Elliot. You

always do that to me when I'm feeling serious."

"I don't like serious feelings," Elliot said--quite

seriously. "They make me nervous."

"I've noticed that." Luisa was a short woman, and

she had to crane her neck to look up at her husband.

She wore her thick black hair in a single long braid

down her back because Elliot loved it that way. She

had never imagined that she could feel about anyone

the way she felt about the enigmatic Englishman she

had married two years earlier so eager to know ev-

erything about him, to submerge herself in his life and

interests and career.

But enigmas can lose their exotic charm as the

years pass; they demand to be known, understood,

explored. "But just look down there," Luisa

said. "That's your past down there, your life.

Don't you want to go down there and look for things,

too?"

"No," Elliott said with unusual brusqueness.

"There's nothing down there, Luisa. It was all vapor-

ized when the Golden Hind hit. Oh, you're right, we

could hike down there easily, if the authorities permit-

ted it. But what do you think we'd find? Maybe you

think we'd be able to stroll through the village I grew

up in. Sorry." He shook his head. "That's all gone.

There's nothing down there, Luisa, nothing. Not the

school, or the church, or the manor house, or the

cottages--nothing. Just a great big hole in the ground.

The Devon Ditch that's all there is."

Luisa grudgingly admitted the truth of that--at least,

for the moment--and turned to look down into the

Hole, huddling close against her husband, who held

her tightly to him. Before her, the ground sloped

downward into the deeps.

After eight years, the fertile soil and rainfall of

England had already covered it with green. If you

didn't know, she reflected, you would think it was

natural. The walls of the famous Devon Hole looked

gentle and grass-covered and inviting. Trees were

growing on it--only saplings as yet, but in time they'd

be enormous, masking from future eyes the disastrous

origin of the Hole. Far below them was the bottom,

devoid of grass or trees. Down there, she felt, as she

had felt on every trip, down there was the truth, the

essential nature of Elliot. Down there where the naked

rock, the unvarnished foundation, of England was

exposed--down there the soul of Elliot would be ex-

posed. She wanted so desperately to find that soul.

She looked away.

"Look over there," Luisa whispered delightedly to

Elliot. He saw an elderly couple, both wearing brightly

colored shorts, both aiming expensive cameras down

into the Hole. Luisa said, "Aren't they the quintessen-

tial Americans? We're so different!"

Elliot smiled at her and said nothing.

"I thought you were Americans, too," a voice

said.

Luisa turned and found herself face to face with a

man of Elliot's age, dressed in a dull gray coverall,

smiling in a friendly fashion. The man was obviously

waiting for them to say something. "We're tourists,"

Elliot said.

"But not Americans?" He was a slender man, bald-

ing already, with light brown hair and a thin, open,

friendly face.

"Yes, we are," Elliot said, Obviously hoping the

man would give up and go away.

"Ah, I see," the man said. "I'm a local. Used to

be, I should say." He pointed down into the Hole. By

now, the sun was setting, and the rocky bottom of the

Hole, far below them, was in deep shadow. "I lived

down there. There was a village, named Berton. I was

away from home when it happened. Not quite twenty.

My family was there when it happened, my whole

family. And everyone I knew--aU lost. Why, and the

crew of the ship, too, of course. I rushed back when I

heard the news, but..." He pointed again toward the

Hole. "That's all I found. Still smoking, surrounded

by ambulances which had nothing to do." He seemed

to have forgotten them, to have become absorbed in

the past hidden in the shadows filling the bottom of

the Hole.

Luisa, her quick sympathy aroused, reached out

toward the man's arm, but Elliot grabbed her hand and

pulled it back. "We have to get back to San Francisco,

dear. I'm past due." He began to walk swiftly away,

pulling Luisa with him, leaving the oblivious survivor

of the disaster still staring down into the Hole.

"I don't understand why you did that," Luisa said

helplessly. "You always said Berton was such a small

village. That man might have been someone you

knew as a child. You should be delighted to meet

him. You know we don't have to get back any time

soon."

Elliot sighed and slowed his pace. "I did know him,

and I hated his guts when we were both kids. Okay?

He was pushy even then, and he seems to have grown

worse. I thought all of them were dead. I hoped some

of them were. Besides, we're strangers now. My

friends aren't here anymore they're in San Fran-

cisco."

They walked in silence for a while. Finally Luisa

said, "Whatever you say, Elliot."

Elliot groaned. "Please, darling. I don't want to

argue with you." His words were conciliatory, but

Luisa could sense his growing anger. "Let's get back

to the boardinghouse," he said.

They spoke little to each other that evening.

Elliot went to bed early. When Luisa came into the

bedroom later, she found the lights on. Elliot was

sprawled on his back atop the covers, fully dressed

and sleeping soundly. His mouth was open and he was

snoring. The computer he had brought with him on the

trip despite Luisa's objections lay on his chest, still

turned on.

Luisa picked up the computer and glanced incuri-

ously at the screen. Displayed on it was some sort of

heavily technical article Elliot had been reading,

something by a man named Spock. Luisa grimaced

and turned the computer off. Then she began the job

of getting Elliot undressed and under the covers. It

pleased the maternal side of her whenever she had to

do this--and it happened fairly often--but she was

also aware of a small, nagging resentment because he

was so heavy and difficult to maneuver.

She finished the task at last and sat down beside him

on the bed. "Whew! Elliot," she muttered, "what

would you do without me?" Gently, she brushed his

hair back from his forehead, feeling under her finger-

tips the scars he still bore from a boyhood accident.

It had happened, she thought with a shiver at the

eeriness of it all, a few miles away, down in what was

now the Hole, where a whole village and its population

had vanished in an instant. Years before that vast

accident, her Elliot had smashed his forehead against

a rock in a much smaller accident, a very individual

and personal one. The great accident had scarred a

nation; the minor one had left only scars hidden by a

man's hair. But it was the smaller accident that

touched her heart and made her feel fear in retrospect

how close herbeloved husband had come to not living

to adulthood, and therefore to not meeting and mar-

rying her! How could his recent moodiness matter

when set against that near-loss? She brushed her fin-

gers across the scars again.

Chapter Six

THE KLINGON BASE was much like a starbase in func-

tion and form. Kirk was startled to find that it even

had a recreation area designed to simulate an outdoor

forest. Not that such an area was in itself a complete

novelty to him. After all, Enterprise had the very same

thing onboard. It was rather that, in spite of all he had

seen and heard during the last few days of exploring,

this was still not what he had expected on a Klingon

base.

He and Kalrind were lying side by side on their

backs on thick grass, staring up through tree branches

at a blue sky across which small clouds moved slowly.

Kirk pointed up. "That's really well done. All that's

needed to complete the illusion is the drone of insects.

I could just let myself go and drift off to sleep here. I

wouldn't mind a nap."

Kalrind laughed. "From all I've read about your

battles with my ancestors, I always pictured you as a

much more energetic man." She sat up halfway, rest-

ing on one elbow, and looked down at him affection-

ately. "An unapproachable, mythological figure. A

superhuman hero."

"I'm surprised your ancestors didn't leave you a

very different picture," Kirk said, smiling. "Someone

very evil."

"They did, by their lights. Their records are as

unflattering about you as they could be. They accused

you of not possessing the martial virtues they ad-

mired. But that just makes you more appealing in New

Klingon eyes. Also, we've learned to take their preju-

dices and distorted values into account when we read

the old documents. We translate, in other words--not

the language, but the attitudes."

"You seem to know your ancestors so well. Better

than we humans know our own, I think."

"There are reasons for that. I'll explain them some

time. For now, though, I'm more interested in you

than in my ancestors." She leaned over him, staring

down at him for a long moment.

At her closeness, that strong, dark, heavy-boned

Klingon face, Kirk felt an instant of panic---a feeling

of being a prey animal at a predator's mercy. Then

that feeling faded, and Kalrind became Kalrind again,

just herself and not a representative of anything or a

type or a symbol.

She leaned down and kissed him softly.

"How gentle you are!" Kirk said. 'Do all Klingons

kiss that way?"

"You didn't like it?"

"Oh, yes, I did. Very much." He put his hand up

and stroked her thick black hair. Klingon hairstyles

hadn't changed much in the last one hundred years,

he reflected.

"We're still stronger than human beings, you know.

We just don't feel obligated to prove it all the time.

Anyway, I'm not sure how recovered you are, Jim."

Kirk grinned. "I.feel fine. Go od as new."

Kalrind leaned down and kissed him again, harder

than before. This time her strength showed, and a hint

of fierceness. He wasn't fully recovered, Kirk real-

ized; at the moment she was stronger than he. Again,

for an instant, Kirk felt afraid.

Later, as they lay sleepily in the warm air, Kirk

realized that Kalrind's strength no longer frightened

him, but the strength and depth of his own feelings

did. He stroked her head, resting on his shoulder; it

was a comforting weight. Kalrind stretched and

sighed.

"I suppose," Kirk said, "New Klingons don't

worry about being interrupted when they're doing

something important."

Kalrind chuckled. "I gave orders. This place is ours

all day."

Suddenly she stood and began pacing. Her expres-

sion was serious and thoughtful. "I read about you in

history class when I was a girl. I used to daydream

about the brave and gallant and handsome James T.

Kirk . . . but I never daydreamed . . . anything like

this." She glanced down at Kirk and then looked away

again. "This all takes me by surprise."

"Me, too," Kirk said quietly, rising to his feet. He

stood beside her and lowered his head to rest on her

shoulder. How much of this powerful emotion he felt

for Kairind, he wondered, was actually a seeking after

consolation and warmth, comfort for the loss of his

universe? Or am I asking myself this just because I

feel guilty for loving a Klingon woman? His grasp on

reality was diminishing with the passing days, instead

of growing as he grew to know his new world. He was

disoriented, floating in a haze, a mist.

He had sagged against Kalrind until she was sup-

porting his weight almost entirely. His legs felt unable

to hold him.

"Jim ! Jim !"

"What? Oh..." Shakily, he pushed himself away

from her and leaned against a wall.

"You collapsed against me! You just went all !imp,"

He shook his head. "Sorry. You all right?"

"Of course I'm all right!" Kalrind snapped. "Are

you all right?"

Nothing that a trip back in time wouldn't cure. "I'm

feeling better now. Just a passing something-or-

other."

Kalrind looked annoyed. "I want you examined."

"Really, Kalrind, I'm all right now."

"Nonsense! I'll talk to Morith about it."

"Your tone of command is very good."

"You won't joke me out of it, Jim. For now, though,

I'm taking you back to our room so you can take a

nap."

For a momnent, Kirk was inclined to argue. He had

felt briefly that he was on the track of something

important, some crucial, pivotal idea or self-percep-

tion. But then he decided that Kalrind was right and

he needed a nap far more than introspection.

Kirk awoke enormously refreshed. He practically

jumped from the wide bed, throwing the covers back

so vigorously that they slid onto the floor. He show-

ered and dressed in the simple blue tunic that he found

draped over a chair in the room, and then, feeling

suddenly tremendously hungry, he left the room and

walked rapidly in the direction of the dining hall.

Kalrind was there, seated at a small table with

Morith, deep in some serious discussion. Kirk ap-

proached their table from Kairind's rear, intending to

surprise her. But Morith saw him coming and said

something to her, and she stopped talking and turned

around. "Jim! You look recovered."

"Yep. I feel great. And starving." He went to a

dispensing machine against one wall and returned with

a loaded tray.

Morith smiled. "Don't overdo it, Jim. I doubt if we

have any spare human stomachs in stock on the base."

Kirk shook his head. "Plenty of room for this. And

then I want to do some more exploring. Or maybe go

to the gym for a workout. I have so much energy all of

a sudden, I don't know how to get rid of it all."

"I have a minor crisis to put down," Morith said,

rising. "I suspect a doctor would recommend explor-

ing over working out for you at this stage, Jim."

Remembering his episode of weakness earlier in the

day, Kirk nodded. "You're probably right, Morith.

Exploration it will be. You'll come with me, won't

you, Kalrind?"

"Sorry." She stood up. "Morith's crisis is my prob-

lem, too. Besides, I'm feeling tired. I think I'll go to

bed early. You'll have to wander around on your

own. ' '

Kirk waved goodbye as she left; his mouth was too

full to talk. His hunger was overwhelming. He kept

swallowing and then stuffing his mouth again, and even

so it took some time before he began to feel satisfied.

Strange thing, this hunger, he thought. It's almost as

if my collapse earlier today and then the nap consti-

tuted some sort of adjustment crisis, and now my body

is ready to go in this new time, to rebuild and press

forward. That's why it needs so much energy. I won-

der if that makes any sense? I ought to ask Bones...

He caught himself in time and sternly shook off the

wave of sadness and loss. McCoy and Spock and the

others, and Enterprise itself it was done, it was fin-

ished, it was a fact of life, a new fact of life, and he

would have to live with it, would have to adjust. And I

will, he promised himselL He had always prided him-

self on his ability to adjust, and there had even been

times when he had saved his own life and the lives of

others through that ability. Now that not only his life

but his sanity was at stake, how could he let himself

fail?

His age, his century, his civilization--they were all

gone. This was now his universe. The fact was irre-

versible. So be it. I will adjust.

And right now, he would explore.

He finished his last plateful of food, returned dishes,

glass, and utensils to the recycler, and left the dining

hall.

About an hour later, Kirk's urge to explore was

rewarded.

He was in a long, featureless hallway with few

doors. As he strode along impatiently, eager to find

something more interesting, a door ahead of him

opened and a brilliant light flooded out of it. Well, Kirk

thought, this might be something different. Shielding

his eyes from the glare, he headed for the open door--

but slowly and cautiously.

A glowing sphere drifted through the doorway and

into the corridor. A great echoing voice filled the

corridor. "Greetings, James Kirk, and welcome to the

future."

"An OrganJan!" Kirk exclaimed.

"Correct, Captain Kirk, an OrganJan." The light

shimmered and moved closer to him. "We have met

before, Kirk."

"I've only met Organians once before, on Organia

itself."

"Indeed. You knew me there as Ayleborne, chair-

man of the Council of Elders. I spoke to you and Kor,

the Old Klingon. Kor considered himself governor of

my world, which he termed a newly acquired outpost

of the Klingon Empire, and you and Mr. Spock consid-

ered yourselves freedom fighters, obligated to liberate

us from Klingon domination." The OrganJan's voice

had assumed an amused tone.

Kirk smiled. "I've always thought of Organians as

humorless beings, not given to sarcasm."

"We have had to change ourselves over the last

century, in order to deal more effectively with your

people and the Klingons. I'm here on a brief visit--

then I will travel to Earth to meet the leaders of your

Federation. Fortunately, because of the Great Peace,

we have served in a liaison capacity, rather than as

policemen. Do you remember, Kirk, how you reacted

when I predicted the Great Peace?"

"Yes. I remember that I didn't believe you."

"Indeed you didn't. I'm not sure who was more

skeptical, you or Kor. The two of you were quite sure

that violence and hatred between your two races must

continue forever."

"Perhaps not forever," Kirk said. "I always thought

peace was possible. I just didn't see any likelihood of

it anytime soon." "And now?"

"Apparently I was wrong. What you predicted has

happened."

"I'm gratified to hear you admit that, Kirk. Now I

must leave you. But I will be returning to this base.

Perhaps we will find time to speak again." The brilliant

sphere floated back through the doorway, and the door

began to close.

"Wait!" Kirk called out, as he ran to the door,

which slid shut just as he got there. He knocked and

called out repeatedly, but the door remained closed.

There were so many questions he had been saving

for years in case he met an Organian again! Now he

wondered how much longer they would remain unan-

swered. He had once said sarcastically, "There's

never an OrganJan around when you need one." This

new situation was even more frustrating. Dissatisfied,

he turned and began to make his way back toward his

room.

That night, Kirk was possessed by dreams of pursuit

and capture, imprisonment and torture. He was sur-

rounded by Old Klingon faces, some of which he

knew, malevolent faces leering down at him as he lay

strapped to an operating table and Klingon knives dug

into him.

He awoke sweating and shaking. Kalrind was hold-

ing him tightly. "Jim! You were calling your ship for

help. What was it?"

"Nothing," he muttered, "Just an old nightmare."

Comforted by her presence, he sank back into an

uneasy sleep.

In the morning Kirk awoke, feeling drained. He

soon realized that his weakness was more than inade-

quate rest. It was something more fundamental than

that. He could barely drag himself about the base, just

as he had felt on first emerging from unconsciousness

among the new Klingons.

Though he tried to avoid Kalrind and pretended to

be as energetic as the day before, she was not that

easily fooled. That evening in the dining hall, Morith

joined them. "So, Jim," he said, "Kalrind tells me

that you're having some physical problems."

"Me? Why, no, how did she get that impression?"

"For one thing," Kalrind said, "right now you're

finding it a real effort to raise your fork to your mouth

and to keep your eyes open."

"I didn't sleep too well last night," Kirk admitted.

"Those nightmares of yours worry me. And your

weakness," Morith said.

Kirk turned to Kalrind. "Do you tell Morith every-

thing?"

"Not quite everyting."

"Well, that's something to be thankful for."

"I want you to check back into the hospital," Mor-

ith persisted. "Our doctors should check into this."

Kirk lacked the energy to object.

That night, instead of returning to the room he

shared with Kalrind, he went to the hospital with

Morith. There he was shown into the same room in

which he had found himself days before and ordered

to undress and get into the bed. A Klingon he thought

he recognized from his first, brief awakening appeared,

nodded at him, and applied an instrument to his arm.

Hypospray, Kirk thought. Guess some things haven't

been improved in a hundred years. Bones wouM have

been amused .... The drug took effect and Kirk

entered a dreamless sleep.

"The doctors can't find anything wrong," Morith

assured him the next day. "Your body's healed. It

must be some sort of psychological phenomenon re-

sulting from your injuries. Unfortunately, human psy-

chology is not a field we have much expertise in, so

there's not much more we can say. You seem fine

now, though."

"Brimming with energy again," Kirk assured him.

"I'd prefer to forget about it until and unless it hap-

pens again."

Morith grinned. "That's the sort of optimistic atti-

tude doctors like."

Kalrind was more upset than Kirk, even though she

tried to hide her feelings from him. Kirk was touched

by her concern, but he had other and more immediate

worries, one of which was the chance that his latest

burst of energy might be short-lived and that he must

use it while it lasted. The other appeared while he was

capitalizing upon his renewed energy and trying to see

and learn everything he could about this future time.

On the afternoon of his new recovery, Kirk and

Kalrind were at a window overlooking a gymnasium,

watching off-duty Klingons engaging in strenuous rec-

reation. Kalrind tried to pull him away, to get him to

look at some other part of the base with her, but Kirk

had stopped in fascination to watch the scene below.

The floor of the gymnasium was covered with three

sets of parallel lines, so that the surface was tiled with

variously colored triangles. The Klingons, all stripped

to the waist and sweating heavily, seemed to be follow-

ing complicated rules governing which triangle each

could be in and how they were allowed to move

between them. There was much wrestling and shoving

and even rather vicious-looking kicks and punches.

"Hard-hitting game," Kirk remarked, pointing to a

group in one corner, who were either resting or dis-

qualified, he wasn't sure which. Bruises and red

streaks showed on their skins. "Looks a bit like klin

zha."

Kalrind looked distressed at the reference. "You

know about klin zha? I thought humans of your time

knew nothing of that."

"Most of us didn't," Kirk agreed. "I read a book

about Klingons that described the game, though. I'm

surprised to see New Kiingons still doing it."

"Yes." Kalrind nodded. "Yes you're right. Anyone

else on this base would drop the subject immediately

if you raised it, and I have to confess that it makes me

uneasy, too. You see, there are some things from our

past that we seem unable to drop. It's as if that part of

us still survives, on some level. Oh, we try to pretend

that we've purged ourselves of it, the way Vulcans

have purged themselves of their violent past, but I

think we're lying about it a little bit."

Kirk laughed. "Just like Vulcans, although even my

friend Mr. Spock would have come close to a fit if he

had heard me say that." He returned his attention to

the gym floor. "Seems to work, though. They're all in

good shape, and it's hard to keep your people that way

on space duty without some sort of motivation, some-

thing that'll make them get into the gym regularly and

work hard. If your version of kiln zha does that trick,

then there's no reason to complain."

From behind him, a harsh voice said, "Of course

there's reason to complain!"

Kirk turned around to face the dark, angry face of

Klanth. Instead of the Klingon officer's uniform of a

hundred years earlier, he wore a tunic, identical to

those worn by Kalrind and Morith and the other New

Klingons. And yet on Klanth, the tunic seemed out of

place, foreign. He radiated the hostility and barely

contained anger Kirk knew so well. He was un-

changed; he was the Klanth of old. Kalrind pressed

against Kirk--whether to seek protection or offer it,

Kirk couldn't tell.

"You're not happy in this century, Klanth?" Kirk

said mildly, tensing himself for an attack.

Klanth moved forward, but his object was not Kirk

or Kalrind. Instead he stepped up to the window.

When he spoke, his voice was calmer and thoughtful.

"How could a true Klingon be happy here? Look at

them." He pointed through the window. "How can

70

you dignify that with the name kiln zha? A Klingon

child of my day could defeat any of them in hand-to-

hand combat. Even you could, Kirk. Are these the

heirs of the Klingon Empire? Is this what I and my

fellow Klingons fought and sacrificed so much for--so

that these weaklings and cowards could inherit our

power?" He shook his head. "I have more in common

with you than I do with them."

"Is that past something to mourn for?" Kirk asked.

"We were warriors, Captain, and our day is over.

They don't need us any more. The Galaxy is a peaceful

place, now. Our kind of man--"

"Rubbish!" Klanth shouted, his face darkening still

further. His moment of thoughtfulness had passed,

and he was once again the fierce Old Klingon warrior.

"Do you think I'm going to let this continue? They

killed my crew, Kirk!"

Kalrind stepped in front of Kirk. "Your crew were

killed by the storm and the stress of the time jump.

The same thing happened to Captain Kirk's men. At

least some of yours survived, Captain Klanth. You

should strive to be happy at their survival, and not

give way to anger. We can help you--"

Klanth bellowed and lunged at her. Kirk grabbed

her tunic and pushed her aside. She stumbled out of

Klanth's way, and the Klingon collided with Kirk.

Both men fell heavily to the floor, Klanth on top.

The Klingon reached for Kirk's throat. Kirk tried to

bring his arms up, to sweep Klanth's hands out of the

way, but his strength suddenly drained away and he

could not move because of Klanth's weight.

Suddenly Klanth went limp.

The Klingon captain was dragged off Kirk and

thrown to the floor. "Jim!" It was Kalrind, fear in her

eyes as she bent over Kirk's unmoving body.

71

"I'm all right," he muttered. "Help me..."

She helped him sit up and then supported him as he

climbed to his feet. "Knocked the breath out of me,

that's all," he said, smiling to reassure her. It was a

lie, but it was true that his strength was returning

slowly.

Kirk became aware that the corridor was crowded

with Klingons, Morith among them, and that some of

the Klingons were holding weapons trained on Klanth

and three others. Looking at them more closely, Kirk

realized that the three men under guard bore the marks

of the Old Klingon that he had noticed in Klanth the

glaring eyes, the rage-darkened face. Those signs were

much clearer to him, now that he could see Old and

New Klingons together.

Morith said to the Klingons with him, "Keep careful

watch over these--animals." Then he stepped over to

Kirk and said, "Jim, you don't look too good. Perhaps

we ought to have you checked again."

Kirk waved his hand and repeated his earlier lie.

"Klanth knocked the wind out of me. I'll be all right

in a few minutes. What's the story with those men?"

Morith grimaced. "Klanth's surviving crewmem-

bers. They're just like him. They saw a fight getting

started, and they rushed to join in. Animals." He

looked as if he had swallowed something foul. "We

thought we could bring them up to our standard, and

we've been trying, but..." He gestured helplessly.

"They're a danger to you, aren't they?"

Morith nodded soberly. "They'll never fit in. Not in

our part of the Empire, anyway. We don't know how

to deal with these people; we never have. Our history

hasn't prepared us for this." He smiled crookedty.

"You know, Jim, the irony is that my ancestors would

have had no problem dealing with these people. Well,

72

not these people, of course, but people whom they

considered a danger. For them, the solution would

have been simple and obvious. Our higher morality

condemns us to a more complicated solution."

Kirk was feeling far stronger by now. He was able

to stand without any help from Kalrind. "So what

solution have you chosen?"

"When the next transport passes by, we're going to

load Klanth and his men onto it and send them back

to Klinzhai. Possibly the medical experts there can do

something with them. We've been making great strides

in drug therapy lately. We can now help the sick, the

brain-damaged and that's what I consider Klanth

and his men to be. If they can't be helped in that

way..." his voice trailed off.

"Come on, Jim," Kalrind said, taking his hand.

"Let's go back to your quarters."

After that incident, Kirk saw no more of Klanth or

any of his men. He was relieved, yet a part of him

brooded Klanth had been right to say that he and

Kirk were of a kind, and that as warriors, they were

unique in this age.

Years earlier, Kirk had read one of the personal

testaments remaining from one of Earth's great wars

of the age before spaceflight. The writer had said that

he and his fellow soldiers had more in common with

the enemy soldiers than with his own country's civil-

ians. The o nly men who could really understand him,

he had written, were those who marched with him and

those they fought against. Only they had shared the

grim life he had been living throughout the years of

combat, and no civilian on either side could ever

understand what those men had been through.

Struck by that, Kirk had sought out other such

73

books to learn if soldiers from many countries and

many times had felt the same. Kirk had realized,

reading those old books, that he felt that way as well.

And now Klanth had said it aloud.

The brotherhood of warriors, Kirk thought. Only

warriors understand it---are even aware of it. Perhaps

Klanth and his kind were indeed the beasts Kalrind

and Morith said they were. Perhaps they were unpre-

dictable and dangerous, but Kirk would have given

anything to talk of these matters with the Old Klingon,

a product of his own century, that proud and solitary

warrior from his own time.

74

Chapter Seven

SPOCK HAD CERTAINLY NOT LIED to Commodore Hel-

lenhase about his desire to stay at Starbase Seventeen

with Enterprise while she underwent repairs. Indeed,

Kirk had relinquished the con to him, and Spock

therefore felt that his place was with Kirk's ship until

all was well with it again. As the ranking officer he

also felt it was his duty to stay with the crew while

they recovered from the psychological wounds result-

ing from the loss of their captain. In cases such as that

of Uhura, there were physical wounds as well.

But while Spock had not lied about his motivations,

his subsequent actions converted his words to Hellen-

hase into a lie. The few times he had tried to associate

with the crew, he had found it no easier than it had

ever been--worse, in fact. Their general hostility to

him resulted from his decision to leave the area of

Kirk's disappearance and continue to Starbase Seven-

teen.

Spock, unable to ignore their feelings, had realized

that, under those conditions, his presence was of no

benefit to them. Combined with the lure of investiga-

tion, the intellectual zeal that was one of the few

emotions Vuicans admired, this was enough to make

75

him surrender, to give up the unrewarded effort to

socialize with the crew, and retire to the nearest

available computer workstation.

And it was here that Mr. Scott found him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Spock," Enterprise's chief

engineer said happily. "I've been searching for you

high and low. There's major work to be done on my

engines, and I'd very much like your input."

"Your engines, Mr. Scott?" the Vulcan said, not

taking his eyes from his monitor screen.

"Call 'em what you will, Mr. Spock," the engineer

said in annoyance, "but to my mind they're my own

personal possessions."

Spock sighed in resignation and turned away from a

graph displayed in front of him. "Indeed. I am at your

disposal, Mr. Scott. What did you wish to ask

me?"

The engineer's annoyance vanished, and eagerness

took its place. "Well, you see, Mr. Spock, it's like

this. We have to do a major rebuilding of the matter-

antimatter containment vessel. Now, while we were

away, some important new developments have taken

place. We could reconstruct the vessel just as it was

before, or we could modify it to deliver much more

power in short bursts. During warp acceleration, for

example. I think that would be a real benefit."

"I assume there's a drawback. Otherwise you would

not have needed my advice or concurrence."

"Aye," Scott said unhappily. "You see, the new

design draws greater power at all other times and

would therefore decrease shield power and normal life-

support reserves. Apparently, some ships have even

reported lower impulse power; there shouldn't be any

relationship, but apparently there is."

76

"Then the decision seems clearcut to me. Obviously

we cannot afford such an improvement."

"Ah, but it's a marvelous improvement, Mr. Spock!

I could even call it a breakthrough. I'd be delighted to

put it in place."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Scott, it is clearly impractical.

In my experience, Enterprise needs shield power, life-

support reserves, and impulse power far more often

than she needs greater warp acceleration."

"Aye," Scott said sadly. "I thought the same, but I

was hoping that you'd be able to see a reason to put

the new system in place."

One Vulcan eyebrow rose. "I have never under-

stood why humans so often wish to be argued out of a

course of action that their own judgment reveals to be

the best one."

"No," the engineer said, "I don't suppose you

would understand that, Mr. Spock. However, there's

another reason I came looking for you. Access codes

and passwords, damn them."

"You are far too cryptic, Mr. Scott."

"I'm talking about the computers on our ship, Mr.

Spock."

"I understood that," the Vulcan said patiently.

"What I cannot understand is you need to damn

computer codes and passwords." He might have asked

in what sense such immaterial objects could be

damned, but over the years, he had learned about

humans' and use of idioms and their annoyance when

questioned too closely about them.

"I have to change them all !" Scott exploded. "Hour

upon hour of work. It's taking me forever and it's

time I need to be spending on the engines and the

structure of the ship instead. Since you're such a

77

computer expert, Mr. Spock, I hoped you might show

me how to speed the process up."

"Mr. Scott, the process you are now using was

designed by Starfleet for optimal speed. Aren't you

really asking me for permission to bypass the process

and leave some access codes and passwords un-

changed?" He stared coolly at the engineer.

Scott shamefaced, refused to meet the First Offi_

cer's eye. "A stupid waste of time," he muttered. "A

stupid rule."

"You know better than than, Mr. Scott," the Vulcan

said. A hint of sternness had crept into Spock's nor-

mally unemotional voice. "Starfleet regulations spec-

ify that access codes and passwords and ship disposi-

tions are to be changed throughout the fleet following

the disappearance of an officer of the rank and position

of Captain Kirk."

Scott sighed. "Aye, Mr. Spock, I know of that rule.

And I haven't argued with it when we knew that the

lost man was in the hands of the enemy. But that's

simply not the case here! We know what happened to

the captain he was caught in a space storm of some

kind and thrown into another space, and that's where

he still is."

"I tend to agree with you," Spock admitted, "but

we cannot prove that; we cannot be sure. Until we are,

we must assume the worst. We must operate under the

assumption that Captain Kirk is in the hands of an

enemy, either one we know or one we don't, and that

he has been drugged or tortured until he has told his

captors everything he knows about Starfleet."

Scott shook his head. "I'd never believe that about

the captain."

Spock resolutely changed the subject. "How are the

repairs progressing, Mr. Scott?"

78

"Oh, on schedule in spite of this computer non-

sense. She'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks.

Even better, in some respects."

"Excellent. What about Commander Uhura's con-

sole?"

Scott threw up his hands in an expression of frustra-

tion and paced energetically about the small space

near Spock's chair. The Vulcan watched him with a

detached, analytical air. "I can't figure that one out at

all, Mr. Spock. Those consoles are very heavily insu-

lated! No one gets shocked by them---not unless

there's been major physical damage, and in this case

there wasn't."

"Dr. Mceoy insists that Commander Uhura did

indeed suffer a severe electrical shock, however. She

was rendered unconscious by that and not by being

thrown around subsequently, as we all were."

Scott winced at the memory and touched his head

gingerly. "Och, aye. Some of us will bear the marks

of that shaking for months. It's so much easier to

repair a ship than a human being. But then, ships are

more logically designed."

"I'm surprised to hear a human admit that," Spock

said approvingly. "Commander Uhura was lucky to

survive the shock, even luckier that she has recovered

fully, with no aftereffects. The next crewman exposed

to such a shock might not be so fortunate."

"I know that, Mr. Spock! I canna perform miracles!

I dinna ken the reason !" The engineer breathed deeply

and calmed himself down. "All my tests and simula-

tions reveal nothing, no cause for what happened.

Same applies to the data recordings from the internal

console sensors."

"I have examined the same recordings, Mr. Scott,

and I concur. However, I have also examined the

79

recordings of the incoming subspace signals Com-

mander Uhura was monitoring during that time." He

gestured at the monitor in front of him.

Scott leaned over to look at the display. He noticed

the plain, white cover of a Starfleet technical report

next to the keyboard and picked it up. "Elliot Tin-

dall," he muttered. "I've heard good things about the

man, but I've never been able to understand his stuff."

"Fortunately, however, I do," Spock said

smoothly, taking the thick report from the engineefts

hand and putting it down again, outside the human's

reach. "The monitor, Mr. Scott."

Scott returned his attention to the display. "I can't

see what good that will do, Mr. Spock. There's no

information contained in those signals that'll tell us

anything about malfunctions in the equipment."

"Quite true, Mr. Scott. I'm searching these record-

ings for something outside the equipment. And I be-

lieve I have found it."

There was a pause, which Scott was convinced was

calculated for dramatic effect. He quickly lost his

temper. "Well, spit it oct, mon!"

"I have found evidence," Spock continued calmly,

"that the electric shock was caused by a very short

but very powerful signal which overloaded the con-

sole's damping circuits and its monitoring subsystems.

That signal was carried on the frequency which Com-

mander Uhura was using to monitor the transponder

Captain Kirk took with him when he transported to

Mauler."

The engineer stopped pacing and stared at the Vul-

can. "Aye," he said thoughtfully, "that's possible.

But what could have caused such a signal, Mr. Spock?

It would have to be tremendously powerful."

"Indeed it would," Spock said thoughtfully. "But I

80

need more data about it before I can draw any conclu-

sions. I will require some highly classified Starfleet

equipment, to which I do not normally have access."

"Ah! So that's why you've been down here on the

base instead of up on the ship during its repairs."

"Exactly," Spock said. "I needed the computer

power available on the Starbase. I filed my reports to

Starfleet Command by means of subspace radio."

"That must have made them happy." Scott added a

chuckle.

"Not at all, Mr. Scott. They were most unhappy.

However, they bowed to my logic when I pointed out

that here ! could both have access to sufficient com-

puter power and be close to the ship in case I was

needed."

"And you were!" Scott said eagerly. "You've

helped me greatly, and you just did it again today."

"Quite true. I have reached the point, however,

where I must have access to the classified equipment

I mentioned, and I have been informed that it is

currently under guard at Starfleet Headquarters."

"Earth!" Scott said. "Well, I wouldn't mind a va-

cation in the old country myself, Mr. Spock, but I

don't like going to that world on business."

"I share your distaste," Spock said gravely. "How-

ever, I can see no choice. I will be leaving Starbase

Seventeen for Earth late this evening. I expect to

return well before Enterprise is once again spacewor-

thy."

"She's always spaceworthy, Mr. Spock," the engi-

neer said reprovingly. "Just more so sometimes than

others."

"Let us say, then, that I should be back before

Enterprise once again meets your exacting engineering

standards, Mr. Scott."

81

The engineer beamed at him. "Aye, now that I can

accept!" He left the room whistling.

Spock watched him go with an impassive face. A

curious species, the human one. He suspected he

would study it for years without understanding it. He

turned his attention back to his computer terminal.

Chapter Eight

82

"THINK YOU'RE WELL ENOUGH for classes, Jim?"

Kirk looked at her questioningly. They were back

in the base's park; it had become their favorite place

to relax and talk. And relaxing was what Kirk was

doing. Kalrind was sitting crosslegged next to him,

and he was lying on his back, stretched out, chewing

lazily on a blade of grass.

"Haven't you ever wondered what I do, what my

career is?" Kalrind asked him.

"I suppose I just assumed your whole duty in life

was to keep me happy."

Kalrind grinned. "Am I succeeding?"

"Admirably. I'm going to recommend you for a

medal."

"Actually, I'm here for a serious purpose."

"You know," Kirk told her, "I've noticed one way

in which you New Kiingons are very much like your

ancestors."

Kalrind drew away from him. She frowned, her

heavy brows forming a V, her dark forehead wrinkling.

Suddenly, she looked dangerous, an unsettling echo

of her racial past. "Oh?"

83

Kirk forced a laugh. "Yes. Like them, you don't

have much of a sense of humor."

Kalrind relaxed again. "I think you're right," she

said very seriously, and went on to prove Kirk's point.

"It's a failing on our part. We should strive to develop

a sense of humor. I think it has value."

Kirk shook his head but decided to change the

subject. "So. You were about to tell me about the

serious reason you have for being here."

"Yes. Of course. My training is in the study of

history. As soon as we realized who you were, I was

brought to the base. You were still unconscious at the

time."

"I can understand your coming here," Kirk said.

"Klanth and his surviving crewmen are a boon. You

must have been eager to question them."

"Klanth!" Kalrind said scornfully. "Might as well

try to interrogate a Qatlh pub, or some other wild

animal. No, Jim, these Old Kiingons are worthless

creatures. I'm not sure they even think the way I do.

What I meant was that you personally brought me

here. You are our historical resource."

"You mean the Federation hasn't given you com-

plete records from my era, so that you can learn about

it?"

Kalrind smiled at him fondly. "You're being obtuse,

Jim. It's not your era that we want to know about it's

yOU."

"Aah, of course. The gallant, legendary hero."

But Kalrind didn't respond with a smile or a laugh,

as Kirk had expected. "That's right, Jim."

Now Kirk sat up. "I'm ready," he said quietly.

"Tell me everything you know."

"Let's walk," Kalrind said. "Sitting still for so long

makes me edgy."

84

As they strolled between the thick-boled trees, Kal-

rind continued, "A few days ago, you said that you

kept hearing about the Tholian Incident, but you didn't

know what it was. Now I will tell you.

"One hundred years ago, there was a confrontation

between two great fleets, one Klingon, one Starfleet.

They were facing each other across the frontier be-

tween their two spheres of influence. It was very near

where you and Mauler were caught by the storm and

thrown forward to our own time, and only four weeks

after that happened."

"Near Tholia," Kirk said.

"Exactly. Hence the name, the Tholian Incident."

"And the Tholians didn't interfere?" Kirk asked.

"We found them to be rather touchy about their terri-

tory."

"Considering the combined size of the two fleets, I

suppose the Tholians decided they'd be better off not

getting involved."

"They had that strange technology, though," Kirk

recalled. "That web of theirs..."

"Yes," Kalrind said. "But consider the energies if

the two fleets had had a battle. I doubt if even the

Tholian web could have stood up to it. And it certainly

looked like a battle was about to break out."

"Then the Organians should have done something.

Lord knows, they were certainly busybodies back

then."

Kalrind stepped off the pathway and sat down in the

grass, leaning against a tree. She patted the ground

beside her. Kirk joined her. "Since the Organians

seemed to know what everyone was up to, they must

have known that the Klingons were on a diplomatic

mission and not an attack. They were New Klingons."

"But we never heard anything about New Klingons,

85

in my time," Kirk protested. "If they already existed

back then, we would have wanted to get in contact

with them."

"Imperial politics, Jim. The Old Klingons were still

firmly in control of the Empire, and whenever they

found any of my ancestors, they either imprisoned or

killed them. The first New Klingons had to operate

underground. Even so, there were apparently enough

of them hidden in command positions to scrape to-

gether that fleet and head for the Federation frontier

to make peace with your people. The records are

incomplete."

"And so that's how the Great Peace came about?"

Kirk said.

"That should have been how it came about, but

your people didn't trust the New Klingons. They re-

fused to believe that there was such a thing as a New

Klingon, and they were sure the whole thing was just

a Klingon trick."

"A reasonable assumption."

Kalrind nodded. "Given what they knew about

Klingons, yes. So the confrontation continued while

the New Klingons tried to convince the Federation

fleet commanders about who and what they were, and

the Federation people's trigger fingers got itchier and

itchJer." She gripped his arm fiercely. "The Klingons

had come to initiate peace, and instead they were on

the verge of starting interstellar war!

"Even the New Klingons would defend themselves

if the Federation ships attacked them. Once the shoot-

ing started, you can imagine how impossible diplo-

macy would have been. It would have meant war. And

not only would that lead to death and destruction on

both sides, it would also have destroyed the New

Klingon position within the Empire."

86

"Doesn't sound like they had much of a position."

"I suppose not. Let's say that with peace, they

would have been strengthened and gained a position.

In fact, that's exactly what happened the New Klin-

gons used the peace treaty as a wedge to get into

positions of power and start taking over the Empire.

But a war might have led to their total elimination.

The Organians might have intervened, but they didn't

show any signs of doing so."

"So there was a stalemate between the two fleets.

What broke it?"

"You did!" she said. "The records from both sides

show that Captain James Kirk, aboard a Klingon ship,

spoke to the commander of the Starfleet force and

confirmed everything the Klingons had been saying."

"But that's impossible!" Kirk whispered, staring at

her face with a mixture of fear and hope.

"I'11 show you. Come on." She got to her feet,

pulling him after her. "That was history class. Now

you get to see a movie."

Kirk didn't understand, didn't respond to her ban-

ter. "It's all right, Jim!" she said urgently. "You'll

see. It's the truth--and it all keeps getting better from

here."

The wall screen before them glowed pink, and then

a picture formed on it. Kirk caught his breath. He was

looking down on the bridge of a Federation starship.

Beneath him was the familiar layo ut, and familiar, too,

were the figures on the bridge Spock, Uhura, Sulu,

Chekov...

"Old records," Kalrind explained, oblivious to

Kirk's emotions. "The Federation passed copies on to

us, and we combined them with some of our own.

They've just heard your message of peace broadcast

from the Klingon fleet. Listen."

87

Spock occupied the command seat. He thumbed a

switch on the chair arm. "Analysis, Doctor?"

Leonard McCoy's voice sounded puzzled. "I don't

know, Spock. My gut feeling is suspicion."

"Conclusion, Doctor?" Spock sounded impatient--

a subtle hint in his voice that no one but Kirk could

have detected.

"Since I'm a doctor and not a computer," McCoy

said sarcastically, "unlike some people I could name

but won't, I don't have any conclusions. That's for

commander types, not for country doctors. My incli-

nation, however, is not to believe it. Let's hold off for

a while and see what he says next. After all, the more

we hear, the more data we have to analyze."

Spock nodded. "Surprisingly logical, Doctor."

Kirk found himself grinning. I don't need voice

analysis to know that that exchange was for real, he

thought. Poor Spock--he looks so worried, so worn

out. Kirk wanted to speak to his friend, to communi-

cate with him somehow, and reassure him. A sudden

awareness of the reality brought him up short. That all

happened a hundred years ago.t It brought it home all

over again everyone on that screen was dead, utterly

lost to him.

The view shifted to the bridge of another Starfleet

vessel, where a communication was received from

Enterprise conveying McCoy's conclusion and

Spock's concurrence in it. That was followed in turn

by scenes on the bridges of Klingon ships in the fleet,

where worried Klingon officers were shown discussing

the chances that the Starfleet commanders would be-

lieve Kirk on the one hand, or open fire on the other.

When the screen finally went blank again, Kirk was

surprised at how shaken and disoriented he felt.

"Okay," Kalrind said enthusiastically. "That was

88

the first day. Now I've got to try and find the next

day's recordings."

"I'd like to see my own speech to them. Can you

show me that?"

Kalrind shook her head. "Sorry, Jim. The records

are incomplete, both ours and Starfleet's. A lot of our

shipboard recordings were lost during the upheavals in

the Empire that followed the Tholian Incident--when

the New Klingons were taking over. Starfleet doesn't

know why their recordings are incomplete, but they

haven't been able to find everything in their archives.

Inefficiency, maybe."

"Just barely possible," Kirk said with a smile.

"Anyway, it's a tragedy for historians, but your

actual speech itself is lost. We've been able to recon-

struct the words you spoke from these recordings, but

we have no recording of you actually speaking them.

Okay, now." She turned back to the keyboard and

worked with it. "Here it is, I think."

On screen, Spock was in the Enterprise Sickbay

talking to Leonard McCoy. "Doctor," he said, "we

have ample data for analysis by now, and even though

I have learned through long association with Captain

Kirk to respect human intuition, I must lend greater

weight to instrument analysis. I have therefore decided

to accept the computer's conclusions and to recom-

mend to the rest of the fleet that they do the same."

McCoy said angrily, "Damn it, Spock, what would

Jim say?"

"Precisely, Doctor. We already know the answer to

that question."

The next scene showed the Klingons smiling in relief

as they were told that the officers commanding the

vast array of Starfleet ships had voted to believe the

message from Captain James Kirk. And so the Klingon

89

fleet was escorted triumphantly all the way to Earth,

where amid worldwide (later to become Federation-

wide) celebrations the Great Peace was initiated.

The wall screen went blank again. "There you are!"

Kalrind said triumphantly. "The Great Peace has

lasted ever since then, a whole century! Neither side

has breached it in all that time !"

Kirk realized that he had tears in his eyes--more

from seeing his friends on the wall screen than from

what Kalrind had just said. "Few of us hoped for

that," he said.

"I know," Kalrind said comfortingly. "You know,

Jim, the alliance between the Federation and the Em-

pire has grown still closer during that century. There

hasn't even been what you could call a border incident

for something like seventy-five years. In fact, there's

scarcely a frontier anymore. Klingons and Federation-

ists travel unimpeded in each other's territories. A

complete political union will probably come about in

my lifetime. AjljmoS, as we would say. And in time--

who knows?--perhaps the Romulans will agree to join

it, as well. No, not 'perhaps,' Jim I'm sure they will."

Kirk felt distracted. "That's good," he said ab-

sently. "But this Tholian Incident and my part in itm

why, it's impossible! I couldn't have been there, not

in anyone's fleet. I was thrown forward in time before

any of that happened!"

Kalrind smiled. "We know, Jim--and we think we

know what really happened. I'd like to have Morith

give you the next part of the explanation."

They found Morith in a laboratory workroom, sit-

ting at a small table surrounded by unidentifiable

equipment. He was typing on a keyboard integrated

into the table, and he looked up with momentary

90

annoyance at being interrupted. His face cleared when

he saw who had interrupted him, and he smiled. "Jim!

This is a pleasure." Then he glanced at Kalrind and

back at Kirk again. "Aah. I see. Just a moment."

He typed some final instructions into the keyboard,

stood up, and stretched. "What point have you

reached?"

Kalrind said, "I've given him an outline of the

Tholian Incident, and how it ended."

"She told me what she knew about it," Kirk added.

"Which is apparently not all that much. She said the

next information comes from you. So what is next?"

Kirk was aware of feelings of animosity within himself

he was tired of all this mystery, tired of feeling under

the control of others, tired of feeling that he was being

shunted from one Klingon to another, with each one

giving him only a tantalizing piece of the story he

wanted to hear, before telling him that someone else

would provide the next chapter.

Ignoring the undertone of hostility in Kirk's voice,

Morith said, "What's next is the largest fleet of space-

craft in history. Would you like to see it?"

Kirk stared at him, too surprised to speak. Morith

smiled. "Follow me."

They were in a room Kirk had never visited before.

Kalrind had not accompanied them, though she would

follow soon. "I shouldn't even be involved in this,"

Morith said. "I'm a physicist, a very theoretical sci-

entist. I don't know who decided I should be given an

administrative job like this."

"Technical planning," Kirk said absently, stepping

forward toward the giant screen.

"Yes, that must be it." Morith nodded. "Someone

on Klinzhai had the silly idea that since I am a physi-

91

cist, I should be able to handle technical planning.

Makes one wonder how our ancestors built such a

large empire in the first place, doesn't it?"

"I don't think the Old Klingons suffered from that

kind of confusion." And yet they would have been at

home with this fleet.

One wall of the room was a screen much like those

on the bridge of Enterprise. Morith had explained that

although this screen had been intended for scientific

use, it was the most convenient one to show Kirk what

he wanted to show him. And now the far wall of the

room had become an electronic window into space. It

was as if the wall were of glass and there was nothing,

no rock, no concrete, between Kirk and the vast

emptiness and the great fleet that hung out there,

orbiting the base.

Many of the ships were no more than lights winking

against the many-colored stars, or small dark shapes

that blocked those stars, silhouetted against them.

Others were closer and were transfixed by powerful

beams of light from the Klingon station. Those trans-

fixed Kirk.

Klingon birds of prey. They bristled with armament,

obvious to Kirk's practiced eye. "Those are warships,

Morith," he said. "Klingon warships from my own

time."

The Klingon looked embarrassed. "That's all that

was available. It's a heritage from our past. A remnant

of it, I should say. We couldn't afford to strip our

trade, our mercantile fleet, for this mission, so they

recommissioned and reconditioned all the old ships

they could get their hands on. Those are warships left

over from your own time, Jim. That's the last time

Klingons built spaceships for war. We have them in

museums all over the Empire, well maintained. We

92

show them to our young to instill in them shame and

fear of our past. But on the positive side, it meant that

those old ships were available to make up the fleet for

this mission when other ships weren't."

"And what is that mission?" Kirk asked again. He

had asked the same question a few minutes earlier,

and Morith had refused to answer him. Now, as be-

fore, Morith refused, and he gave the same reason

"Wait until Kalrind gets here. I'll answer you then."

Only rarely had Morith struck Kirk as the sort of man

who needed such moral support.

And so they waited in silence, each occupied with

his own thoughts, alone in the small viewing room.

Morith's attention seemed directed inward; Kirk's,

inevitably, was drawn outward by the fleet--drawn

into the void, into his proper realm.

At last Kirk heard Kalrind's distinctive footsteps

hurrying down the hallway. As soon as she entered

the room, he said, "Now, Morith. Pl ease, no more

delays."

Morith nodded. He walked over to the screen, next

to Kirk, and stared into the blackness. "That fleet,"

he gestured, "will become the New Klingon fleet that

confronts the Federation fleet near Tholia. Those ships

and the three of us will travel in time one hundred

years to play our proper roles in the Tholian Inci-

dent."

They were back in the laboratory workroom where

Kirk and Kalrind had earlier found Morith. Morith had

been quite right to wait for Kalrind, Kirk realized

Morith hadn't needed her support, but Kirk had. He

was shaken by Morith's reference to time-travel plans,

disoriented by it. He had held his peace while they

walked back here, but now he was bursting with

questions.

93

For a moment, though, he stared wordlessly at the

two Klingons. After what had seemed an endless

period of adjustment to his terrible loss, he could

hardly believe that they were telling him that his world

was not lost after all.

Morith began. "We have a plan, devised by our own

Klingon scientists in cooperation with human experts

in the Federation. They discussed it for quite some

time, but now they agree about what we have to do.

We must travel back in time ourselves to make sure

you're there where and when you need to be. In other

words, we have to make sure history happens cor-

rectly."

Kirk shook his head in amazement, but Kalrind took

his gesture for disapproval. "It's really quite simple,

Jim," she said. "In essence, anyway. You see, back

then, the New Klingons were still struggling with the

Old Klingons for control of the Empire. Why should

we just let the outcome of that struggle be subject to

the whims of history? We know it worked out the way

we want, but what tipped the balance? What made it

come out the way we wanted, instead of the other

way?"

Kirk was confused. "Does it matter? It happened.

That's what counts, not how close things came to

going some other way."

"Yes, but it could change."

"The past could change? Nonsense. The past is

over with." But then Kirk remembered New York in

1930 and the death of Edith Keeler. "It can be

changed," he said softly. He shivered suddenly. "The

past can be a terrible thing to meddle with."

"But not if you're meddling to make sure the results

are good," Morith said urgently.

"Don't be so sure." Kirk had let Edith die on Earth

94

in 1930, precisely in order to make sure that the results

were good, and that decision had haunted him ever

since.

Kalrind went on, "We will send this armada back a

hundred years so that it can be the New Klingon fleet

and turn the Tholian Incident into the Great Peace.

You'll be on the flagship, and so will I. What historian

could miss such an opportunity?"

"You don't know how dangerous this is," Kirk told

her.

"Not dangerous at all," Morith said brusquely.

"We've worked out virtually every detail."

"Why the fleet?" Kirk asked him. "Why not just

one or two ships?"

"And how do you think the Old K!ingons of your

time would react if they detected one or two ships

headed for the frontier, Jim? The ships would be

stopped. But the way the Old Klingons tended to

think, they wouldn't dare to interfere with such a fleet.

They'll assume that it must have been authorized. And

by the time they find out the truth, it'll be too late.

The Great Peace will be underway.

"Besides," Morith went on after a pause, "these

ships were available immediately, and it would have

taken time to obtain any others. And we don't have

time. Time is pressing."

"Pressing!" Kirk exclaimed. "How can that be?

We're going back to a chosen point in a previous time.

That won't change. How can time be pressing for us

now, a hundred years later?"

Morith grimaced. "I was putting off going into all of

this, because I have trouble explaining it. I believe you

traveled into the past yourself, by using the gravita-

tional field of a star?"

"Yes, that's true," Kirk said, amazed. "But how

95

did you know that? That's secret Starfleet informa-

tion !"

Morith laughed. "Was secret, Jim, was secret! Ev-

erything in Federation records is available to us now,

and the reverse is also true. That mission was one of

the famous adventures of the great Captain Kirk. It's

one of the stories our schoolchildren are reared on!"

Kirk gestured, a motion of futility. "I'm not sure

I'll ever get used to this--this new perspective."

"You won't need to if this mission succeeds. As I

was about to say, we're going to use a very similar

technique to go back a hundred years. Our physicists

have only recently discovered a supermassive body

not far from our frontier with the Federation, in the

direction of Tholia. It's one member of a binary pair,

the other member being a white dwarf star. You used

the field of an ordinary star, but this body will give us

better control, and it will enable us to translate this

entire fleet back in time. Back a hundred years."

"I've never heard of such a body in that area."

"No. It was discovered quite recently. We call it

Hov tlnqu'."

"Which means?"

Morith laughed. "In English, roughly something

like, urn, 'very big star.' Now, you see, the reason

time is important is that where--when, I mean--we

end up in the past is a complicated function of the time

when we enter Hov tlnqu's gravitational field, as well

as the angle and speed of entry. Moreover, the func-

tion is quantized. By that I mean that only certain

times in the past are accessible, because only certain

combinations of time, angle, and speed will work. In

fact, it will be a very dangerous trip for the fleet,

because a minute error in time or angle or speed will

result in destruction by the powerful gravitational

96

field, instead of transfer in time. One way, you jump

in time; any other, and you're crushed."

Kirk nodded. He knew that much about this method

of time travel, at least.

"We've calculated it over and over in order to be

absolutely sure, and we keep coming up with the same

answer. Hov tlnqu' will allow us to jump back to just

the right time, the moment before the Tholian Incident

began. That's remarkable luck, Jim, but there's only

one combination of time, angle of entry, and speed of

entry that will get us there, and that time is coming up

very soon. It's only days away. We--the fleet, I

mean--will have to leave this base within twenty hours

at the very most."

97

Chapter Nine

FLEET ADMIRAL CHUNG prided himself on his irapas-

sivity, which he considered the equal of any Vulcan's,

but today his face betrayed equal mixtures of annoy-

ance and puzzlement as Spock entered his office.

Spock saluted and stood at attention before the

admiral's desk. "Well, Mr. Spock?" Chung said tes-

tily. "Now what? You requested that we allow you to

file your report by hyperspace radio rather than being

required to report directly back here which, after a

great deal of internal discussion, we agreed to do--

and yet now you show up in San Francisco! We have

long made special allowances for you and Captain

Kirk. You've both been granted quite a few privileges,

compared to other officers in the fleet."

As Chung lectured on, Spock stood at attention with

his face expressionless--unintentionally serving as a

model of that emotionless appearance to which the

admiral aspired. This only served to increase Chung's

anger. "You've both deserved special treatment,"

Chung continued, "because of your brilliant records.

But now, Spock, this time--" He paused for a breath.

The longer he ranted at Spock, the longer the Vulcan

stood there absolutely calm. Chung felt his temper

98

escaping his control. "This time, Spock, you've over-

done it! A starship captain disappears, and yet despite

that, I give you permission to stay at Starbase Seven-

teen--and the next thing I know you show up here in

San Francisco! Well?"

"Well what, Admiral?" Spock asked.

Chung pounded a fist against his desk. "I ought

to---! Don't try to--! SPOCK!"

Spock said patiently, "I'm sorry, Admiral, but I

don't understand what it is you want to know. If you

would be so kind as to explain."

Retirement, Chung thought. Only a year to go. "I

want to know," Chung said tightly, "what you are

doing here."

"Ah," Spock said. "Now I understand. Thank you,

Admiral."

Chung took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes

shut for a moment. He opened them. "Continue, Mr.

Speck," he said resignedly.

"I would have sent you a message in advance,

Admiral, to explain my visit here, but I had reason to

fear interception of my message."

The admiral sat back in his chair. "What are you

telling me, Spock?"

"I needed your permission, sir, to perform some

experiments using a piece of top-secret equipment

kept here at Starfleet Headquarters. Since Starfleet

has tried to keep secret even the existence of that

piece of hardware, let alone its location, I thought it

wisest to make the request in person. Moreover, when

you grant the request, I will need to he here anyway

to perform the experiments I have in mind."

"'When,' Spock, not 'if I grant your request?"

Chung shook his head. "All right, Spock, just what is

99

it that you're requesting? What piece of top-secret

hardware do you need?" Spock told him.

Chung stared for a long time. Then he said, "Per-

mission granted. Wait a minute. Are you sure? Never

mind. Stupid question. Vulcans are always sure."

"I believe that's a fair assessment, Admiral," Spock

said, taking the remark at face value.

Chung grimaced. "Anything else?"

"I could use some assistance, sir. It would speed

matters up."

'Of course," Chung added. "Let's see, I'll give

Admiral Kim a call--"

"I did have someo ne in mind." Spock interrupted.

"Elliot Tindal!."

Naturally, Chung thought to himself. But TindaWs

a good man, so--"What's the date?" He looked at his

desk calendar. "Oh, yes. I believe he returned from

his vacation this morning. Let me give him a call." He

reached for the communicator on his desk.

"Admiral," Spock said quickly, "I'd prefer it if you

didn't do that. No communications net can ever be

entirely secure. Could we visit him at home instead?"

"Hmph. Spock, do you really think Starfleet com-

munications can be compromised?"

"Any communications net can be, Admiral," Spock

said.

"Oh, all right. I'll call for a driver. You will allow

that, I suppose?" Chung said with heavy sarcasm.

Spock considered the question for a moment. "Yes,

Admiral. Please feel free."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock." Chung emphasized

the rank, but of course sarcasm was always lost on

Spock--at least, so far as any human could tell.

lOO

Arguments had become increasingly common at the

Tindall home. Usually, though, they managed to keep

the arguments quiet--at least, quiet enough that the

neighbors didn't hear. Today, though, Elliot and Luisa

were being loud enough for the neighbors and the two

uniformed visitors coming up the front walk to hear.

The neighbors listened raptly from behind curtains.

The two visitors had no choice but to pretend to ignore

what they heard.

Luisa answered the door. Chung noticed the redness

of her eyes and nose. "Oh, Admiral," Luisa said.

"Hello. Come in. Elliot's in his study. I'll go get

him."

"I'm sorry to have to disturb you while he's still on

vacation, Luisa," Chung said awkwardly, "but this is

very important."

Luisa smiled tightly and said nothing. She led them

down a short hallway to a living room furnished in the

softly padded furniture that had become fashionable

on Earth lately. The prints on the wall and the pale

color scheme all fit in with the latest style among

Earth's upper middle classes.

"Please," Luisa said, pointing at the couch. She left

the room, audibly muffling a sob.

Spock and Chung sat down side by side on the

couch, the Vulcan showing no awkwardness at all,

while Chung felt both uncomfortable and unhappy.

They ignored each other, Chung choosing to examine

the prints on the wall rather than make eye contact

with his companion.

After a while heavy footsteps came down the hall-

way toward them, and Elliot Tindall strode into the

room and stopped. "Admiral Chung," he said, staring

with easily detected hostility, "I don't think I'm due

101

in the office until next Monday. Or did I miscalcu-

late?"

"Oh, no, Elliot, not at all," Chung said with exag-

gerated heartiness. "You're quite right. Unfortu-

nately, though, something quite urgent has come up. I

don't know if you've ever met Mr. Spock...?"

Elliot turned his attention to the Vulcan, who had

risen to his feet and stood waiting silently. "No, but

of course I know of you, sir. Probably the most famous

Vulcan in Starfleet." He smiled to make it clear he

was joking.

Spock took the remark seriously. "I have little

competition for that distinction, Mr. Tindall."

"And I've always thought that was a shame, sir,"

Elliot said quickly. "The Science Division could use

the Vulcan approach to technical problems. I have, for

example, long admired the writings of Meng."

Spock nodded. "One of our finest philosophers of

science. And I have heard of you, Mr. Tindall. I've

read your paper on the interaction of the T-jump effect

and the transporter phase field and found it closely

reasoned and admirably concise."

Chung watched the interplay between the two. Con-

vinced that it was as amiable as it sounded, he relaxed.

"Elliot, Mr. Spock has come to Earth to do some very

important work. He has requested you as his assis-

tant."

"Why, I'd be honored!" Elliot broke in. "It would

be a wonderful opportunity !"

"Yes, I realize that," Chung continued. "But it

would mean you'd have to temporarily abandon your

current project."

"Nothing," Elliot said immediately. "No problem

at all. If Mr. Spock needs my help, nothing else stands

in the way."

102

"Perhaps you'd like to know what my needs are,"

Spock said.

"Whatever they are, sir, I'd be honored to partici-

pate."

"Immediately?" Chung asked. "Today? Right

now7"

Elliot shrugged. "If it's that urgent, Admiral, of

course. ' '

"You can tell Luisa it's all my fault," Chung began

in a jovial tone and then kicked himself mentally as

soon as the words were out.

Elllot's posture grew stiff and cold in a subtle but

unmistakable fashion. "I'11 manage that problem, Ad-

miral."

Chung sprang to his feet. "Well! Now that that's all

settled," he said, "we need to be on our way--all of

us. Mr. Spock and I will wait for you outside, Elliot,

while you... urn."

Elliot nodded. 'TII be with you in a few minutes."

Chung led the way quickly out of the house and into

their waiting vehicle. Once they were safely inside,

insulated from their driver's hearing, he said, "I don't

understand it, Mr. Spock, I just don't understand it.

They were always so happy. What's gone wrong?" He

sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with the young

these days. It was different in my day. Everything

they do seems so impermanent. They lack commit-

ment. I'm beginning to worry seriously about the

future of the human race."

Spock said, "Admiral, you are echoing the com-

plaint of many a philosopher of previous times. It

seems to be a peculiarly human failing to see one's

own age as a pale and inferior stepchild of all previous

ages. What humans lack, I think, is an objective and

unemotional view of their history."

103

Chung expected him to expound on this topic at

much greater length, but then Elliot Tindall walked

out of his house to join them.

Days of intensive work followed.

Spock and Elliot worked long hours and took only

short breaks. Elliot almost matched the Vulcan in his

ability to ignore the need for food and sleep. They

both outlasted the small team of assistants that had

been assigned to them; in the end the two of them did

the great bulk of the work.

The theory underlying the hardware Spock had req-

uisitioned had to be extended and more deeply under-

stood before the testing of Spock's hypothesis could

even begin, and major modifications to the hardware

had to be worked out as well. In both tasks, Elllot's

contribution was a significant factor in their final suc-

cess.

When the tests finally got under way, the two of

them were alone in the workshop Starfleet had as-

signed to them. Their three assistants were all asleep,

trying to recover from the last unending bout during

which Spock and Elliot, in a long burst, had completed

the final stage of the work.

It was more than dedication to the work and fasci-

nation with it and the opportunity to work with Spock

that had kept Elliot in the workshop for such long

hours. It was also his spending the last two days of

their sustained push sleeping at the base instead of

home. The relationship with Luisa had reached a point

at which he no longer trusted himself alone with her.

The thought that he might, in uncontrolled anger, harm

her, perhaps even kill her, terrified him.

Elliot remembered first meeting Luisa and their first

year together. Happy as he knew she had been, he had

104

been even happier. It was the medication that had

made even that possible. But now that he had reached

what should have been the fulfillment of his assigned

duties and the completion of his personal happiness,

his medication was betraying him.

In fact, he was badly overdue for his dose. Unchar-

acteristicaily hasty and distracted, he had left the

bottle of pills at home. How could he get it without

encountering Luisa (and all the tears and pleading and

inevitable fury that would result)? He was supposed to

take the pills daily and had been warned of awful

things if he failed to do so. He had already missed his

regular dose twice. He hoped that, after taking the

medication for so many years, he had built up enough

of it in his blood that he could manage to miss a few

days without dangerous results.

"Mr. Tindall," Spock said sharply, "I requested an

increase in power."

Elliot snapped back to an awareness of his surround-

ings and duties. "Oh, yes, Yes, of course. Sorry, Mr.

Spock. I was daydreaming." He turned the dial

quickly, boosting power by the amount Spock's exper-

imental schedule required.

Spock turned back to his monitor, saying nothing

about the human propensity for daydreaming, as con-

trasted to the Vulcan ability to ignore all distractions

and discipline all thoughts, but he didn't need to. Elliot

ascribed such opinions to him even without any words.

Damned supercilious Vulcan.t Elliot thought. I'd like

to--Angrily, he squelched that thought. A bit of Vul-

can mental discipline would be useful right now.

"How does it look, Mr. Spock?" he called out

cheerfully.

Spock twisted around and looked at him in surprise,

then returned to his study of the graph on the monitor.

105

"Following predictions so far, Mr. Tindall. Keep in-

creasing the power according to the schedule."

I couM sabotage his test so easily, Elliot thought

suddenly. That might be the best thing. But no Spock

would notice immediately.

The process continued for more than two hours. By

the time they reached the end of the planned test run,

Elliot was feeling the strain--both the physical strain

of concentrating and following the schedule, and the

psychological strain of keeping his ever more unruly

temper under control.

At last Spock stood up and said thoughtfully, "You

may power down now, Mr. Tindall. I believe I have

determined what I set out to."

Elliot rose, too, his nerves tingling. His muscles

were stiff, but tensed for action. "So what's the next

step?" he asked in a calm tone.

Spock stared at the young scientist for a moment as

if measuring him in some way, weighing him. "My

results mandate an immediate return to Starbase Sev-

enteen. I've thought of requesting that you be assigned

to accompany me. I've been very impressed with your

work, and ! believe you could contribute significantly

in the next step. There would be danger; it would be

very different from intellectual work here on Earth."

Elliot relaxed. This was far better than the action he

had been planning! "I would be honored and de-

lighted, Mr. Spock."

Spock nodded as if he had expected no other re-

sponse. "Good. I will speak to Fleet Admiral Chung

right away."

"How many days before we leave?"

"Not days, Mr. Tindall minutes, if immediate

transportation is available. Hours, otherwise. Starfleet

106

has accorded my mission the highest possible prior-

ity."

Elliot gritted his teeth. He noticed Spock staring

curiously at his bunching jaw muscles and forced

himself to relax. "I'll be ready, Mr. Spock. I'll need

to make a quick trip home, but I'll be ready."

Maybe it was working already, Luisa thought, work-

ing in some magical way. Then she felt ashamed of

herself for thinking such a superstitious thought. Still,

her friend had assured her that the supplements had

worked wonders with her own husband, who had

become a tyrant but was now as gentle and loving

as in the early days of their marriage. How dearly

Luisa wanted to recapture that same mood with

Elliot!

And it was undeniable that during his few minutes

at home, rushed as he was, he had been more like his

old self. Of course she knew that the pills she had

substituted for those worthless vitamins of his could

hardly have worked on him while they were still in the

bottle, but she wanted so much for them to work. She

needed the old Elliot for her own survival.

It was remarkable good fortune that the supple-

ments her friend had given her looked just like Elllot's

vitamins. It was also fortunate that he had called her

from the base before coming home, giving her just the

time she needed. And finally, it was fortunate that he

had been so rushed, or he might have noticed the pile

of small, red capsules in the trash can in the bathroom,

for Luisa had not had time to dispose of his vitamin

pills properly. If he had noticed the pills and discov-

ered what she bad done, which Elliot would he have

been?

107

She had felt desperate enough to resort to this

subterfuge, this trickery, because the alternative--

leaving Elliot--was too awful to think about.

Don't start thinking gloomy thoughts again, she

ordered herself. Wherever it is he's gone, he'll come

back acting like the Elliot you fell in love with.

Chapter Ten

108

DURING THE TRIP from the base to the supermassive

body, Kirk continually interfered with Kalrind's work,

oblivious to her occasional annoyance; there were still

questions he wanted answered.

"How do we know that this scheme of yours is

really the way it happened?" he persisted in asking.

"There must be records. Your own records, or maybe

Federation records; they'd show us how I got there,

how I managed to be present at the Tholian Incident.

So we'd know if we're doing the right thing." God

knows, he told himself grimly, when you're traveling

in the past, you don't want to do the wrong one.

"Starfleet must have debriefed me after it was all

over."

"You would think so," Kalrind agreed. "However,

Federation personnel have searched their archives

without finding any records of such a debriefing. Ac-

tually, in retrospect, it doesn't seem that surprising.

Just imagine how everyone must have felt, on both

sides--the jubilation, the celebrations, the . . . the

delight! Who worried about debriefing and other for-

malities like that?"

She laughed suddenly. "And one thing I haven't

109

even told you! As soon as the Great Peace was an-

nounced, Admiral James T. Kirk resigned his commis-

sion and was appointed the Federation's first ambas-

sador to the Klingon Empire. That, by the way, was at

the request of the commanders of both fleets, both the

Federation and Klingon fleets. Everyone who had

been involved in the Tholian Incident was impressed

by his diplomacy."

"Ambassdor to the Klingon Empire?" Kirk said

wonderingly. "What an amazing idea!"

Kalrind, unusually coy, said, "You know, when you

were assigned to the Empire, you probably romanced

my great-great-great-grandmother. From what I've

heard, it's not the sort of thing she would have told

anyone. I may be your descendant."

Kirk stared at her, more disturbed at the possibility

than he was willing to tell her. Kalrind laughed at his

expression. "But probably not. Don't worry about it.

You'll probably have your choice of Klingon women.

We all like the exotic, the different, and humans are

as exotic and different as they come. I bet women in

the Federation are like that just as much as those in

the Empire."

Kirk opened his mouth, but then shut it without

saying anything.

"Now," she continued, "on to more practical mat-

ters. I need some specific information from you, Jim.

Or 1 should say, we need it. We need it to make sure

history remains unchanged. As you said, we need to

make sure we're doing everything correctly."

There was, Kirk thought, one way in which the New

Klingons were certainly very different from the Old

the Old Klingons were blunt and direct, while the New

were circumlocutory. In this respect, Kirk found he

preferred the older version of the breed. At first, he

110

had been overwhelmed by the idea of regaining the

world--the time--he had thought lost. Now he began

to fear losing Kalrind even more. Changing the past,

he feared, would tear her from him just as it had torn

Edith Keeler from him. But when he tried to move

their conversations in that direction, in the direction

of possible dangers to their relationship from this

undertaking, Kalrind always retreated behind a barrier

of professional investigation she became the histo-

rian, and he became her source; their status as lovers

became a subject not to be discussed.

And when he complained openly about this, she

said, "Please, Jim. Be patient. All of this is very

bizarre, very amazingiboth what we're all trying to

do and what's happened between the two of us. I need

your famous tolerance."

"I'm famous for being tolerant?" Kirk shook his

head. "That gives me an entirely new perspective on

history. I'm going to have to change my opinion of a

whole lot of historical characters." He reached out

and stroked Kalrind's hair. "But I'll try."

"I just thought of something!" Kalrind said sud-

denly. "Now, what was it? Oh, yes, that's right. I

can't think when you touch me!" She moved away

from him. "See now my memory returns immedi-

ately. You humans . . . ! I just realized that I'H be

there, too, so you won't get the chance to romance

my ancestress, after all! I'll be with you instead, when

you become the Federation ambassador to the K!ingon

Empire."

He would return to his own time and live a long and

peaceful and productive life with Kalrind by his side!

Kirk was astonished at the strength of the longing that

consumed him, the longing she had painted so simply

111

and easily and with so few words. It overwhelmed his

fear.

"Right on schedule," Morith said happily.

Before them, on the screen that formed the forward

wall of the Alliance bridge, was the achingly familiar

starfield. Being on the bridge of a ship, watching the

stars crawling off to the side of the screen, Kirk felt

almost at home again, although he knew he wouldn't

feel fully secure until he was on the bridge of a

Federation starship and back in his own time. If Morith

and his fellow scientists were right, all of that would

happen very soon.

In the middle of the starfield, a dim, hazy blue

sphere glowed faintly. This was the supermassive body

of which Morith had told him their gateway into the

past.

"We're actually seeing certain levels of its gravita-

tional field," Morith explained. "The light is given off

by the constant destruction of infalling stellar matter

from the body's companion star, which is invisible to

us. Of the particles falling into the supermassive body,

some transfer to other times, but most are destroyed,

instantaneously turned to energy." As we could be, Kirk thought.

"And us, Morith?" Kalrind asked, echoing his

thoughts. "Could we be destroyed too? Converted to

energy?"

In answer, Morith continued his explanation. "As I

told you before, time transition takes place only at

certain critical, quantized combinations of time, angle,

and speed of entry. Of course, most particles don't

happen to hit such a combination, and those are con-

verted to energy. At what radius that happens also

depends on time and angle and speed of entry. That's

112

why I said we're seeing different levels of its gravita-

tional field."

The different levels at which we could flash into heat

and light if we're off in any one of the critical para-

meters, Kirk thought. And if they were off but man-

aged to hit another critical combination, would they

end up at some other point in the past? He had

neglected to ask Morith that. Would they end up in

1930, perhaps?

Time travel, if it were controllable, offered so many

ways to change the past. Too many ways. That was

why it could not be used, why a wise society avoided

or even outlawed it. But this time, how could the goal

be nobler?

Kirk turned around slowly, looking not at the

crowded bridge of the Klingon ship, but at the screens,

which showed the space around the ship. To the sides

and behind them, above and below, blinking lights

showed the location of the other members of the

enormous fleet of which Alliance was the flagship.

The hours passed, the glowing body swelling in the

forward viewscreen, becoming both larger and solider,

its brightness increasing as it grew into something real

and immense and overwhelming.

Kirk and Kalrind spent those hours on the bridge

with Morith, crowded together on the small, fenced

dais upon which the control seat was placed, looking

down on the quiet, busy, efficient Klingons manning

the various posts controlling the ship. To Kirk's eye,

the posts had not been modified from their original

functions of a hundred years ago, but he knew from

what he had seen of the Klingons' technological ad-

vances that the circuitry behind the panels was en-

tirely different. Examining the bridge crew and trying

to interpret their actions by analogy to those of the

113

crew on the bridge of the ship he knew so well, his

own ship, killed the time and took Kirk's mind from

their impending and dangerous passage.

The tension on the bridge grew steadily. Even

though these people were of another species and their

body language was subtly but essentially different,

Kirk could sense their growing nervousness. Kalrind

pressed closer against his side. Only Morith seemed

calm.

"Are you sure," Kirk asked him in a low voice so

that none of the crew would hear him, "that the

navigation is precise enough?"

Morith smiled at him. "Don't worry about it, Jim.

History says you were there, at the Tholian Incident.

Therefore, I know you will be."

Kalrind must not have been quite so convinced by

recorded history, despite her long study of it. She

gripped Kirk's arm painfully and leaned against him.

He could feel that she was trembling.

As Kirk watched her, filled with concern and love

for her, her face was bathed in a blue glow. No, it

wasn't just Kalrind it was everything. The light was

coming from the screen. Someone on the bridge

moaned, a low, long sound of fear.

On the forward screen, the supermassive body had

blotted out the stars. Even in the corners of the

rectangular screen, not covered by the body, the fierce

blue glare of dying stellar matter made the stars invis-

ible. The glow was steady, unfiickering, not a candle

to light the darkness but a monstrous anomaly swal-

lowing the light of its neighboring star.

Alliance trembled, shuddered throughout its entire

mass. Kirk felt a moment of sickness and disorienta-

tion. Weakness overcame him, and he would have

fallen but for Kalrind's strong arm bearing him up.

114

And then the glow was gone, and only the beauty of

star-filled space lay ahead of them.

Morith said calmly, "Obviously we transited suc-

cessfully." He said something in Klingon to one of the

figures hunched over a monitor on the bridge's lower

level. The man answered in Klingon, and Morith

sighed. He said sadly to Kirk, "And so did all but one

vessel of our fleet."

Kirk hardly heard him. He was home.

The mood onboard ship changed drastically. Where

before the Klingon crew had behaved as if they were

facing execution, now they acted like a crew on holi-

day. They were on their way into history; they were

creating the Roj tin.

Kirk and Kalrind were able to spend time with each

other again, as they had not been able to during the

last few days. Kirk had found the constant presence

of others during the day annoying; on the base, he had

grown used to being alone with Kalrind and spending

hours simply talking to her--with him talking and her

listening, as she seemed to prefer. He had noticed

during the last day or so that even Kalrind, normally

so placid and amiable, had been growing short-tem-

pered at their situation. She had occasionally snapped

at him, and even though she would apologize profusely

afterward, Kirk felt it would be best if they could be

alone together as soon as possible in order to reclaim

their past happiness--the combination of comradeship

and tenderness that had become so important to him

so quickly.

Partly it was the excitement and tension and bustle

connected with approaching and then passing through

the supermassive body that had interfered with them.

But they had also been hampered by the ship itself.

115

Alliance was large for a Klingon ship, but it was still

far smaller than the base had been. Relatively, it was

more densely populated. There seemed to be few

places for them to wander unobserved and uninter-

rupted.

"So we'll find someplace," Kirk said. "Let's go

roaming."

"I'm not sure we ought to," Kalrind said reluc-

tantly.

"You enjoyed doing that with me on the base," Kirk

pointed out. "Look, we can't contribute anything,

anyway. You're an historian, and I'm an outdated

space sailor who grew up with ancient hardware.

We're just in the way now. Come on." He took her

arm.

"All right!" Kalrind jerked her arm away from him.

"Don't touch me. I don't... feel like being touched."

Kirk shrugged and led the way down the nearest

hallway, turning his face away so that she wouldn't

see how hurt he was.

At first, she stayed behind him, deliberately avoiding

catching up, but as they traveled through the ship,

Kalrind's better nature seemed to take control again.

She moved up beside Kirk and linked arms with him.

"Sorry," she said, smiling.

Finally, they found themselves in a short hallway in

which they could not see or hear anyone else.

They grinned at each other. "What's that word you

use?" Kalrind asked, her good humor quite restored

"Bingo?"

Kirk laughed. "That's the one. Learned it from my

grandmother."

Then they turned the corner at the end of the

corridor.

Facing them was a heavy metal door, flanked by two

116

enormous, grim-faced guards. Each of them held a

phaser rifle, unchanged from the Klingon weapons of

that type from Kirk's days. Kirk could see in their

faces none of the amiability he had learned to expect

from New Klingons. These two might have come from

his own era.

Kalrind squeezed his arm, a signal, Kirk presumed,

that he should hold back, but instead he stepped up to

the two glowering Klingons and said jovially, "Gentle-

men! Good day to you! Please open that door for us."

One of the guards snarled and said in heavily ac-

cented English, "Get away, Earther! Not go in here!"

Kirk held both hands up, palms out, clearly empty,

and said in as friendly a tone as he could manage, "I

don't think your attitude is proper, young man. I'm

curious about what--"

At that moment, the guard who had spoken stepped

forward threateningly, raised his weapon, and pointed

it at Kirk.

"ylrnev.t" It was Kalrind's voice, but with a power

of command that Kirk had never heard from her be-

fore. Obediently, the guard stopped.

In English, Kalrind added, "Back to your post. We

will leave." She took Kirk's arm and pulled him force-

fully after her.

After they had turned the corner and were again in

the isolated short corridor, Kirk said mildly, "Well,

that was all quite unexpected."

"Yes," Kalrind said curtly. They walked in silence

for a few minutes, and then she said, "Perhaps we

should restrict our exploring."

"Hmm. Let's go find Morith."

The scientist was still on the bridge.

When Kirk and Kalrind told him about their encoun-

117

ter, he looked embarrassed. "The Romulans, Jim,"

he said.

"Yes? What about them?"

"You see, we're at peace with the Federation, but

we're not at peace with the Roms, and neither are

your people. We both have to keep some of the old

ways alive to guard against them."

"Do you mean," Kirk asked in amazement, "that

you're afraid they'll infiltrate your ships?"

"They have in the past. Disguised as K!ingons,

moreover."

"Surgery?"

"And drugs, to make their behavior appropriate."

It provided Kirk with much food for thought, but all

of that fled his mind the next morning.

He awoke early. Sleepily, he turned toward Kalrind

and shook her. She did not move.

Alarmed, Kirk sat up in bed and with a voice com-

mand turned on the overhead lights. Kalrind lay upon

her back, eyes squeezed shut, face pale, trembling

visibly. Beads of sweat stood upon her dark forehead.

Why, she's having a nightmare, Kirk thought. He

put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, first

gently, and then with increasing violence. It had no

effect.

"Kalrind!" he said. There was desperation in his

voice. "Kalrind!"

He yelled and shook her, imploring her to wake up.

Finally, he leapt out of bed and hit the emergency

button set in the wall--the same one Kalrind had used

once before to summon help for him.

Morith was with the team that showed up in re-

sponse to the alarm signal. He took one look at Kal-

118

rind and uttered a Klingon curse. He signaled to the

emergency team and then turned to Kirk.

"Jim! She'll be all right. Don't worry!"

Kirk watched helplessly as the emergency team slid

Kalrind onto a stretcher and rushed her from the

room.

119

Chapter Eleven

"I ASSURE YOU, JIM," Morith repeated patiently.

"She will be all right."

"But I just don't understand! What could have

happened?"

Morith hesitated and then said, "Have you ever

heard of the Qong-Hegh?"

Kirk repeated the word, fumbling with the Klingon

consonants. "No."

They were in Morith's cramped office just off the

bridge, and Kirk was sitting in a chair in front of t he

desk, Morith behind it.

"Not surprising. It's something we don't discuss

with non-Kiingons---or with each other, for that mat-

ter. I suppose the best translation would be 'sleep

death.' It's a hereditary disease that has been around

since before our recorded history began. It's rare, and

it used to be inevitably fatal." Kirk jumped to his feet.

Morith held up a hand to forestall him. "Used to

be, I said. We can control it with drugs, nowadays.

Haven't you noticed Kalrind taking pills every day?"

Kirk thought about it. "Why, yes, I have. I asked

her about it once, and she said it was some sort of

120

vitamin supplement because of a metabolic problem

she had inherited."

Morith laughed. "Not that far off the truth, except

that what she inherited was a fatal disease, not a

metabolic problem, and the pill isn't a vitamin supple-

ment but rather the medication that keeps her alive."

"But why did she lie to me?"

"As I said, we don't discuss it. We're ashamed of

it," Morith amplified. "It was always associated with

the lowest classes in the old Empire, and even though

we New Kiingons profess not to care about any of that

old social structure, there's still a great deal of shame

attendant upon proof that one's ancestors were mem-

bers of those classes. Inheriting Qong-Hegh is virtual

proof of such descent."

Kirk shook his head. "It's foolish of her to be

ashamed !"

With a rare flash of anger, Morith said harshly, "It's

easy for an Earther to think so! You are not a product

of our history, our warrior tradition. You can't under-

stand how we feel!"

Kirk looked at him in mute surprise.

"Forgive me, Jim. The stress of running this fleet

... It's not at all the work I was trained for.

"Anyway, to continue. In the old days, a child who

displayed signs of the Qong-Hegh was simply allowed

to die of it. That usually happened during adolescence,

which is when the disease normally first manifests

itself. Not that much could have been done even if

anyone had wanted to save those children. It wasn't

until the New Klingon takeover of the Empire that the

situation changed, and that was only possible because

of our breakthroughs in chemistry and biology, which

together enabled us to design a drug therapy."

"But the breakthroughs came because the New

121

Klingons chose to direct their research in that direc-

tion," Kirk said thoughtfully.

Morith nodded. "A good point. Be that as it may,

however, our immediate problem is Kalrind. The doc-

tors report that her response to the drug is still normal.

At first, they feared that it was losing its effect with

her. That would be the first such case. However, she's

returning to normal quickly with a course of treatment

with the drug, fed intravenously in high doses, and

they also determined before they began this treatment

that the level of it in her blood was low. In other

words, she had been neglecting to take her pill as

required." He smiled. "Thanks to you, she had other

things on her mind. Perhaps you noticed some slight

personality change?"

"Not so slight," Kirk said. "She was becoming

short-tempered, brusque."

"Yes. Typical symptoms, I'm told. From now on,

Jim, I'd like you to assume the responsibility for

Kalrind's health. We simply cannot do without her."

"Neither can I," Kirk said softly, and though he

had spoken unconsciously, it was one of the truest

things he had ever said.

"I understand," Morith said soothingly. "I'm ask-

ing you to see that she never again misses her daily

dose. Her life depends on it. You can go to Sickbay

now to see her, if you wish."

Kirk left, shaken, and made his way to Alliance's

Sickbay, so lost in thought that he did not notice the

Klingons who passed him along the way and greeted

him.

He found Kalrind sitting up in bed, her thick hair

stringy with dried sweat, her face frighteningly pale.

The only time he had ever seen a pale Klingon before

was after that Klingon died.

122

He sat carefully on the side of her bed, afraid to

shake it. "Have you been properly lectured?" he

asked her. His tone was bantering, but beneath it lay

a fear for her well-being which was so strong that it

rendered him almost paralyzed.

Kalrind nodded. She reached for his hand and

squeezed it, and Kirk was dismayed at the weakness

he felt where he was used to feeling such strength.

"Follow the rules," she said, her voice husky and

weak. "Take my medication. You--you know about

it?" There was fear in her voice.

Kirk nodded. "You don't have to pretend anymore.

Morith explained all about it--the hereditary disease,

the pills."

"Aah." Kalrind nodded. "Yes, I'm glad that he told

you." Her eyelids drooped until her eyes were only

half open. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm worn out..."

Kirk stood up hastily. "No, l'm sorry. I shouldn't

be bothering you while you're ill." He leaned over,

kissed her forehead, and left the room. He strode

rapidly, nervously down the main corridor on this level

of the ship. Exploration, he told himself. Absorb your-

self in it. Brooding about Kalrind's condition, her

evident weakness, would be the most foolish thing he

could do.

Instead, he headed for the nearest turbolift and took

it up two floors, where he walked briskly toward the

interesting corridor he and Kalrind had found before--

the place where Old Klingon-style guards prevented

access to a doorway.

Kirk was walking down the corridor, senses all alert,

waiting for the first sign of the two massive guards,

when a blazingly bright light floated around the next

corner and confronted him. "Captain Kirk," the light

greeted him. "Good day."

123

Kirk stopped in amazement. "What! Another Or-

ganian? I thought you people didn't want to have

anything to do with us--either with the Federation or

the Klingons. I seem to remember that when you

imposed your treaty on us and the Klingons, you

wrote something into it stating that neither power

could even visit your world. If we can't visit Organia,

and neither can the Klingons, why would you wish to

visit us?"

The brilliant ball of light suspended in the air just

above Kirk's head level, said, "I would stay to answer

your questions, Captain, but 1 must hurry." He glided

by the human.

"Wait!" Kirk said quickly. "Which Organian are

you?"

"I am Ayleborne, whom you have met before."

"Yes, I have. You haven't answered my questions,

Ayleborne."

An impatient voice came from the glowing light. "I

have little time for this conversation, Kirk. I must be

there when humans and New Klingons meet each

other. Say what you want to, and then I must go."

"It seems to me," Kirk said, "that you would have

an easier time getting both Klingons and Federation-

ists to deal with you if you assumed material form--

the way all of you did when we first encountered you.

At that time, we thought you were humanolds, just

like us. It does make communication easier."

The Organian did not deign to reply. I suppose

I'm too low an evolutionary level to understand the

workings of an Organian mind, Kirk thought with

some annoyance.

Ayleborne floated down the hallway and turned a

corner. As soon as he had done so, his light vanished,

blinked out. Kirk ran down the hallway and around

124

the corner, but it was deserted. It was as if the Organ-

Jan had never been.

Kirk abandoned his exploration and returned to

Morith's office.

Morith looked up when he entered. The Klingon's

face betrayed a momentary annoyance, quickly

masked. He's busy and he'll probably consider this' a

trivial reason for an interruption, Kirk thought guiltily.

"I just ran into an OrganJan. Met him on the base, too.

Not a very communicative fellow."

"Ah, yes. Ayleborne. As I understand it, he's some-

thing along the lines of a historian--although I'm sure

that is an inadequate word for it. Perhaps beings such

as Klingons and humans will never be able to under-

stand Organians well enough to comprehend their

social roles and divisions."

"What's he doing on Alliance?"

"Visting perhaps. Observing, more likely. He told

me he's preoccupied with preparing for the historic

meeting between Federationists and New Klingons.

This is history, Jim, very important history! He's

serving both as a scholar and as a representative of his

race, watching the beginning of the alliance the Organ-

ians predicted would come about. You remember that

prediction?"

Kirk nodded. "I'd be unlikely to forget it. But he's

much less of a conversationalist than he was when I

first met him."

"Hmm," Morith said thoughtfully. "I've always

found him most polite. But not very forthcoming with

information--you're right about that. All I know is

that we were contacted by the Organians and told to

take Ayleborne aboard. They seemed to know what

we were planning even when we were still at the stage

of discussing it only among ourselves."

125

"A breakdown in security. Heads have rolled for

less."

Morith smiled--but it was the smile of a Klingon of

old, not the transfiguring beautification of a New Klin-

gon smile. "Whose head would you choose, Jim?"

Kirk turned aside. "Perhaps times have changed,"

he mumbled. In a louder voice, he said, "What have

you heard about Kairind?"

"Aah! The doctors say she is ready to be released.

They pumped her full of the drug, and now she's back

to normal. Do you mean you didn't visit her in Sickbay

during her recuperation? Is that why you have to ask

me about her condition?"

Kirk took in a deep breath and let it out. For a

theoretical physicist, he's one tough son-of-a-gun. "I

was there earlier. Briefly. I didn't want to go back

immediately unt il I heard something definite, so I've

been... waiting."

"You've been avoiding Sickbay because you feel

guilty about Kalrind's illness, correct?"

"You learned this insight into human nature in one

of your quantum mechanics classes, right?"

Morith laughed. "Observation, Jim. The basic train-

ing of every physicist---of every scientist. Go down to

Sickbay and see your... friend."

As he left the office, Kirk reflected that Morith

excelled him as an advanced master of the precisely

calculated elliptical pause.

But then he reached Sickbay and forgot all of that in

his delight at Kalrind's appearance.

To a Klingon, she would have appeared pale and

weak, but to Kirk she seemed strong and vibrant--

especially in contrast with a short time before. He

embraced her. "You're all right !"

Kalrind smiled up at him. "Not entirely, but I'll

126

survive. Let's get me out of here." She turned to the

communications unit beside her bed and said, "I want

my doctor!" Kirk was encouraged by the strength and

command in her voice.

A tinny voice responded. "This is Dr. Cherek, joh

Kalrind. How may I serve?"

"Release me from this vile imprisonment, churl!"

She winked at Kirk.

"Immediately. It is done. You may leave whenever

you wish."

She turned he attention to Kirk. "A bit of traditional

Klingon obedience has its place."

But it wasn't her use of Old K!ingon obedience

modes that made her recuperate so quickly over the

next day or two, Kirk realized. When she first got out

of bed, she was weak and shaky. What made her well

was the medication the K!ingon doctors had given her,

her strong K!ingon constitution, and Kirk's company.

I'm in love with a Klingon women, he thought, and it

was still a source of wonder, and she's in love with

me, and it's my very presence that enables her to

overcome her Hiness.

Even so, he thought that Bones McCoy would

delight in the study of all these new Klingon biochem-

ical discoveries. What they can do with their own

biochemistry! he marveled. What Leonard wouldn't

give to know all about it!

"Welcome aboard Enterprise, Mr. Tindall," Spock

said, stepping off the transporter platform.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Elliott said, picking up

his bags. To be aboard a Federation starship! This was

more than he could have hoped for. He must make

sure to take advantage of it to the fullest. He glanced

around quickly, taking in and memorizing every detail.

127

"Mr. Tindall, your attention please," Spock said. A

young woman stood crisply at attention by his side.

"This is Lt. Crandall. She will show you your quar-

ters, and then help you install the testing equipment in

the engineering laboratories."

"A pleasure, Mr. Tindall," Ginny Crandall said,

extending her hand. She was a slightly built young

woman, in her late twenties, Elliot guessed, with

close-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Lieutenant," Elliott nodded, taking her hand.

"If you will excuse me," Spock said. "Mr. Tindail,

I will stop by to check on your progress shortly. In

the meantime, I will be on the bridge." He turned and

left the transporter room.

"Can I help you with one of those?" Ginny asked,

indicating his bags.

"Thanks," Elliott said, handing her his duffel. "I

really just need to make a quick stop at my quarters to

change," and take my medicine, he added silently,

"and then I'll want to get right to work."

Ginny smiled. "I can see why Mr. Spock went to

such lengths to get you as his assistant," she said,

leading him out of the transporter room and into a

turbo elevator. "Deck 6," she said. "You sound as

committed to your work as he is."

"Oh, I am," Elliot said. He smiled back at her.

"What about your work, Lieutenant? What are your

duties aboard this ship?"

"Weapons and Defense." The lift doors slid open.

"Senior technician," she added, stepping out into the

corridor.

Elliot started to follow, then groaned involuntarily

as a stabbing pain lanced through his skull.

"Mr. Tindall'?" Ginny turned back to face him. "Is

something the matter?"

128

"No, I'm fine--just a long trip, I guess. Must've

taken a little more out of me than I thought." He kept

his voice steady, but his heart was pounding. He had

taken twice his normal dosage just before he and

Spock had boarded the shuttle from Earth if his

medicine was losing its potency this rapidly, he would

be unable to function with any degree of effectiveness

before long.

"If you like, we could stop at Sickbay and pick up

something for the pain," Ginny offered.

"I said I was fine," Elliott insisted, a little more

harshly than he intended. Ginny started involuntarily.

"Forgive me," he said. "Please. I get these . . .

headaches occasionally, and I'm afraid I don't deal

with them too well."

"I understand," she said, smiling. "Let me know if

there's anything I can do."

He forced himself to return her smile. "You were

telling me about your work, Lieutenant," he

prompted.

"Please," she said. "Call me Ginny."

129

Chapter Twelve

KIRK AND KALRIND resumed their explorations--and

found more out-of-bounds areas. Moreover, these ar-

eas were designated with signs reading

RESTRICTED

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

PAST THIS POINT

in both English and Klingonese. Intrigued, Kirk led

the way back to the guarded area they had found first.

The guards were gone now, and instead there was one

of those bilingual signs, mounted since the last time

the two had come this way.

"Now, that's interesting," Kirk said. "It's strange

enough that you have restricted areas, given the peace-

fulness of your century. It's even stranger that the

signs are written in English as well as your own

language. Why is that?"

Kalrind shrugged. "1 have no explanation. You'll

have to ask Morith."

But when they managed to track him down in the

ship's engineering section, Morith clearly resented

being questioned about the matter. "You should be

130

asking a military man, not a physicist," he rebuked

them. "Oh, all right, then. The reason for using both

languages is that we often have Federation people

traveling on our ships, so signs are generally written

in the official language of the Federation, as well as in

Klingonese."

Kirk looked around at the humming machines and

busy technicians. "And you don't want them going

where they're not supposed to?" he asked.

Morith grimaced. "The universe has not changed in

every detail in the last hundred years, Jim. Some

things remain as they were in your day--including

some of the things we all wish could change. We still

have government secrets that the ordinary citizen is

not allowed to know about, our citizens as well as

yours."

"But there aren't any members of the Federation in

this fleet. At least, I haven't seen or heard of any."

Morith nodded. "You're right, Jim. There aren't.

Not that we didn't have requests from all over the

Federation. Soldiers, scientists, diplomats, histori-

ans-they all wanted to join us. A plum assignment!

But there's danger, as you know. If things don't work

out, there could even be shooting between our ships

and those of the Federation. The Federation in this

time, I mean, your time. We simply couldn't risk their

lives. Besides' '--he drew himself up proudly--' 'this is

our fight. This is, above all, the cause of the New

Klingons against the Old."

As Kirk and Kalrind left the engineering section,

Kirk mulled over what Morith had said. Earlier, Kal-

rind had explained why he had encountered no one

but Klingons on the base where he had first found

himself. The base was an out-of-the-way place, nor-

mally used for routine work, not prestigious enough to

131

attract researchers from the Federation, Kalrind had

said. She had further explained that he had been taken

there to recover because of the budding plan to send

this fleet back in time, with him on it, and the base

had been so convenient a place from which to launch

the fleet.

Well and good, and he could accept all of that, but

if he was the only being on the fleet whose native

language was not Klingonese, then the English on a

newly emplaced bilingual warning sign was really

aimed at him, wasn't it? A simple verbal warning

would have been simpler and easier than putting up

that sign.

I'm probably overreacting. The explanation is no

doubt something simple enough. He could even think

of one such explanation himself that general-purpose,

bilingual warning signs were readily available, and so

one of those had been used.

No, Kirk assured himself, there really is something

just a bit facile about Morith's explanations. There's

something he's not telling me. That wasn't logic; it

was intuition. Spock would have frowned at his think-

ing. McCoy would have applauded it. They were both

wrong, of course. A commander could not function

only at the intellectual level, could not ignore the

processing of data constantly being performed by the

mysterious deeper levels of his mind, any more than

he could ignore logic and let himself be ruled by

emotion. Kirk had always relied on both, always

blended them, as in a parallel fashion he had relied for

advice on both Spock and McCoy. He was still a

commander--and he would therefore continue to be

guided by that old, highly reliable mixture of reason

and intuition.

Besides all that, more than Kirk's curiosity was

132

being piqued by those signs. If they truly were aimed

only at him, then Morith must think that Kirk was the

sort who placidly followed orders, whether or not he

agreed with them, that he would suppress his curiosity

because a sign told him to. Morith should have known

better. I'll have to find out just what it is he doesn't

want me to see.

Kalrind was deeply asleep, breathing shallowly and

evenly. Kirk watched her for a while and listened to

her, and then, satisfied, slipped out of bed, into his

clothes, and out the door.

Once in the hallway, he walked rapidly, making no

effort to be quiet. He had decided that his best chance

to reach his destination without being stopped was not

to act furtive but rather to march with head up, shoul-

ders back, and face untroubled. Easier said than done,

he thought.

Ship's time decreed it to be night, and Kirk met few

Klingons on his way. Those he did pass seemed pre-

occupied and paid him little attention--he had hoped.

Eventually he reached the area he had targeted for

inspection. Kirk had chosen it because of the plethora

of warning signs, reasoning that the importance of

whatever was hidden in such a section of the ship must

be in direct proportion to the number of signs warning

people away from it. It was also the corridor where he

had encountered the OrganJan only a few days earlier,

a coincidence that only made the place seem more

important.

Kirk passed by the last of the signs and found

himself facing a door guarded by an enormous Klingon

wearing a uniform.

It was a uniform quite familiar to him. This aspect

of Klingon society had not changed in a hundred

133

years. Morith and the other New Klingons didn't wear

uniforms, and so the presence of one was all the more

startling.

Nor was that the only Old Klingon aspect to this

guard. As soon as he saw Kirk, he glowered at him

and said with a heavy Klingonese accent, "Human!

Go away!" The Klingon stepped forward threaten-

ingly, drawing his disruptor from his belt.

Kirk smiled placatinglY, holding up his hands to

demonstrate peaceful intent and absence of weapon.

As the guard hesitated, concentrating on Kirk's hands,

Kirk kicked him hard in the groin.

The Klingon doubled over with a burbling cry, and

Kirk knocked him to the floor with a two-handed

downward chop on the back of his head. As the guard

lay dazed on the floor, moaning, Kirk picked up the

disruptor, which had fallen from the man's hand, set

it to stun, and shot the guard with it.

Now I'll have some time to look around.

He dragged the unconscious Klingon through the

doorway he had been guarding and dumped him in the

center of the room beyond. He straightened up and

looked around, instantly recognizing what the room

was. Beyond a doubt, Kirk thought, this was a fire

control center.

On Klingon ships, as on Starfleet ships, the firing of

weapons was normally controlled from the bridge.

Klingon ships, however, traditionally had at least one

auxiliary room from which the main ship's weapons

could be controlled; this was intended for backup, in

case the bridge became inoperative during an attackm

or before a Klingon-initiated attack. The standard

layout of Klingon ships of various types, including

such details as fire control centers, was well known

from careful study of captured enemy ships, and Kirk

134

was thus as familiar with the details of their design and

construction and operation as any other Starfleet com-

mander-perhaps almost as familiar as a Klingon com-

mander. He was quite sure about this room.

Of course, he reminded himself, Morith had told

him that the fleet was made up of old ships, leftovers

from the violent past. The old fire control centers

would therefore also still be part of the ships. But if

this room was here only because it was a leftover, then

why bother guarding it? And why were all the consoles

so clean and dust-free, and why were the displays all

active; in other words, why was this room being main-

tained, being kept in a ready condition?

And there was more. There was a monitor set into

the console in front of him. Kirk stepped over to the

console and fiddled with the controls. He found the

one that changed the view on the monitor, and after

experimenting, he turned to a setting that gave him a

view of a launch bay filled with strike craft. These

were the Klingon landing vehicles, used for quick and

deadly assaults on enemy ground targets. What, he

asked himself, are these doing here? Since that was

an unanswerable question, he decided to press on.

At the far end of the room was another door. Now,

that's unusual, Kirk thought, intrigued. An inner room

was not standard in the normal fire control center of a

Klingon ship. Sparing time only for a brief examina-

tion of the fire control consoles, he passed on to the

next room.

This was much smaller than the fire control room,

and it held only one machine--a curious contraption,

completely unknown to Kirk. The console was cov-

ered with buttons and dials, but everything was labeled

in Klingonese. While Kirk could understand spoken

Klingonese slightly, his reading knowledge of it was

135

rudimentary. Nonetheless, he did recognize on one

button the symbol HoS, for "power."

Kirk hesitated for only a moment and then pressed

the button. He was rewarded by a hum of energy and

a faint vibration in the machine. Lights of various

colors appeared on the console, blinking for a while,

then settling into a steady glow.

So what do I do next? Tentatively, he pressed an-

other button.

Suddenly the room was bathed in brilliant light. Kirk

looked up in amazement to see an Organian hovering

in the air in the middle of the room, just beyond the

machine Kirk had been fiddling with.

Kirk felt an instant of dread and shame, akin to that

a small boy might feel when caught at mischief by an

adult. At the same time, he was grateful for the ma-

chine, providing a barricade, inadequate though it

would be if the OrganJan did indeed wish to punish

him. But time passed and the OrganJan did and said

nothing; it hung motionless before him.

At last Kirk decided that one of them had to open

the conversation. He leaned forward and said,

"You're--"

"You're--" the OrganJan interrupted, his voice

calm, cool, unemotional, echoing from the walls.

"--probably wondering--"

"--probably wondering--" the Organian said, re-

peating Kirk's words a fraction of a second after him.

"--what I'm doing here," Kirk finished, with the

OrganJan repeating his words almost as soon as he

said them. "Well, well," Kirk said. The Organian said,

"Well, well."

Kirk pressed the power button again on the console.

The hum of energy disappeared and the glowing lights

went out. And the Organian vanished.

136

"Kirk!"

For an instant, Kirk almost imagined the angry cry

had come from the OrganJan after all, but it was

Morith, standing in the doorway and shaking with

rage. Looming behind him were two more enormous,

uniformed Klingons. "You are not supposed to be

here!" Morith shouted at Kirk.

"And the OrganJan was supposed to be real," Kirk

replied, angry himself and not trying to hide it. "Not

a fake, a simulation. Just what are you up to, Morith?"

With a great effort at self-control, Morith said more

quietly, "We can't talk about it here." He gestured

with his head at the two uniformed men. They glared

at Kirk, then turned away and picked up the guard

Kirk had earlier stunned. Carrying him, they went out

into the hallway and left, taking time for one last surly,

warning look at Kirk. Good esprit de corps, anyway,

Kirk thought.

"Follow me," Morith said, and it seemed to Kirk

that Morith's attitude was scarcely less hostile and

dangerous than that of the two guards he had brought

with him. Wordlessly, Morith led the way through the

ship to his office next to the bridge.

The door slid shut behind them, and Morith seated

himself behind his desk, gesturing Kirk toward one of

the chairs in front of the desk. "I apologize for my

anger, Jim," Morith said abruptly. "The area you

were in is . , . sensitive. We keep it under constant

surveillance. That's how we knew someone was in

there--that and the sudden power drain."

Kirk nodded. "Must use a lot of power. Maintaining

a fake OrganJan, 1 mean." He said no more and sat

staring at Morith, waiting patiently for an explanation.

The Klingon had the grace to look embarrassed. "A

subterfuge," he said at last. "And perhaps an unwise

137

one." He looked away from Kirk and thought for a

few seconds before continuing. "We are worried that,

despite the evidence of history, your people may not

receive us peacefully. We also know from history that

the humans and the Klingons of your day were very

quick to open fire On an enemy who crossed their

frontier--especially so formidable a fleet as this one."

"I've told you that the Federation's ships don't

shoot first. They ask questions first."

Morith nodded. "Yes, you've told us that. But how

can we take the chance? What if they do shoot first,

this time? We'll have to defend ourselves, won't we?

Well, I'm trying to prevent such a situation, you see. I

thought that the presence of an OrganJan on our ships,

traveling with our fleet, combined with your voice,

would prevent a tragic mishap."

"Galactic peace through lies and deception, in other

words."

Morith spread his hands. "With so much at stake,

how can we take chances?" He waited for Kirk to

answer, but when Kirk said nothing, Morith contin-

ued. "I apologize again for my anger, Jim. You must

understand how upset I was when I saw you on the

monitor. Did I tell you that we have that area under

surveillance at all times--and all other restricted ar-

eas, as well?"

"I believe you mentioned it, yes."

"Jim, we simply can't continue on this basis. I mean

that we have to know that you will abide by our

security regulations and not keep making attempts to

get into restricted parts of the ship. I must have your

promise on that."

Kirk gave his word.

"Fine!" Morith said heartily, standing up and hold-

ing out his hand. "Trust, after all, has been normal

138

between humans and Klingons for the last hundred

years."

Kirk shook Morith's hand, smiled, and strode out.

But he was far from ready to give Morith his complete

trust again.

"It doesn't make any sense, damn it," Kirk told

Kalrind later. "None of it does. I'm certain Morith's

up to something."

"Oh, Jim, come now--"

"Don't try to humor me," he snapped at her.

"What about those uniformed guards? You've seen

what they're like, too. Is that how New Klingons are

supposed to behave?"

"No," she admitted. "They're a lot like recordings

I've seen of Old Kiingons. But there are some of them

around in the Empire still, you know. It's only been a

hundred years since my people got control. A lot of

the others are still skulking around. Probably even

dreaming of grabbing power again."

"Which implies that Morith is in contact with them

and has brought a bunch of them onto this ship, in

spite of what he said to me about Klanth and his

crew."

Kalrind looked startled at this suggestion. "Why

that--that would be terrible. Subversive!"

"Also, there's the 'OrganJan' and his planned use

of it. Not very consistent with New Klingon idealism,

is it?"

Kalrind shook her head and refused to meet Kirk's

eyes.

"And it's also inconsistent with Morith's insistence

that we adhere scrupulously to what's known from

history about the Tholian Incident. He's been planning

to use that Organian to change Federation minds,

139

instead of relying on what history says actually hap-

pened."

"When you put it that way," Kalrind said reluc-

tantly, "it does all seem very suspicious. So what are

you going to do about it?"

Kirk grimaced. "I don't know. I don't know that

there is anything I can do. But I'm certainly going to

keep a close eye on that man, and I'm not going to

believe whatever he tells me."

Kalrind touched his arm hesitantly. "At least you're

not condemning all of us--all Klingons. Maybe Morith

is up to something, as you said. If so, you know it's

only him."

Kirk smiled at her. "Oh, I know that. I know I can

trust you. There is that, anyway." But Morith is the

one in charge of this fleet. He kept that thought to

himself, not wanting to upset Kalrind more than he

already had.

140

Chapter Thirteen

THE NORMAL FLOW of announcements and orders in

Klingonese aboard Alliance was suddenly interrupted

by one in English. "Captain Kirk, to the bridge!"

Kirk looked at the speaker in shock, suffering from

a sudden sense of dislocation. Then he shook his head,

laughed at himself, and headed for the bridge.

Morith was there already, sitting on the dais in the

command chair, running his fleet. Kalrind was also

there, standing beside Morith and leaning over to

confer with him. They both looked up when Kirk

entered "Ah, Jim," Morith said. "Look." He pointed

at the forward screen.

The starfield was motionless, indicating that Alli-

ance was not moving. Scattered across the field were

blinking lights, and as Kirk watched, more such lights

appeared. He looked at Morith for an explanation. The

Klingon wore a worried frown, which he managed to

smooth out when he noticed Kirk looking at him.

"Federation ships," he said. "Each blinking light is a

Starfleet warship. Exactly as predicted by the past,

Starfleet has sent ships to stop us. But I must admit I

. . didn't realize from what I'd read that it would be

so large and powerful."

141

Kirk watched the Federation fleet building still fur-

ther and was overcome by delight and a fierce desire

to be on his own bridge once again. "Where are we?"

he asked, keeping his voice as casual as he could. He

was trembling with excitement and having trouble

keeping it from showing.

"Near Tholia, just as history records. They ap-

proached with shields up, Jim!" He spoke angrily.

"Of course they did, Morith. A huge K!ingon fleet,

great numbers of warships, has just entered Federation

space. The fleet assembled to meet the enemy would

of course approach with shields raised."

Morith grumbled, "This is not a good start to the

Great Peace! Naturally, we have ours up as well, just

in case your friends start firing at us."

"They won't fire first," Kirk said angrily.

Morith turned to him. "This is obviously a violent

age. I can't afford to take any chances. I'm responsible

for this fleet, all of this equipment. All of these people,

too. It's a heavy responsibility. You understand all of

that, Jim, surely?"

Kirk forced a smile. "Of course."

One of the crewmen at a console below the dais said

something.

"Ah!" Morith said. "An attempt at communica-

tion!" He issued an order in sharp, guttural K!in-

gonese, and the image on the large forward screen

rippled and changed and gave way to an image of Fleet

Admiral De La Jolla sitting in a standard Starfleet

ship's command chair.

De La Jolla jumped to his feet. "Jim Kirk! So those

bastards did kidnap you!" He was an overweight,

aging man, and his jowls shook with rage.

Kirk held up his hands. "No, no, Fed. Calm down.

The situation's not what you're thinking." They

142

shouM have put someone calmer in command of that

fleet.

"We'll get you off there!" De La Jolla raged on. "If

we have to---!" He stopped and fell back into his chair,

his face purple. He had stopped talking only because

his anger made him unable to say more.

Kirk tried to think of something to defuse his vola-

tile colleague, but before he could come up with

something, De La Jolla recovered enough to issue a

low command to someone off screen. He then turned

back to Kirk and shook his finger at him. "Now you

just listen to this, young man. I've got someone here

who will talk sense into you."

"Young man," Kirk thought. I suppose that's why I

like old Federico he can be insufferable at times, and

I've never been sure he's all that competent, but he's

always called me "young man."

The screen rippled and changed again, and this time

when the image re-formed it showed Spock sitting in

the command chair of the USS Enterprise, with Leon-

ard McCoy standing beside him, hands behind his

back.

"Spock! Bones!" Kirk had stepped forward as if

about to try to jump through the screen to his ship.

McCoy stared at him with open mouth and said

nothing. Spock raised one eyebrow and said, "Cap-

tain. I'm pleased to see you looking so well, even

though 1 must admit to some surprise--"

"Spock, for God's sake!" McCoy burst out. "Jim!

This is amazing! How did you--?"

"Later," Kirk said, laughing with delight. "You

don't know how happy I am to see both of you. I've

got a lot to tell you."

"We all have a lot to say to each other." It was

Morith, looking at the two humans with analytical

143

interest. "May I suggest a conference in an hour, after

we've all had a chance to discuss matters among

ourselves?"

"If you wish," Spock said. "However, I do have

many questions to ask Captain Kirk. This is quite

apart from any discussion you and my fleet com-

mander may have with each other."

"All of that can come later," Morith said firmly.

"We will stay just where we are, taking no action, and

in one hour we will contact you again for further

discussions. At that time, Captain Kirk will have a

great deal to say to you." He said something in Klin-

gonese, and the forward screen returned to its starfield

display.

Kirk turned on Morith with uncontained anger.

"Why did you interfere? Do you know how long it's

been since I've seen my friends? How long I was

convinced that I'd never see them again? Why didn't

you let us talk to each other?"

"Please come to my office, Jim." Morith rose from

his seat and issued an order. Another Klingon stepped

up on the dais and took Morith's place in the command

chair. He and Morith exchanged a few words in low

tones, and then Morith led the way from the bridge.

His small office was crowded. Kalrind was there, as

were quite a few people Kirk didn't recognize. It was

Morith, though, who did the talking; the rest lis-

tened.

"Jim," he said in a soothing voice, a calm and even

voice--the voice of a man guided by reason--"Jim, I

understand how upset you must be. But I did have a

good reason for not letting you speak with your

friends. Please try to stay calm until I've finished

explaining to you."

144

Kirk bit back the angry remark he had been prepar-

ing and gestured for Morith to continue.

"Thank you, Jim. You see, what has been bedevil-

ing me is the possibility that we may somehow alter

history, distort it. On the one hand, one can say that

whatever we do or say right now, during this confron-

tation with the Starfleet ships, will automatically fol-

low the historical record, simply because that is the

record of what did happen. On the other hand, there

are so many details not even recorded at all, since

historical records are always selective and not all

inclusive, and if we do something different, in one of

those small details, might we not be creating a new,

parallel universe, one in which the future is not the

future we know, what we New Klingons think of as

the present?"

"That's an old discussion," Kirk said, still angry,

"an old dilemma. No one has yet come up with the

answer."

"True enough. But at the moment, the question is

of more than theoretical interest, isn't it?"

Kirk was beginning to find the Klingon's calmness

and his calculatedly soothing voice maddening. "Well,

then? What's your solution?"

Morith shook his head. "I don't really have one. I

do, however, have a strong determinat ion that I won't

allow anything to happen that could alter the past.

This incident that we're now involved in simply must

work, must resolve itself properly! We are working on

creating our present in the proper form, Jim. I was

afraid you might say the wrong thing if I let you talk

on, and that's why I interrupted you."

"But, damn it, how can I say the wrong thing?"

Kirk exploded. "If I say it, it's automatically right. If

not, we don't know, anyway. Anything else is a c[rcu-

145

lar argument. Or are you planning to provide me with

a script?"

He had meant that sarcastically, but Morith replied,

"We did consider that. After all, your exact words

aren't part of the historical record, but the general

sense of what you said is. Even some of the phrases

have been preserved. However, I decided that you

might sound artificial to your comrades. Anyway,

they'll find it hard enough to believe that a Klingon

fleet has come on a peaceful mission; there's no reason

to make it even harder for them to believe you by

making them suspect that you've been drugged or

coerced into saying what you will say."

"There you are, then. Problem's solved. Let's go

back to the bridge and reestablish communications."

"But I also feel," Morith plowed on, "that you

ought to know the outline of what you did say, so that

you won't step beyond the boundaries. In particular,

you said only that we had come to establish peace and

that we are a new breed of Klingons now struggling

for control of the Empire. You didn't tell them any-

thing about time travel until you reached Earth. And I

can see why, now. The time travel aspect would have

destroyed any chance of the Starfleet commanders on

the scene believing you."

Kirk hesitated and then said reluctantly, "You have

a point. So maybe you were right to break commu-

nications when you did. All right, then. Anything

else?"

Morith shook his head. "For the rest, we'll just have

to rely on your saying the right thing because history

says you did."

Kirk snorted. "Let's not get into that again,

please." He hesitated a moment before adding, "His-

146

tory must have told you that my ship would be with

the fleet. Why didn't you forewarn me?"

Morith spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"The same problem again, Jim. We wanted you to

react naturally, spontaneously. We want you to react

that way to everything that happens."

Kirk chose to let the matter drop, and the group

filed out of Morith's office and back toward the bridge.

What else does he know that he's not telling me? Kirk

wondered. Various things had already undermined his

trust in Morith. This conversation had served only to

undermine that trust still further.

The conundrum posed by time travel was a genuine

one, though, Kirk knew. He had chosen to let Edith

Keeler die because of it because, had she lived, she

would have destroyed his world.

He understood Morith's fear all too well.

A meeting was under way on the Starfleet ships at

the same time.

It was being held onboard USS Nonsuch, the hastily

designated flagship of the Federation fleet assembled

to halt the Klingon incursion, Fleet Admiral De La

Jolla commanding. Assembled on the flagship via

transporter were various high-ranking Starfleet offi-

cers from the ships of the fleet, and among them were

Spock and Scott of Enterprise. Both men were out-

ranked by the majority of the others present, but De

La Jolla had included them as a courtesy, knowing

of their personal stake in any decisions made regarding

Captain Kirk. In fact, it was Spock who had suggested

that the meeting be held--and because of their per-

sonal involvement with Kirk, De La Jolla hoped

they could provide useful additional information or

147

impressions regarding the hyperspace contact with the

captain.

That Admiral De La Jolla could entertain such a

hope showed that, despite his long Starfleet career, he

had managed to avoid dealing with both Vulcans and

temperamental Scotsmen.

"Well, Mr. Spock," De La Jolla asked. "Is he under

duress, or not?"

"Inadequate information, Admiral," Spock said

with a calm that immediately enraged the tempera-

mental admiral. Scott, who had been scowling from

the beginning of the meeting, exploded at De La Jolla's

question. "Duress?" he shouted. "O' course the puir

mon's under duress! He's held by th' cursed Klingons!

We need t' talk aboot rescue, not analysis.t"

De La Jolla stared at him, dumfounded. No one had

yelled at him in years--not since he had become

superior in rank to everyone he normally dealt with,

in fact. Finally he found his voice and said, "Mr.

Scott! You forget yourself!"

Scott drew in a deep breath in preparation for an-

other outburst, and Spock, showing rare insight into

human interactions, stepped in quickly to prevent his

comrade from destroying his career. "Mr. Scott is

understandably overwrought, Admiral, at the threat

both to the Federation and to Captain Kirk. When he

disappeared while aboard a Klingon vessel, we all

naturally assumed that he had been kidnapped by the

Klingons. That fear seems to have been justified."

"Seems t' hae been?" It was Scott, exploding

again.

"Seems to have been," Spock repeated firmly.

"That voice over hyperspace radio may have been a

computer artifact, a simulacrum. We need to know

148

more before we draw any conclusions or plan any

actions."

De La Jolla said sarcastically, "That's all very well,

Mr. Spock, but we have to do something!"

"Aye," Scott added, clearly surprised at being able

to agree with De La Jolla.

"May I remind you that we have done something,"

Spock said. "We changed codes and dispositions

throughout Starfleet precisely in case the captain was

in enemy hands. And now we have something else to

do an hour has passed; it's time to resume contact

with the Klingon fleet. I have some suggestions as to

how you should proceed, Admiral, while speaking to

the Klingon commander."

De La Jolla paused, and struggled to regain control

of his temper. "Since you think you know what we

should do, Spock--and because you know Captain

Kirk better than any of us--I'm designating you the

spokesman for the fleet. I'll be watching you, Spock.

I want to see what you come up with."

On their way to the Nonsuch transporter room,

Scott murmured, "How did a man with so little self-

control rise so high?"

Spock glanced at him in momentary surprise before

his face smoothed out again into its normal expres-

sionlessness. "Theories abound, Mr. Scott, but I have

inadequate data and refuse to speculate."

Scott snorted. "Well, tell me this, then. Why did

you suggest that meeting? Nothing was accom-

plished."

"On the contrary, Mr. Scott, something very impor-

tmt was accomplished. I had hoped only to be a

calming influence. To be appointed spokesman was

more than I had thought possible. If Admiral De La

Jolla were to speak for the fleet, I would have little

149

hope of the captain escaping with his life. This way, I

have at least a chance of bringing him back."

"Ah! So there is slyness and calculation behind that

calm surface, eh?"

Spock pondered that as they walked in silence,

approaching the door to the transporter room. They

entered, still in silence, and climbed onto the trans-

porter platform. Just as the first tinglings of the field

were building up, Spock said, "Thank you for the

compliment, Mr. Scott."

As soon as they had materialized on the transporter

platform on Enterprise, Spock headed for the bridge

and Scott for the Engineering Section.

Spock strode down the hallway and into a turbo

elevator.

"Bridge."

His unemotional voice, as always, was a perfect

mask, beneath which lay fear for his friend and com-

mander, a perfectly logical fear that left no room for

baseless optimism.

Elliot Tindall had no room for baseless optimism

either. He was fighting a sea of hormones. His medi-

cation was wearing off; he needed no medical scan to

tell him that. He had been under pressure from the

moment he stepped aboard Enterprise. With each day,

his mood worsened, and he swallowed his pills with a

growing feeling of desperation.

For it was clear that the pills had ceased to have any

effect.

Leonard McCoy was working grimly, even sullenly,

on a pile of paperwork, trying to grind through it and

get it off his desk, when Elliot burst in on him. "Dr. McCoy?" he said harshly.

McCoy looked up from the form displayed on his

150

monitor. "I told Commander Chapel I was not to be

disturbed," the doctor said politely.

"My name is Elliot Tindall," the newcomer hur-

riedly replied. "We haven't met--"

"I've heard of you," McCoy drawled. He stood up

slowly and extended his hand. Had Elliot known it,

this affectation of lazy, stereotypically Southern man-

nerisms on McCoy's part was a danger sign, a hint at

the anger the doctor was hiding.

"Oh, yes." Elliott shook the proffered hand briefly.

"I wonder if you could let me have some sort of

sedative."

McCoy looked at him sharply. "A sedative?" Sur-

prise and professional interest combined to chase

away his anger at being interrupted. "Just what sort

of problems are you having, young man?"

Elliot hesitated. Beneath his seemingly calm surface

lay an overwhelming anger for a moment, Elliot

wanted to kill this man before him, this man with his

penetrating looks, and simply take what he wanted.

But the reasons for not doing so were sufficiently

obvious to him--not the least being his ignorance

about where drugs were kept down here--that he

mastered his almost out-of-control emotions, and said,

"Jumpiness. Short temper. With that fleet out there,

this being my first deep-space assignment--I just need

something to calm me down, to keep myself under

better control."

McCoy snorted and seemed to lose interest. "You

and everyone else. It's the long hours and the lack of

sleep that do it. And the lack of exercise and the

irregular, snatched meals. I'll call up Spock and order

that Vulcan taskmaster to give you more time off and

put you on a more regular schedule. That should do

151

the trick--and much more safely than some chemicals.

The body's ability to heal itself..."

Elliot smiled and nodded, sweated and clenched his

fists, hidden from view by McCoy's desk. He would

get nothing from this old idiot.

"Yes, I see, Doctor," he said when McCoy at last

ran out of steam. "I'm sure you're right. I'll follow

your suggestions. Thank you for your advice. Please

don't disturb Mr. Spock, though. He's very busy and

under considerable pressure himself. I'll speak to him

when the time seems right."

"Hmph," McCoy said. "The time's never right for

that overgrown leprechaun to take normal human frail-

ties into account. But I'll honor your wishes, nonethe-

less, Mr. Tindall. Now get out of here and let me get

back to work."

Normal human frailties/ Elliott thought bitterly,

hopelessly as he left the office. Oh, Doctor, you can't

imagine how deep they go/

And now, how was he to manage? How could he

hold on?

After Elliot had left, McCoy struggled with his con-

science, lost, and called Spock on the bridge.

"Spock here."

The calm voice, as always, both grated on McCoy

and made him feel indefinably inferior. He almost

changed his mind and broke the connection, but then

he thought better of it. "Listen, Spock, I'm of two

minds about this. My respect for a patient's confiden-

tiality is at war with my duty to his health."

"Hello, Doctor."

"Oh, yeah. Hello. Don't change the subject." He

told Spock briefly about Elliot's visit and request. "He

asked me not to bother you, but I've decided to,

152

anyway. Stop driving the man so hard, Spock. He's

not a Vulcan, you know. He's only human."

"No, Doctor, he's certainly not a Vulcan," Spock

agreed. "How would you characterize his mental

state?"

"Based on my extensive observation of him, you

mean?" McCoy asked with heavy sarcasm. "Yes, based on that."

"On the edge," McCoy said reluctantly. "Just

barely holding it in check."

"Holding what in check, Doctor?"

"I don't know, Spock! My extensive observations

only lasted for a few minutes, during which I did most

of the talking. He's falling apart, though. I could tell

that."

"Was that not sufficient grounds for you to order

him relieved from duty, Doctor? Grounds enough, at

least, for you to contact me?"

"Well, I am contacting you, damn it! Anyway, I

can't be bothered with that until after this crisis is

over. It's not as if the man is dangerous, you know.

He's very English. If he goes over the edge, the worst

outward sign will probably be that his grammar will

deteriorate."

"Thank you for that very professional advice, Doc-

tor," Spock said, frowning. He broke the connec-

tion.

"Mr. Spock?"

He swiveled his chair around to find himself facing

a worried-looking Ginny Crandall, who had turned

away from her console, seeking his attention. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Is there something the matter with Ell--Mr. Tin-

dall?" Ginny asked.

153

"It is, quite possibly, nothing, Lieutenant," Spock

said.

"I hope so," Ginny said.

"As do I," Spock said, meeting her eyes. He swiv-

eled back to face the forward viewscreen. "Please

maintain a close watch on your monitor, Lieutenant.

We are in the midst of a very delicate situation."

Chapter Fourteen

154

"GREETINGS TO the entire United Federation of Plan-

ets, and in particular to the commanders and crews of

the valiant Starfleet ships sent to meet us. I am Joh

Morith, commander of this fleet."

Listening to Morith's opening message, Kirk tried

to imagine De La Jolla's reaction. He hoped the ad-

miral wouldn't lose his temper to such a degree that

he ordered his fleet to open fire on the Klingons. He

had heard some astonishing stories in the past about

the older man's actions while he was still commanding

a starship.

But to his surprise and relief, it was Spock's face,

and not that of the fleet admiral, that filled the screen

at the front of Alliance's bridge.

Morith finally finished and gestured for Kirk to come

forward and speak.

"Hello, Spock," Kirk said.

A slight bow from the neck. "Captain."

"Spock, what I'm about to tell you will be hard to

believe, but it's vital that you take my word. I've seen

it at first hand. These people I'm with are not the

Klingons you know. They call themselves the New

Klingons..."

155

Throughout Kirk's narrative, Spock's face gave

nothing away. When Kirk had finished, Spock said,

"One moment, please, Captain." The screen went

blank.

"Kirk!" Morith said. "What's going on? Are they

going to attack us?"

"No! Just stay calm, Morith." He felt less sure of

himself than he tried to appear. What was Spock up

to?

The image on the screen re-formed. This time, the

field of view was larger, and Leonard McCoy could be

seen standing next to Spock's command chair and

looking angry. Spock said, "As I'm sure you'll under-

stand, Captain, before we can consider your remarka-

ble story, we must be assured that you are truly

speaking your own mind. Voice analysis indicates that

you are not being coerced to say what you have just

said; however, such analysis cannot prove that you

have not been drugged. Dr. McCoy insists that he

must have medical data on your current physical con-

dition before he can make a decision in that regard.

The simplest solution would be for us to beam you

back onboard Enterprise."

Kirk's heart leapt at the thought to be back on his

ship, in his command chair. Then he looked at Morith,

and the Klingon was scowling and shaking his head.

"Mr. Spock, what assurances do we have that your

fleet will not then fire upon us? We cannot begin our

peaceful relations on a basis of mistrust," Morith said.

"Believe what Captain Kirk is telling you."

"Sir," Spock replied, "it is more important to find

out if Captain Kirk truly believes what he is saying to

us. Without that, we cannot proceed."

"Then here!" Morith snapped out an order in Klin-

gonese. "I have ordered all our shields lowered. What

more can I do to prove our intentions are peaceful?"

156

Kirk saw surprise on the faces of all his bridge crew.

All save Spock, who merley raised an eyebrow.

"Most impressive--we will certainly take this into

account in our discussions," the Vulcan said. He

leaned sideways to listen to McCoy for a moment, then

straightened and said to the screen, "Dr. McCoy

wishes me to say, however, that he still insists on

running a medical scan on the Captain."

"That wasn't all I said, Spock!" McCoy cut in.

Spock raised his hand to silence the doctor. "We

are prepared to beam the Captain aboard at any time."

Morith said, "I'll be in contact shortly." He hit a

button on the arm of his command chair and the screen

went blank. "What do they want, Kirk? I've laid

myself open to attack, and even that doesn't satisfy

them!"

"They told you what they want," Kirk reminded

him. "I think they want to believe me, but they need

something definite to allay their suspicions. And don't

forget that they must give very good reasons for their

actions to Starfleet Command--especially if those ac-

tions include inviting a Kilngun fleet to Earth." Kirk

smiled. "You have to give them something they can

use with both Starfleet Command and the Federation

Council."

"I see, I see..." Morith stared thoughtfully at the

blank screen. "Yes, Jim, you're right those are rami-

fications I hadn't been aware of. The Empire is very

different--even now." He pondered the problem for a

while, then said, "Frankly, though, I still don't know

how far I can trust them. I still want you onboard to

discourage an attack. I have a compromise suggestion

for them."

He thumbed a button his chair arm and the screen

lit up again, showing Spock and McCoy still in discus-

157

sion on the bridge of the Enterprise. Spock looked up

in polite interest at a signal from Uhura. "Yes, Lord

Morith?"

Morith spoke without any of the formalities or ex-

cessive politeness he had adopted at the beginning. "I

am prepared to transmit a complete medical scan of

Captain Kirk to your ship's computer. Our doctors are

surely as competent at performing such a scan as

yours are. I can offer no more."

This time it was Spock who said he would be in

touch again soon, and contact was broken from his

end. As the Enterprise bridge faded away, Kirk could

see McCoy gesticulating angrily and speaking rapidly.

However, he could hear nothing.

Long, tense minutes followed on the Klingon ship.

No one spoke. Finally Spock made contact again.

McCoy was no longer in view. "Dr. McCoy will agree

to your suggestion only if he can perform the scan

personally. He has gone to the transporter room and

has ordered his portable scanner sent there He is

prepared to beam over as soon as you give your

permission."

Morith looked at Kirk with an exasperated expres-

sion. Kirk shrugged and raised both hands, palms up.

"All right, then," Morith said. "Whenever you're

ready, you may transport your doctor over. But tell

him to leave his equipment behind. We'll provide the

medical scanner. We want him to use equipment we

know we can trust."

McCoy stepped off the transporter platform and

looked around with a skeptical air. "So this is what a

new Klingon warship looks like from the inside. I'm

not impressed."

Kirk shook his head, smiling. "What would it take

to impress you, Bones?"

158

"You showing up healthy and normal on my own

scanning equipment," McCoy said bluntly. "How are

you, Jim?"

"All things considered, remarkably well, Doctor."

"All things?" McCoy came up close to Kirk, staring

intently into his face. "Been wearing your glasses?"

Kirk gestured impatiently. "No, damn you. Of

course not. They're still back on Enterprise. And

before you ask, yes, it has been giving me headaches."

McCoy grinned. "Good. Now I know it's you and

not some sort of Klingon impersonator."

Kirk shook his head in exasperation but couldn't

help grinning. "Bones, you can't imagine how good it

is to see you."

"Oh, yes, I can, Jim," McCoy said soberly.

Kirk turned away, hiding the rush of emotion Mc-

Coy's words had engendered. "We'll have to use the

ship's Sickbay. It's a lot smaller than the one you're

used to on Enterprise. Come on. I'll lead the way."

McCoy passed the scanner over Kirk, grumbling to

himself. "Awful equipment. Primitive. How do they

take care of their own? At least it's labeled in English

as well as Klingonese. Electrolytes're low. That's

funny." He tapped the scanner a couple of times with

his forefinger. "Unreliable junk. Says here you're re-

verting to adolescence, Jim boy. What've you been up

to?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Bones,"

Kirk said uncomfortably. "Try me."

"Maybe when all of this is over. Well? Are you

satisfied that I'm really James Kirk and in my right

mind?"

"Oh, you're James Kirk, all right," McCoy

159

drawled. "As for being in your right mind, I've never

been too sure of that. But you're your own man right

now, I'd testify to that."

"Wonderful?" Kirk hopped down from the examin-

ing table and began pulling on his shirt again without

waiting for McCoy's permission. "That's exactly what

I want you to do."

"Whoa, there. Hold on a minute. I just happen to

have brought something of my own with me, in spite

of what your heavy-browed friend said." McCoy

reached under his uniform shirt and brought out a

hypospray.

"Now what?"

"It's those pesky electrolytes. Been having some

trouble with your thinking processes?" He looked

intently at Jim. "Loss of concentration, maybe even

some dizzy spells?"

"Now that you mention it, how did you know

that--?"

"Shut up and hold still." So saying, McCoy applied

the hypospray to Kirk's upper arm. "That should

help."

"It does already," Kirk admitted. "Hurt, though.

You're losing your touch, Bones."

"Hmph." McCoy rubbed the spot where he had

applied the hypospray. "Feel anything?" "Smarts like the devil!"

"Uh-huh." McCoy nodded. "As the old country

doctor I was apprenticed to used to say--"

Kirk interrupted triumphantly. "Who never existed.

You went to a medical school, like everyone else.

Really, Bones, how long has it been since there were

any old country doctors on Earth, or since anyone

apprenticed for his medical training?"

"Too long," McCoy snapped back. "Okay, okay.

160

You're fine. Healthy as the proverbial horse--although

that's a strange proverb, considering some of the

horses I've known."

"Careful, Bones. I'm still your commanding offi-

cer."

"Nope. You're a POW. So, what now?"

"Now you go back to Enterprise and tell everyone

that I'm in my right mind and should be believed."

McCoy nodded slowly. "Is that you want me to

do?"

Kirk nodded.

"Okay. Now, about my fee..."

Kirk gripped McCoy's elbow and began steering him

toward the door. "As Shakespeare said, 'He is well

paid that is well satisfied.'"

"You're assuming I'm well satisfied."

Kalrind chose that moment to enter Sickbay. She

looked at McCoy anxiously. "You're the human doc-

tor. Is Jim all right?"

McCoy looked back and forth between the two of

them, his eyes narrowed analytically. "Hmm. And

you are?"

"Kalrind, Doctor. A friend of Jim's," she added

quickly.

"Y-e-e-s," McCoy said slowly. "He has a talent for

making friends. I think he's all right. I have to take the

data back with me and analyze it before I can say for

sure." He turned to Kirk. "How about this one, Jim

'A man at sixteen may be a boy at sixty.'"

Kirk groaned in theatrical despair and steered Mc-

Coy toward the door again. "I'il be back as soon as I

get rid of this burr under my saddle," he called to

Kalrind, who looked puzzled, and exited with McCoy

still firmly under control.

When they reached the transporter room, Kirk said,

"Prejudices left over from your ancestors, Bones?"

161

But McCoy refused to be provoked. "Just don't

worry about the mote in my eye, Jim. If you need

help, just use my name."

He stepped onto the platform, carrying the wafer

recordings of his scan of Kirk, and signaled to the

technician running the transporter.

"Mote in my eye, Jim boy," he repeated, and disp-

peared in a column of twinkling light.

Kirk shrugged his shoulders in puzzlement and left

the transporter room.

"Well, Doctor?"

McCoy turned at the familiar voice, calm and delib-

erate as always. For all his goading of the Vulcan over

the years, McCoy still has no idea whether Spock

really felt no emotion or simply did a superb job of

disguising any he did feel. "Here it is." He gestured

at the pile of computer printout on the desk before

him.

"Paper, Doctor?"

"Now, don't start, Spock! You know I like some-

thing I can pick up and hold. And fold and rub between

my fingers and scribble on."

"As you have on this, I see. What do you wish me

to do with this stack of paper?"

"Look at it. Read it. Examine it. Draw conclusions

from it."

One Vulcan eyebrow rose. "I was under the impres-

sion that such analysis was one of your duties, Doctor.

The commander of a starship does have other duties."

"Right now, Spock," McCoy said angrily, "your

main duty seems to be to stare at the Klingon fleet

commander and hope that he blinks first. Well, then,

I'll tell you what you'll find if you examine these

papers nothing."

162

"Thank you, Doctor." Spock turned to go.

"Wait! All right, all right. I was being deliberately

obscure, I admit it. Are you happy now?"

"Doctor, is there a point to all of this? Despite the

impression you may have received, I do have duties

other than trying to stare the Klingon commander

down."

"Oh, Spock, hold on! I'm trying to be open with

you. What I was getting at is that on the face of it, the

scanner recordings look okay. They seem to indicate

that Jim is just fine, perfectly healthy, what and who

he seems to be, speaking and acting his own mind."

"By 'seem to indicate,' I assume you mean that

they don't really indicate that?"

"Not that I can prove objectively," McCoy said

grudgingly. "I've analyzed the data pretty thoroughly.

It wasn't exactly that I saw anomalies in it. In fact,

everything was perfectly consistent. I'd say it was too

perfect, except I know how you'd react to that sort of

statement. Anyway, I didn't like it. It rang alarm bells

in my intuition. The more I looked at it, the deeper I

went into it, the more I felt that way. That's when I

got alarmed and called you."

To Spock, of course, instrument data were virtually

sacred. If the instruments were working properly and

properly calibrated, then their results should logically

be accepted before the inexact and questionable mea-

surements taken by human senses--and certainly be-

fore the suspicions of a human who had always been

suspicious of all instruments. "Doctor," he said care-

fully, "can you point out to me actually conflicting

readings? Your intuition is not reason enough for me

to take action."

McCoy jumped to his feet, trembling with anger.

"You listen to me, Spock. I know Jim Kirk! I've

163

known him both as a friend and as his doctor for many

years, and my intuitions about these readings are

reliable. Something bad is happening to that man.

You're his friend, too. That means you have a special

responsibility to him, in addition to your duty as

commander of this ship. You've got to listen to me and

forget about logic. You've got to do something. Jim's

life may be in danger over there."

"I hardly think so, Doctor. The Klingons have had

ample time already to injure the captain, if that is what

they wish to do." But inwardly, Spock was reconsid-

ering what McCoy had said. He had learned long ago,

from ample observation of James Kirk, not to dismiss

human intuition as valueless. Moreover, despite their

constant sniping at each other, he had a high opinion

of McCoy's competence.

And there was more. In the light of what Spock had

spent his time in San Francisco proving, McCoy's

suspicions carried considerable weight with him.

There was also the matter of his own impressions

during his conversations with Kirk and Morith. He

disliked having to trust intuition, but in this case he

had no other data to depend on. He had not been

satisfied with those conversations. He felt that com-

munication with Kirk had not been completely free

and open. He also felt that he could not trust Morith.

Even without what he had discovered during his

investigations on Starbase Seventeen and Earth, he

would have felt these misgivings.

McCoy fidgeted nervously. "Spock, I can practi-

cally hear the relays clicking in that computer you call

a brain," he said.

"Relays, Doctor?" Spock replied. "You've been

reading historical novels again." He stood. "I must

follow logic, doctor--or reason, if you prefer. Logic,

]64

reason, common sense all dictate that I should accept

Captain Kirk's apparent health and clarity of mind as

being precisely that. I shall proceed on t hat basis. All

that is required is that you enter your certification of

the captain's mental health in the records."

McCoy grinned and shook his head slowly without

saying a word.

Spock stared at him for a moment, then said, "I

shall humor you, Dr. McCoy. What do you require in

order to give me that certification?"

"Just what I asked for in the first place; no more

than that. I want to examine Jim here, with my own

equipment, in my own Sickbay. No Klingon machines,

and no Klingons hanging around."

"I doubt if Morith would agree to that."

"Then you don't agree to letting his ships pass. Not

without a fight, anyway."

Spock considered, not for the first time, how ready

humans were to engage in bloodshed in contradiction

to their frequent professions of a love of peace. None-

theless, no matter how offended he might be by Mc-

Coy's attitude, he had little choice but to bow before

the man's demands. "I shall relay your request to

Morith, but I consider it unlikely that he will accede."

McCoy smiled again.

"Was there anything else, Doctor?" Spock asked.

"No---yes, wait a minute." McCoy snapped his

fingers. "Tindall. He called again and asked for a

sedative. Spock, I thought you were going to take it

easier on that young man."

"Indeed." Spock was silent for a moment. Finally

he spoke. "If my suspicions are correct, no amount of

sedatives will help Mr. Tindall." He turned and left

Sickbay.

165

McCoy watched him go.

"Now what in hell is that supposed to mean?"

Elliot tossed and turned fitfully on his bunk. The

doctor's drugs wouldn't have done him any good any-

way, he realized. The real problem was that his own

medication seemed to have lost its strength during the

years, and the only way he could remedy that was to

replace his pills with new versions of the same thing--

stronger ones. Surely there had been advances since

he had been given his supply; surely there were now

more powerful and effective drugs available for those

in his position.

That meant there was only one place he could go for

help.

He drew a deep breath, held it, trying to force some

sort of calm into his nerves, to still the waves of

unreason and violence that had been coursing through

him at random intervals for hours now. At last, he felt

calm enough to head for his goal. He left his cabin,

and headed for the nearest turbo elevator.

It shouldn't take him long to get where he was going,

fortunately, since his destination was also in the star-

ship's primary hull. He could make it that far, he was

sure.

Then the turbo elevator opened, and he found him-

self face-to-face with Ginny Crandall.

"Elliot?" she said. "I thought I'd stop by and see

how you were--"

He shrank from her, his nerves suddenly a-jangle.

There was a shrill, piercing noise, like a high-speed

drill. His vision blurred, till he could scarcely make

out her face, let alone recognize it.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked anxiously. "Should

I call Medical?"

166

"That noise." Elliot groaned. "What is it?"

"Noise--oh, my communicator. It's been malfunc

tioning for days. I can't even hear it--too high-pitched

My roommate keeps complaining about it, but she's

Sezanian. You're the only human I know who can hea

it."

As Elliot staggered, she instinctively reached fo

him. He pushed her hands away frantically. "Don'

touch me !" he yelled. Ginny gasped and stepped back

This was all wrong, Elliot thought. He was iosinl

control again he could see the concern in Ginny',.

eyes.

Ginny stepped toward him. "Elliot," she begal

hesitantly. "You need help. Listen..."

"No!" he howled, shoving Ginny aside. She

slammed hard into the bulkhead, and sank to the floor

Elliot ran as fast as he could down one corridor

then another, trying to escape the noise that grated ir

his ears. At last he stopped to catch his breath.

Slowly, he recovered his senses and resumed th

journey toward his earlier goal.

167

Chapter Fifteen

KIRK WAS IN Alliance's gymnasium with Kalrind, still

working on rebuilding his strength. They were gripping

each other's exercise suit, laughing as each tried to

throw the other.

"Stop playing those stupid games !"

Kirk looked up to see Morith, visibly furious, stand-

ing in the doorway. "Kirk, your people are increasing

their demands !"

Morith calmed down enough to tell them of Spock's

latest demand that Kirk beam to Enterprise for another

medical scan.

"What harm could it do?" Kirk said in what he

hoped was a reasonable tone. "And it could do a lot

of good. Obviously, since nothing has happened for so

long, we're not making any real progress. One side

has to make a move. Starfleet is actually considering

escorting this enormous fleet to Earth, to the heart of

the Federation, but you've got to offer something in

return. All they're really asking for is assurance about

me and what I've told them."

"And then they'll make another new demand!"

Morith said. "When will it end, Kirk?" He raised his

168

hands unconsciously, his fingers opened and tense.

"When will it end?"

Kirk stepped back from him, suddenly on the alert

for an attack, amazed at the same time that he could

get such a feeling about Morith, of all people. "We're

not like that, Morith. You're going to have to trust my

judgment on that, just as you're asking us to trust

you." Inspiration struck him. "You know, if I could

go over and take Kalrind with me, that would really

make an impression. Their first meeting with a genuine

New Klingon! We could show them in a very concrete

way just who and what the New Kiingons really are.

That might be enough to seal the decision right then

and there."

"That's a wonderful idea!" Kalrind broke in. "I'd

love to visit a human ship!"

Morith glared at her. "Out of the question. I can't

expose you to that risk."

Kalrind drew herself up. Suddenly she was a martial

figure and not an academic one. "You have no right

to----"

"I am your commander!" Morith's voice cracked

across the gymnasium. "To you, here and now, I am

your Emperor!"

Kalrind shrank back and turned her face aside, not

meeting Morith's eyes. Kirk watched the interplay

with great interest. "You know that she wouldn't be

in any danger on a Starfleet ship," he said.

Morith stared at him silently, eyes narrowed, face

tight with anger. "No such trip by you is mentioned in

the historical accounts of the Tholian Incident."

"Interesting--but irrelevant. The fact that the his-

torical accounts do not mention that I beamed over to

Enterprise is not at all the same as their stating that I

did not beam over, is it? Do they say specifically that

I did not beam over?"

169

Morith stared at him silently again, his face expres-

sionless. Finally he said, "This discussion is at an

end," and turned and stalked from the gymnasium.

Elliot burst into the transporter room, startling the

technician at the controls. "Sir?" the man said uncer-

tainly, looking Elliot's civilian clothes up and down.

"Can I help you?"

"Beam me over," he snarled, feeling an unreason-

ing hostility toward the young technician. "Over where, sir?"

"The Klingon flagship!" Elliot bellowed. "Right

now!" He lurched toward the transporter platform.

"I'm afraid I can't do that without authorization

from the bridge, sir." The technician said hesitantly.

"You're Mr. Spock's new assistant, aren't you?"

Elliot nodded wordlessly.

"Would you like me to call the bridge and verify the

authorization, sir?" the technician asked. He reached

below the console and pressed a button.

Elliot stood still in the center of the room, directly

in front of the transporter platform, staring at the

technician and swaying from side to side. He hunched

his shoulders and moved toward the technician, growl-

ing deep in his throat, a low-pitched, rumbling sound.

"Fool!" he said. "Obey me!"

For a moment, the technician held his station behind

the transporter controls as Elliot advanced on him.

Finally, though, he broke and made for the door.

Elliot was there before him. He swung clumsily at

the technician, his hand open, the fingers curved like

claws, rather than closed into a fist. The technician

dodged.

Elliot was moving slowly and clumsily, his eyes

roaming the room. He tried to focus in on the techni-

17O

clan--all he could feel was an overpowering need for

his medication.

"Don't make me hurt you, sir," the technician said.

"Let me call the bridge, or Dr. McCoy--"

Elliot lunged again, this time much quicker. The

technician stepped expertly aside, and threw a quick

punch, connecting solidly with Elliot's cheekbone.

Elliot barely felt it, advancing with a snarl.

The young man dodged, stepping behind Elliot as

he moved past, then threw his left arm around Eiliot's

neck, locking the hold tight by grasping his left wrist

with his right hand. Elliot twisted and slipped out of

the hold. Now he could see the beginnings of fear in

the technician's eyes. His opponent jumped back fran-

tically, but Elliot pursued him, closed his hands

around the fellow's throat, and squeezed viciously.

The door to the transporter room swished open.

Men in the uniform of the Security Department

crowded into the room, phasers drawn. "Let him go, Tindall!" one said.

Elliot looked uncomprehendingly at him, still grip-

ping the neck of the transporter technician.

'III shoot!" the Security man shouted at him.

Elliot slowly loosened his grasp and let the uncon-

scious transporter technician slide to the floor.

"Aah," he said in a low, stretched-out whisper. He

turned from the unmoving technician and advanced on

the Security team.

"Stay there! Freeze, damn it!"

Elliot ignored their words and kept moving toward

them. Without a warning, without the merest hint, he

leaped forward.

Before they could shoot, he was among them, chop-

ping with rigid hands to right and left. They couldn't

shoot at him without hitting their comrades. They tried

171

to dodge, to use hand-to-hand combat against him, but

even when blows landed, Elliot was oblivious to them.

The door swished open again, and Spook stepped

through. Two of the Security men were on the floor,

unmoving, and the other two were clearly outmanned

by their single, crazed opponent. "Mr. Tindall!"

Spock said sharply.

Elliot turned to him, uncomprehending.

"Mr. Tindal!!" Spock said again. "Control your-

self!"

Elliot threw a punch directly at his face. Spock

moved his head fractionally aside and the blow

whsshed past harmlessly. He grabbed Elllot's wrist,

bent the arm down and then up behind Elllot's back.

During the instant when Elliot was immobilized with

his back to him, Spock dropped his free hand lightly

upon a point where Elllot's neck and shoulder met and

squeezed.

Elliot dropped heavily to the floor, unconscious.

Spock stepped back and away from him. He looked at

the two Security men still on their feet. "Take this

man to a holding cell. I'll call Sickbay."

After Spock had placed the call, he turned his atten-

tion to the transporter technician. The man was stir-

ring and groaning on the floor, fingering his bruised

throat cautiously.

Spock kneeled beside him. "Can you understand

me?" Spock asked calmly.

"Yes, sir." The voice was a whisper.

"Talk as little as possible," Spock instructed him.

"Help has been summoned. I must know where did

Mr. Tindall wish to be transported?"

The technician coughed a couple of times, cleared

his throat, and at last managed to say, "Klingon

flagship."

172

Spock regained his feet. Only one who knew him

well, such as James Kirk, could have detected the

sadness in his face.

At first McCoy objected loudly to Tindall's impris-

onment. He felt Elliot should be under his care in

Sickbay. He came to Spock's quarters, hoping to

convince the Vulcan of that. So Spock, who had hoped

to keep the matter quiet, had to explain his motiva-

tions to the doctor.

First he described the scene in the transporter room.

"Well," McCoy said grudgingly, "it does seem

pretty suspicious. But there's obviously something

wrong with the man, Spock."

"Indeed," Spock said, with a hint of sarcasm. "Let

me show you what that something is, Doctor." He

turned his chair toward the computer terminal. "Com-

puter."

"Working."

"Display file DISASTER."

McCoy tried to raise one eyebrow in Vulcan manner

to indicate that he thought Spock's choice of file name

overly melodramatic, but then the display that had

appeared caught his eye. He frowned as he leaned

forward and read it over Spock's shoulder. "You've

got TindaWs name on here. And others I don't recog-

nize."

"Down the left-hand side of the screen," Spock

agreed. "And in the column to the right?"

"I don't recognize--aah! They're place names." He

straightened up again. "But I don't see what you're

getting at, Spock."

"Surely those place names jog your memory, Doc-

tor."

McCoy grumbled something even Spock's Vulcan

173

hearing couldn't pick up and read the screen again.

"Devon, Archangel, New Athens, .. ." He turned

toward Spock, looking startled. "Great disasters, all

of them. The Devon Disaster, the nuclear power sta-

tion at Archangel, the matter-antimatter explosion on

Centaurus. Towns and cities wiped out, lives lost. That

last one, especially, I'm not likely to forget. All right,

Spock. Enough. Explain."

Spock nodded. "Gladly, Doctor. As you said, the

places named on the right were all the sites of terrible

disasters, some natural and some manmade, through-

out the Federation. What they have in common is the

great loss of life. The names on the left are those of

people who have attained high positions in Starfleet or

the Federation government. The place names show

where those men and women were born."

McCoy said in bewilderment, "So what? I admit it's

a very strange coincidence. Or maybe the destruction

of their home towns gave those people a kind of drive

that led them to their current high-level jobs. But

beyond that--say," he said, interrupting himself, "just

how did you get that information? I thought personal

was connoenua .

dalai was able to obtain an extract from Starfleet and

Federation personnel records while I was in San Fran-

cisco."

McCoy grinned at him. "'Obtained,' eh? Do you

maybe mean 'stole'? Easy enough for a computer

expert like you, huh?"

"Can we return to the results I show on the screen,

Doctor? The significance of what I have found may be

enormous."

"How do you mean?" McCoy asked.

Spock told him.

As the Vulcan spoke, McCoy progressed from incre-

174

dulity to fear. Finally he interrupted Spock's explana-

tion by jumping to his feet and saying angrily, "Why're

you sitting here calmly and telling me all of this?

Contact Starfleet Command right away and let them

know !"

"We need one more piece of evidence before we

can offer a solid enough case, Doctor."

"And you expect Tindall to provide that missing

piece?"

"Exactly," Spock nodded.

McCoy frowned. "Spock--did you know about Tin-

dall all along, or..." He let the sentence trail off.

"Mr. Tindall's erratic behavior prompted my suspi-

cions," Spock said, "but all this"--he nodded toward

the computer screenm"was speculation until the inci-

dent in the transporter room."

"I see," McCoy said. "Well. I'll get right on it."

He headed for the door.

"One moment, Doctor. You'll need a Security

team."

"What? Rubbish, Spock!" McCoy waved him off.

Instead of answering, Spock issued a command to

the computer, and the listing of names and places

disappeared, to be replaced by a view of Tindall's

holding cell.

"Good God!" McCoy stared for a long moment,

then nodded and said soberly, "Right again, Spock. A

Security team."

175

Chapter Sixteen

HOURS HAD PASSED, endless, dragging hours. The

triumphant peace flight of the Klingon fleet to Earth

showed no sign of starting. The Klingons on the bridge

of the Alliance were growing visibly tenser, snapping

at each other and at Kirk. "This isn't the way it was

supposed to happen, is it?" Kirk said to Morith.

"According to your history books, I mean?"

Morith scowled. "Obviously the history books don't

tell us everything about the Tholian Incident."

"Especially that there was a standoff, with more

Federation ships arriving steadily and no resolution in

sight." He crossed to Morith's side. "Perhaps I could

break the deadlock if I were over there, on the Enter-

prise..."

Morith glared at him and stalked off the command

platform. Kalrind said, "Don't be too hard on him,

Jim. He has something else to worry about, too--

something he hasn't told you about."

"There seems to be a lot of that," Kirk said. "What,

specifically?"

"There are some old documents that seem to imply

that in your time the Old Klingons who controlled the

Empire were trying to infiltrate your Federation."

176

"I encountered one of them once," Kirk said

thoughtfully. "His name was... Darvin. That's right.

We assumed he had been surgically altered to look

human, but we never did figure out how he managed

to act human. Klingons always have so much trouble

behaving themselves around humans. It's their train-

ing, I suppose they're trained to war and aggression

from childhood, and they're taught to think of us as an

enemy, a threat to their survival. When they do hap-

pen to encounter a human, they end by becoming

hostile and violent, almost as if it were an instinct."

"I wish you'd put all that in the past tense," Kalrind

said uncomfortably.

"It's in the present now, isn't it? Well, go on."

"We don't know much about the infiltration. The

Old Klingons were so overly secretive that they appar-

ently destroyed their own records, probably when we

took control of the Empire away from them. Anyway,

Morith told me that he has no way of knowing who's

really in control of that Federation fleet."

"You mean he thinks it may really be Klingons?"

Kirk laughed. "That's ridiculous!"

Kalrind shook her head. "No, it isn't, Jim. We think

they infiltrated to very high levels. Don't you see? It

would be in their own interest to abort our mission.

They don't have our historical perspective on the

Great Peace, of course, since it's all still in their future,

but they can certainly predict from what you told your

people about New Klingons that, if we succeed,

everything they know will vanish. The Empire, as it

became after we took control, was not a very hospita-

ble place for them."

"I still say it's ridiculous. I spoke to Spock by

subspace and to McCoy in person, and I know they're

the men I remember."

177

"Of course they are," Kalrind said quickly. "I

didn't mean to suggest that someone had been substi-

tuted for them. But you don't know for sure about

their superiors."

Kirk chucked. "De La Jolla hasn't changed either,

unfortunately."

"All I'm asking is that you put a bit more pressure

on those men you do trust, Jim. Try to break through

the stalemate."

Kirk looked at her for a long time and then finally

said, 'TII try. Let's talk to Morith."

It was becoming a familiar scenario Morith in the

command chair, Kirk standing to one side, Kalrind on

the other.

"Hello, Spock."

The enlarged figure on the screen at the front of the

bridge nodde d formally. "Captain."

"There seems to be a problem of trust, doesn't

there?" Kirk clasped his hands behind him and slowly

paced away from Morith, until he was standing alone

on the dais. Spock's eyes followed him. "Indeed," said the Vulcan.

"So how do we resolve this problem?" Kirk asked

rhetorically. "Is McCoy there?"

"He is, Captain." The field of view widened to

show McCoy standing beside the command chair.

"Bones," Kirk said, looking at the doctor, "per-

haps this will help. Remember our last conversation."

As Kirk was speaking, the Klingons surrounding

him were listening with interest, Kalrind most intently

of all. She stepped around Morith's chair and came to

Kirk's side, looking up into his face with a frown.

Kirk smiled at her and put his arm around her

shoulder. He turned back to the screen and continued

178

his conversation. "McCoy, I have two motes in my

eye."

While the Klingons exchanged puzzled glances, Mc-

Coy took on a look of disapproval. "I can see that,

Jim."

Spock, meanwhile, had bent forward and spoken in

low tones into the microphone in the arm of his chair.

His words were inaudible to the Klingon audience.

A sound began to form on the bridge of Alliance.

Morith looked around, trying to locate the source of

it. "What is that?"

One of the crewmen seated at a terminal below the

dais yelled, "Federation transporter!" He jumped to

his feet and pointed at Kirk and Kalrind. They were

wrapped in a sparkling column of lights.

Morith yelled and launched himself at them... and

stumbled through empty space and fetched up against

the railing at the far end of the dais.

Kalrind looked around wildly. "Jim! Where are

we?" She stiffened. "We were transported, weren't

we?"

Kirk took his arm from her shoulders and stepped

off the transporter platform. "Welcome aboard my

favorite ship in the known universe." He nodded to

the transporter technician, who grinned back at him.

"Welcome home, sir," the technician said in a

scratchy voice.

"Something happen to your throat, Lieutenant?"

"It's a long story, sir."

Kirk nodded. "I'd like you to tell me about it, when

all of this is over and we have the time." Kirk smiled

and turned back toward the platform. Kalrind was still

standing there, where they had arrived, looking con-

fused and lost. "Jim ...."she said, her voice trailing

off.

179

The door slid open. Spock and McCoy entered,

Security men behind them.

"Captain," Spock said in his calm, restrained way.

"I'm pleased to see you."

McCoy harrumphed and pushed the Vulcan aside.

"Jim!" he yelled, a deliberate contrast. He grabbed

Kirk's hand and squeezed it vigorously.

Kirk grinned at the two of them. "Plus ca change.

Bones, the mote in the eye and the beam in the eye--

that's all a bit obscure, you know. I might not have

caught it."

"I knew you too well for that," McCoy said trium-

phantly. "You're as quotation-happy as any Shake-

spearean actor."

"Captain," Spock cut in, "if I may recall your

attention to more serious matters."

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" Kirk strove to wipe away his

silly grin and look serious.

"I am happy to return command of USS Enterprise

to you, sir."

Now the grin did go away. Kirk sighed and relaxed,

a tension departing from him that he had been unaware

of. He looked around the transporter room, seeing

more than the walls enclosing the small space. "Yes,"

he said. "Yes." He shook himself and came back to

the present. "I need information, Mr. Spock. Meet me

in the briefing room. This way, Kalrind." Shoulders

visibly stiffening, Captain James T. Kirk strode from

the transporter room.

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Kalrind sat at a table in

the briefing room, the three Federation officers at the

head, Kalrind at the foot, separate from the others.

Spock told Kirk what had happened after his disap-

130

pearance along with the Kiingon ship Mauler of the

storm's attack on Enterprise, the damage the ship had

sustained, and in particular about how, when all the

excitement was over, they had discovered that Uhura

was unconscious.

"It was the discovery that Commander Uhura had

been knocked out by a powerful electric shock, which

was in turn generated by an extremely powerful signal

transmitted through the transponder you had taken

with you to Mauler, that aroused my suspicions, Cap-

tain. At first I suspected a transporter beam, although

I discounted that possibility for various reasons. I then

suspected that the transponder had been subjected to

the Klingon cloaking device, operating at a much

higher level than we have heretofore seen."

"Very strange," Kirk said. "What did you do?"

Spock glanced at Kalrind, who remained silent. He

continued. "I used our copy of the Romulan cloaking

device, increased its power greatly, and subjected the

transponder to it. As I expected, the transponder

emitted a signal of astonishing power for a fraction of

a second before burning out."

Now Kirk turned and silently examined Kalrind.

After a moment, he returned his attention to Spock.

"Interesting, Mr. Spock. Fascinating, I might even

say."

"And useful, Captain. As a result of my investiga-

tions, we now have a way to detect the use of a

cloaking device from a considerable distance. Not

when the cloaking device is used in a normal way, I

should point out, but when its power has been in-

creased far beyond the normal level."

"In other words," Kirk said, "when it's being used

by one ship to cast a cloaking field on another."

181

"Precisely, Captain. Or when many ships switch on

their cloaking devices simultaneously." "Aah. Yes. Please continue."

"A few days ago, seemingly from nowhere, a large

Klingon fleet suddenly appeared within the Empire,

but heading toward our territory. The fleet was de-

tected from Starbase Seventeen, which, as you know,

Captain, constantly monitors Imperial space within its

area of responsibility. Every Federation ship in this

sector was immediately ordered to head for the point

where the Klingon ships were predicted to cross the

frontier. Enterprise was still at Starbase Seventeen for

refitting, and therefore we were ordered to the frontier

as well. What is significant, Captain, is that we also

detected evidence of massive use of the cloaking de-

vice at the same time as the Klingon fleet appeared."

Kirk shut his eyes and sighed heavily. He looked

sadly at Kalrind. "I suspected, you know, but I hoped

so much that I was wrong, that you and Morith were

telling me the truth."

"We were, Jim!" she insisted. "I don't understand

any of this elaborate story the Vulcan has been telling

you. We never lied to you !"

Kirk shook his head and stood. "Mr. Spock, get a

Security detail down here. For now, I want Kalrind

confined."

"Jim, no!" Kalrind rose and grasped his arm, spin-

ning him around to face her. "You can't believe

this..."

"I'm sorry," Kirk said, prying her fingers loose. "I

really am."

The two stood silent for a moment, facing each

other. Then the door to the briefing room ssshhed

open, and two security guards entered.

182

"Gentlemen," Kirk said, turning his back on Kal-

rind. "You have your orders."

He waited till they were gone, then sank into his

chair, slumping down. "She sounds as if she's telling

the truth," he said plaintively.

Over his head, Spock and McCoy exchanged star-

tled glances.

183

Chapter Seventeen

THE KNOCKING DRAGGED HIM from deep, tortured,

unwanted sleep. With the two great fleets facing each

other, shields up, and Kirk in command of the Starfleet

ships, he could not afford to waste a minute. He had

intended, when he lay down on his bed, only to rest,

to ease the growing ache in his muscles and bones and

heart. His body had betrayed him. "Come in."

Kirk forced himself to his feet and made his way

groggily to his desk. Meanwhile, the door had opened

and McCoy had entered. The doctor leaned against

the wall and watched Kirk stumble about his room.

"You look like a prime candidate for Sickbay, Jim."

"Did you come here to make my life more miserable

than it already is, Bones?"

McCoy straightened and held his hand out, palm up.

"Security confiscated this from your friend." A small

bottle rested in his palm. Kirk could see small red pills

inside it.

"They're a medicine. I know all about them. She

suffers from some kind of hereditary disease, and she

has to take those once a day. Give them back to her."

"Once a day, huh?" He held the bottle up and

134

stared into it. "Yep. That sounds about right. Spock's

told you all about Elliot Tindall, hasn't he?"

Kirk put his elbows on the desk and his face in his

hands. "Bones . . ." he said. "What're you talking

about?"

"Come on, Jim," McCoy said softly. "Come take a

little trip with me."

"Bones, I don't have time for this."

McCoy shook his head. "This is not a joke, Jim."

Kirk looked up at him, startled by the change in

tone. After a moment, he said, "Okay. Just let me

soak my eyes in cold water for a few hours first."

McCoy grinned. "Don't bother. What I want to

show you will open your eyes fast enough."

As they traveled toward Security, McCoy explained

to Kirk who Elliot Tindall was. His story stopped at

the point where Tindall attacked Spock and the Secu-

rity men who had caught up with him in the trans-

porter room.

"But where was he trying to go? And why?" Kirk

asked.

"Where? The flagship of the Klingon fleet out there.

Why? Because he's a Klingon."

Kirk stopped in midstride, and then started walking

again. "There's more, isn't there? Go on."

"Spock was able to find a whole bunch of disguised

Kli ngons just like Tindall, scattered throughout Star-

fleet and the Federation. They were all born in places

that have been wiped out by one kind of disaster or

another, so that there was no one who had known

them in childhood. Real names, of course, so there are

records of birth duplicated in central archives, but

normally no actual surviving friends or relatives."

"She told me about this, you know."

"Who?"

185

"Kalrind."

This time it was McCoy who stopped walking for a

moment. "She did?"

Kirk nodded. "Yes, she told me she knew of a

Klingon plot to infiltrate Starfleet, but she didn't know

the details. I told you these Klingons are different

from the ones we're used to."

"Fascinating," McCoy said. "Well, here we are--

Tindall's ceil."

From McCoy's description, Kirk had expected Tin-

dall to be an urbane, sophisticated man, a reserved

European. What he saw was wild-eyed and blank-

faced--and far from human.

Tindall sat on the floor at the far end of the cell,

leaning back against the wall. His clothes were torn

and dirty. Kirk and McCoy stood in the hallway out-

side the door looking in at him. Tindall's eyes roamed

around the room; there was no sign of intelligence in

his face. "I can't find any volunteers in Medical sec-

tion to go in and take care of him," McCoy said, "and

I'm not going to order anyone to do it. Security has

the same problem."

While McCoy was speaking, Tindall had slowly be-

come aware of his voice. Now his eyes focused on the

two men watching him and he slowly got to his feet.

He stood swaying, one hand against the wall for sup-

port, shoulders hunched. Suddenly he screamed word-

lessly and leaped across the tiny cell and at the door-

way.

The force field glowed with the impact, flinging

Tindall back into the cell. Falling to the floor, he curled

into a ball and lay shivering and moaning.

"My God, Bones, what's wrong with the man?"

"Vitamins."

"What?"

186

"Patience, Jim. Haven't you wondered how we

knew he was a Klingon?"

Kirk raised his hands. "Blood tests, genotype. I

don't know."

"Basically you're right, but the differences between

us and them are more subtle than most people realize.

Even normally, the differences are biochemical, not

mechanical. I mean that there's nothing like the Vul-

can double heart. There are the exterior differences--

mainly the heavier facial bones--but that can be taken

care of with surgery, and they seem to have improved

their surgical abilities greatly. The biochemical differ-

ences are trickier, but the Klingons have apparently

made some very major advances in biochemistry, and

they now have drugs which can mask even those

differences. And by the way, they also have drugs that

control their moods and make it easier for them to act

like gentlemen and ladies around humans."

"But you said he attacked Spock and the Security

men." Kirk looked at the pitiful body huddled on the

floor of the cell. Tindall was weeping quietly, steadily,

hopelessly.

"And Lieutenant Crandall as well. He failed to keep

taking his drug on schedule."

"A strange kind of mistake for such a successful

secret agent to make!"

McCoy's forced good humor deserted him. "He was

married, the poor fellow. To an Earthwoman. I should

say, 'the poor woman,' shouldn't I? They seem to

have been genuinely in love. Anyway, he told her

some story about the drug being a supplement he had

to take for his health, and she substituted something

else for it before he left Earth, some pills she had that

looked just like his. Vitamins."

Kirk felt sick but he had to ask the question. "What

did those pills of his look like, Bones?"

187

Wordlessly, McCoy held up the bottle that had been

taken from Kalrind.

Kirk forced himself to speak calmly. "So he didn't

take them for a while, and he turned into this?"

McCoy nbodded. "After a violent stage, and then a

coma. He came out of it like this. But it seems to vary.

He's been an agent for a long time, which means he's

been on the drug for a long time. That seems to be a

factor. Klingons... those who've only been taking it

for a short time should be okay." "Analyze those pills."

"I don't really have to, do I?" McCoy said gently.

"I can guess what they are."

Kirk snapped, "I asked for an analysis, Bones, not

a guess !"

McCoy nodded and said nothing.

'TII be on the bridge. Let me know as soon as you

finish." Kirk turned to go.

"Jim. Wait a minute. Kalrind is just down the hall.

She's probably confused and frightened. Just a word

would help."

Kirk shook his head slowly. "No."

"Tindall isn't the only one. Thanks to Mr. Spock,

we've been finding these guys all over Starfleet and

the Federation government Klingon agents, planted

varying numbers of years ago, sustained by drugs so

that they can act human. You have no idea what an

uproar things are in back on Earth and the other major

worlds. We've been hunting them down. Cloak and

dagger. Exciting stuff."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Yes. I want you in Sickbay for a complete

checkup. Immediately." He recognized the old look

of stubbornness growing on Kirk's face, and he said,

"Don't make me pull rank, Jim. As Chief Medical

188

Officer of the Starship USS Enterprise, I am for-

mally--"

"All right!" Kirk got his temper under control with

difficulty. He knew McCoy was justified; in fact, he

thought he could detect another bout of weakness

approaching, like those he had suffered while with

Kalrind. "Later, I'll--No, we'll go there right now."

"You have no doubt?"

"I have no doubt."

"You're sure you're not detecting old injuries that

have healed or been taken care of by advanced surgical

techniques?"

"Jim, boy, your insides are a mess. It doesn't take

a doctor of my years of experience to see that. The

scanning instruments practically started screaming in

revolt when I put them on you. To put it scientifically,

your guts are all mangled and jangled, and it's not

from the food on this ship. 1 won't even offer you a

drink to soften the shock, because I'm afraid it would

come squirting out all over your torso. Okay." He

held up his hand. "I'm exaggerating slightly. The fact

is, your condition is consistent with your having been

knocked around when Mauler was so shaken up.

Looks to me like you had some first-aid, meatball

surgery done on you by a cutter who was holding his

instruments with his toes. And then they pumped you

full of drugs to kill the pain and keep you pepped up."

"Bones, I just don't understand. I felt good. I felt

healed."

"Told you about their advances in biochemistry,

didn't I? They probably have the best painkillers and

pepper-uppers in the known universe. Doesn't consti-

tute a cure, though."

He flipped through the papers on his desk, sheet

189

after sheet of instrument readings. "In fact, I'll go

even further. Looks to me like you had a few sessions

in surgery, all equally incompetent, just to keep you

going and to repair the damage from the previous time.

You must have been losing blood to internal bleeding.

Some healing, but not enough. And by covering up the

pain and giving you drug-induced energy, they encour-

aged you to be your normal vigorous self, which just

made things worse, exacerbated the damage. It would

have killed you eventually, but maybe you would have

lasted long enough for their purposes.

"Someone was pumping a lot of very powerful stuff

into you--so much that there's still a lot of it in your

bloodstream. It won't last, though, and your condition

will just keep deteriorating. So now I'm gonna put you

to bed and do the job right, and you're going to have

to allow a long time for recovery."

Kirk pushed himself off the examining table and

onto his feet. "Sorry, Bones. I'm needed for a few

hours yet. Those Klingon drugs that're still in my

system will get me through, keep me alert. No argu-

ments." McCoy started to object, but a look at Kirk's

grim face silenced him.

"I'll be on the bridge," Kirk said. "I want those

pills analyzed quickly. I need to know what they are."

190

Chapter Eighteen

KIRK IGNORED the happy smiles of greeting from the

bridge crew. De Broek, the helmsman, returned to his

post. Kirk resumed the command chair and sat for a

long moment staring wordlessly at the static starfield

displayed on the forward screen. An air of tense

silence settled over the bridge as the crew perceived

his mood.

Uhura broke the silence. "Captain? Morith has been

requesting communication since you beamed back

over."

"Well . . . "Kirk said. "He's obviously guessed

where we disappeared to." He managed a weak smile

at Uhura. "It's good to see you've recovered, Com-

mander."

Uhura smiled delightedly. "And it's good to see you

back where you belong, Captain. Shall I contact Mor-

ith now?"

"No, let's keep him in suspense just a little bit

longer. I need to hear from Dr. McCoy before I--" As

if on cue, the speaker in Kirk's chair arm buzzed, and

McCoy's voice said, "Jim, I've got that analysis."

"Good work, Bones, What are you waiting for?"

McCoy muttered something to himself and then

191

said, "Seems my guess was a good one. Your friend

had the same stuff on her that Tindall used. Mood-

altering, possibly memory-suppressing."

"Memory?"

"Yes. They may not know their own backgrounds,

as long as the drug is in effect. Some of those people

on Earth had whole false personalities implanted in

them. You have to get them off the drug for a while

before the real Klingon comes back, as it did with

Elliot."

"They never give up, do they?" Kirk said, thinking

aloud. "As soon as we close one chink in our armor,

they start probing for a nother." He shook himself and

became aware of his surroundings, of the bridge crew

staring at him with worried expressions. He forced a

smile. "I don't need a mother, ladies and gentlemen.

Please continue with your work." They all turned

away quickly. Kirk reached for the toggle switch on

the arm of his chair, missed it, frowned, tried again,

missed again.

Deliberately, he put his hand down on the arm of

the chair and squeezed, trying to reassert control. His

entire arm was trembling and almost uncontrollable.

He sat still for a few seconds, waiting for the trembling

to pass. At last he was able to thumb the toggle.

"Bones."

"Wondered what had happened to you, Jim. You

okay?"

"Close enough," Kirk said. "I've decided what to

do about Kalrind. I'm going to find out the truth. You

know what I said about the New K!ingons when I was

still on Alliance. The question is this is there such an

animal, or is Kalrind able to act the way she does

because of drugs?"

"Jim." McCoy's voice sounded uncertain. "Do you

really need that answered anymore?"

192

Kirk could sense the bridge crew's gaze on him as

he pondered McCoy's question. Finally, he spoke.

"As long as there's a chance, Doctor--yes, I want

that question answered."

"Okay," McCoy said, sounding somewhat irritated.

"Okay. Morith said she had to take the drug every

day to counteract her 'hereditary disease.' She's been

without it for quite a while, now. How much leeway

did the spies we caught have, before they had to take

more?"

"That seems to depend on how long they've been

on it. Elliott Tindall--Guess I might as well keep on

calling him that! Anyway, Elliot went for a few days

without another dose. Or I should say, taking what

were really vitamin supplements, thinking they were

his own pills. But he'd been on the drug for many

years, so he'd built up an overdose in his tissues.

"How they come out of it seems correlated with

how long they've been taking it, too. Elliot ended up

mindless, easily angered, but also quick to drop into

weeping and inactivity. When they're short-timers on

the drug, they wake up fairly normal Klingons, but

much angrier than usual, and therefore more danger-

ous. Super-Klingons, you might say. Maybe that goes

away in time. We haven't been observing any of them

for long enough to say.

"By the way, the real drug was losing its effect on

Elliot even before he left Earth. His wife has told us

that he was losing his normal, even-tempered disposi-

tion. He'd even moved out of the house, and he was

talking about divorce. Broke her heart, poor girl. She

doesn't know the rest of the story yet, either."

"We'll watch Kalrind and see what happens."

There was silence on the other end. "Could be

dangerous, Jim. Elliot went through a rough few hours

193

before he came out of it, and you saw what he came

out of it as."

"That's my decision. We'll keep her supplied with

food and anything else she needs, but not those pills.

Kirk out."

He took a deep breath. "Now, Commander

Uhura," he said. "Get me Morith."

"Jim," Morith said, his voice at its most friendly

and beguiling, "I'm hurt that you felt the need for

subterfuge." And indeed he did look and sound hurt.

"My ship needed me, and I needed it. I thought I

had explained that to you, Morith. I suppose you

would understand my feelings better if you were a

military commander, rather than a civilian scientist."

The irony sounded heavier than he had intended.

"We could have arranged something. In time."

Kirk smiled thinly. "In time. Yes. One hundred

years, perhaps? You should have anticipated my ac-

tions. But then, none of this was in the history books,

was it?"

Morith's face darkened. "Jim, I'm very worried

about the future. We discussed this, of course. This

situation is endangering the Great Peace. We must ask

ourselves what the consequences of our actions might

be. The triumphal voyage, Jim . . . Just think of it

isn't it a beautiful picture?"

Kirk nodded. "It is, indeed. Everything in its own

time, Morith. First I have to conduct an experiment

and wait for its outcome."

Morith looked puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't under-

stand. Surely we can't wait for such things. This is so

important! Perhaps you could beam Kalrind back

here. If I could impress the importance of the situation

on her, then she could come back and talk to you."

194

"Sorry. She'll be participating in the experiment.

Twenty-four hours should do it. I'll contact you again

then."

"Surely you'll lower your shields, Kirk!" Morith

said, his voice rising. "As a gesture of goodwill!"

Kirk gestured to Uhura, who cut contact with Alli-

ance, leaving a momentary afterimage of Morith's

surprised face on the blank screen.

Kirk stood up. He held the chair arms tightly for a

moment to steady himself against a wave of dizziness.

"Mr. de Broek, you have the con."

At the turbo elevator, Kirk turned and gazed at the

bridge crew for a moment. 'Tm proud of all of you."

He entered the turbo elevator and the doors whooshed

shut behind him. "Sickbay," he said. He could almost

hear McCoy's voice replying, "It's about time!"

Six hours passed, a strange combination of tension

and boredom, worry and weariness. On the monitor

screens, Kalrind lay unchanged, sprawled on the floor

in the middle of her cell, breathing shallowly. It might

have been normal sleep, except that the sensors

mounted in the cell told McCoy otherwise.

After four hours, watching the graphs of vital signs

on his monitor, he said urgently, "We're losing her,

Jim! I've got to go in there!" "No, Bones."

McCoy looked at him, clenched his teeth, and re-

turned to his worried vigil.

After that, the vital signs began to improve, and

slowly the coma passed into natural sleep. Six hours

after she had dropped to the floor unconscious, Kal-

rind awoke.

And she awoke and came to her feet as fast as she

had fallen six hours earlier. This was not the shaken,

195

weakened Kalrind Kirk remembered from the after-

math of her previous coma on Alliance. She was not

the same woman in any sense. She opened her eyes

and leapt to her feet simultaneously, falling into a

defensive pose, but just as ready to attack as to de-

fend. Her face wore the expression of fury just barely

under control that so often characterized Klingons.

Kirk stood up. "I'm going down there." He glared

at McCoy, cutting off the doctor's protest unvoiced.

As soon as Kirk was out of the room, McCoy hit the

communicator. "Bridge! Mr. Spock !" "He's in Engineering, Doctor."

McCoy cursed and tried again. "Engineering. Is Mr.

Spock there."

"Here, Dr. McCoy." Maddeningly calm.

McCoy explained the situation. "He wouldn't listen

to me, but he can't accuse you of letting emotion

overrule reason. And he might need your physical

strength. He's almost literally dying on his feet."

"Logically thought out, Doctor. I'm on my way.

Spock out."

McCoy bit back his response; he didn't want to

delay Spock at all. He watched the monitor anxiously,

fearing that he would see Kirk entering Kalrind's

room. The Klingon woman was now pacing around the

small cell, fingers curling and opening repeatedly as if

she were imagining that she was closing them around

a human neck.

Kirk would have beaten Spock to the cell, rushing

down a deserted hallway, but his strength gave out.

He fell heavily against the wall and slid down to the

floor. He struggled to rise to his feet, desperate that

no crewman should come by and see him, but he

couldn't do it.

196

He stayed where he was for a minute, trying to

regain his strength. Eventually he pushed himself to

his hands and knees and then, after another long rest,

to his feet. He was breathing rapidly, seeing sparkling

lights and dark spots in front of him. Force of will, he

told himself desperately, and started off down the

hallway again.

Spock was waiting for him outside Kalrind's cell.

"Are you planning to interrogate the prisoner, Cap-

tain? A good idea."

"No, Spock, I'm planning to talk to her. Please step

aside."

"Captain, you can talk to the prisoner from the

hallway. The force field barrier across the doorway

transmits sound quite well."

"Spock, I suppose McCoy put you up to this. Don't

you know by now that that man has a mother hen

somewhere in his ancestry?"

Spock's eyebrow rose. "Highly unlikely. Be that as

it may, I do think his concern justified in this case.

You would be in danger if you entered that cell."

"Spock!" Kirk looked up and down the hallway to

make sure they were alone, and then he said, "Spock,

this Klingon woman and I became very close. She's a

scholar. What danger would I be in?"

Without answering, Spock stepped back and stood

looking into Kalrind's cell. Kirk joined him.

The woman before them paced about her cell, walk-

ing lightly on the balls of her feet. She looked strong,

alert, dangerous.

"Perhaps," Spock remarked, "the Klingons train

their scholars somewhat differently from us."

This was not the woman Kirk had known. After his

most recent bout of weakness, how could he argue

with Spock? He stared at Kalrind, amazed at the

transformation. "She doesn't seem aware of us."

197

"Correct, Admiral. The force field is opaque to light

and sound from her side." "Change it."

Spock hesitated, then pressed a button set into the

wall beside the door. Kalrind was facing away from

them and did not notice the change. Kirk called her.

She spun around, dropping into a defensive crouch.

She snarled at the two figures and advanced slowly on

them, hands reaching out. She touched the force field

and began exploring it singlemindedly, looking for a

way through it.

"Kalrind! You can't get out. Please stop before you

hurt yourself."

"I'll find a way!" she growled, her voice almost a

parody of the normal harsh Klingon tones. "Then I'll

kill you."

Kirk glanced at Spock. The Vulcan said, "I'll be at

the end of the hallway."

Kirk smiled. "Thank you, Spock." After the Sci-

ence Officer had left, Kirk said to Kalrind, "You've

changed."

She laughed bitterly. "You fool. Now I'm normal,

not a soft 'New Klingon.' I hated being that way."

"You didn't seem to hate it. You seemed very

happy."

"That drug!" she snarled. "To order a warrior to

subject herself to such humiliation! When I get back

to Alliance I'll kill Morith, too."

"That's a lot of killing for one person," Kirk said

mildly. "Especially a mere scholar, an historian."

"I'm a warrior!" she shouted. "They gave me false

memories, too, false feelings. I volunteered--they'll

remind me of that. But they didn't warn me how much

I was giving up and what kind of woman I'd become.

A soft fool, just like you humans."

198

"Kalrind, you must have been aware of how you

were acting, and yet you didn't stop yourself."

"I couldn't control it! I was trapped inside my own

mind! They invented a personality and a background,

and I couldn't break through the block. Only at some

moments. But now that's all gone. I'm my own woman

again, and I'll kill everyone responsible."

"Including me? I wasn't responsible for deceiving

you. In fact, you were in love with me. That wasn't

just your temporary persona, Kalrind that was your

true self, truly in love."

She shrieked, "With a human? The idea is disgust-

ing, an abomination! You and all your kind are beasts;

only Klingons are true people. All the other species

are soft. They're inferior beings, fit only for domina-

tion, exploitation, extermination." Her voice was ris-

ing into hysteria. "We are the natural rulers of the

Galaxy! When we conquer you, all of you will die.

We'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Kirk backed away, hiding from her voice, from her

words.

Jekyll and Hyde, he thought. Except that in this

case, the good persona had to fight for release and

dominance, and the evil one felt trapped when that

happened.

He gasped and fell full-length on the floor. As his

consciousness faded, he could hear footsteps running

toward him. This can't really be happening to me, he

thought. Right it's all psychosomatic. He started

laughing at the idea and then faded away.

199

Chapter Nineteen

McCoy CHECKED the vital-signs monitors one last

time. "Amazing what it takes to get some people in to

see the doctor," he said to his assistant, Joes Blank-

huis. "Ready, Dr. Blankhuis?"

Joes nodded. "Any time, Doctor."

Whistling, McCoy loaded a hypospray and aimed it

toward the patient's upper arm. A hand whipped up

and caught McCoy's wrist.

"Bones, what're you up to?" Kirk pushed McCoy's

hand away, then shoved the equipment tray aside and

sat up on the operating table.

McCoy groaned. "I shoulda known it was too good

to be true. Jim, you collapsed down in Security, and

Spock brought you in here. You're dying, my friend.

Of course, you have that choice, but I'd appreciate the

chance to save you, speaking both as your doctor and

your friend."

Kirk passed a hand across his forehead. "Unfortu-

nately, I'm not up to arguing. How long do I have,

then?"

"You must think I'm a Vulcan. How many decimal

places do you want? No one can answer that kind of

question, Jim! All I know is, you're in rotten shape

200

and getting worse, and I'd only give you a few days.

Maybe even hours."

"Good enough. The Klingon drugs are leaving me,

Bones. Give me something to substitute."

"What?" McCoy yelled. "Are you crazy? I would

never--' '

"Bones, you know it all depends on me right now."

McCoy sneered. "The indispensable man!" But,

damn it, he really is! "Dr. Blankhuis, you're my

witness that I'm acting against my better judgment."

Joes nodded. "Agreed, Doctor. Mine, too."

McCoy glared at his assistant, then reloaded the

hypospray. Kirk waited until McCoy had shot the new

drug into him and he could feel its invigorating effect

before remarking, "You know how much good Joes's

testimony will do you if I die and you're court mar-

tialed, don't you?"

"Yeah. Combine it with a sharp stick, and it'll get

me a poke in the eye."

Kirk sprang to his feet, laughing. "Good job as

always, Bones. I feel great."

"Sure. And you will, too, right up until the instant

you drop dead."

"And no one will even know I'm gone. When I'm

on the bridge, the crew try hard not to look at me.

Unwritten law of space."

"Jim, this is not a joking matter. You are literally

killing yourself."

"Salutamus, then," Kirk said, leaving McCoy to

shake his head in despair.

The strange, lightheaded mood evaporated as Kirk

made his way toward the bridge, but the alertness and

feeling of physical well-being remained. McCoy was

right, of course; Kirk realized that. But the task cir-

cumstances had thrust upon him was more important

201

than personal survival. That such a grim choice might

become necessary was always a possibility in his

profession; he had known and accepted that when he

had graduated from Starfleet Academy.

Right now, he had almost sixteen hours left before

Morith would be expecting him to get in contact.

Morith would be getting suspicious as the hours passed

and he realized what was probably happening to Kal-

rind.

As soon as he reached the bridge, Kirk asked for an

update on the status of the deflector shields. "Still at

full strength, sir," Crandall said in a sad voice.

Kirk looked at her more carefully. Aah, yes she

had tried to befriend Tindall. Well, he could sympa-

thize with her mood. "Thank you, Mr. Crandall," he

said gently. "How about the other ships in the fleet?"

Sulu answered him. "Mary Rose has lowered her

shields, sir."

"Tell her to raise them again!" Kirk snapped. "Hold

that. Uhura, pass on my urgent request to the captain

of the Mary Rose that he put full power in his shields."

"Yes, Captain."

"Mr. Spock." Kirk didn't have to turn around to

know that Spock was at his station, any more than he

had checked for Uhura before giving her an order. He

had registered the presence of both without conscious

effort as he came onto the bridge. It was a habit of

long standing, something he never thought about, but

now what he had done struck him. He realized anew

how much the bridge was a part of him and he of it.

Once he had lost it, had been forced into a desk job.

Unusual circumstances had brought him back here, to

this place he loved and where he belonged. He would

never give this up again. He would prefer to die here,

as McCoy had warned him might happen, to drift into

202

death in his command chair on the Enterprise bridge,

rather than be retired and die at a desk in San Fran-

cisco. Or develop an ulcer and die of a surfeit of milk,

he thought.

He realized Spock was speaking to him. "What, Mr.

Spock?"

"You requested my attention, Captain."

"Oh, yes. Yes. Sorry. Considering what we saw in

Security, Mr. Spock, it occurs to me that our prisoner

may have less control over her tongue than normal."

"An interesting speculation, Captain. And a logical

inference. Dr. McCoy tells me that the Klingon drug

acts in part by depressing certain regulatory systems

that govern physical and mental processes. As we have

seen, when the drug wears off, those regulatory sys-

tems are actually even more depressed for a short

time."

"I think an interrogation session might be produc-

tive."

"Indeed. Shall I ask Security to arrange one?"

Kirk shook his head. "No, Spock. I want you to

conduct it. I have the feeling that your Vulcan facade

will reduce her control still further."

"Perhaps so, Captain. I must point out, though, that

'facade' is not the appropriate word."

Kirk smiled. "My apologies, Spock. Give me the

results in the briefing room in a couple of hours or

SO."

"Two hours, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock," Kirk sighed. "Two hours, pre-

cisely." Sometimes he understood McCoy's short

temper with the Vulcan. I might end up in this com-

mand chair dying of an ulcer.

As if to reinforce that fear, Uhura said, "Sir, the

captain of Mary Rose wants to know, quote, by what

203

authority he is interfering in the operation of my ship,

end quote."

Kirk groaned. "Refer her to General Order 30,

dealing with states of alert during situations where

hostilities are deemed likely ....If she doesn't know

about that, she shouldn't be in command of a starship.

Don't add that part to the message!"

He could feel the ulcer beginning already.

"Your suspicions about the value of an interrogation

were well founded, Captain," Spock said.

"Good. Gentlemen, let me explain." Kirk looked

around the briefing room. Around the table sat Spock,

McCoy, Sulu, and Scott--the inner council of officers

on whose advice and support he relied so often and so

heavily. Given how much he had relied on them in the

past, he felt they had a right now to know more than

he had yet told anyone.

First, Kirk told them about the interrogation Spock

had just conducted and the reasoning that had sug-

gested it. And then, difficult as it was for him, he told

them of his experiences during the past weeks and of

his travels forward and then backward in time.

"Sir," Sulu said in alarm, "we've traveled in time

ourselves, but we've never had any evidence of the

Klingons doing so. If they know how to do that in a

controlled fashion, we're in r eal trouble!"

"Quite true, Mr. SuM. But just wait. There's more

to the story. I ran into inconsistencies, such as weap-

ons on ships that were supposed to be unarmed, and

New Klingons who acted just like Old Klingons under

the right circumstances. So I added two and two

together and got, oh, three and a half. I had been told

that Old Klingons still existed in the Empire in the

future and were trying to get back into power. I

204

concluded that Morith was in league with the Old

Klingons and had smuggled a bunch of them onboard

his flagship, that they were planning to use the Tholian

Incident somehow to regain control of the Empire. To

foil that plan, I managed to beam back to Enterprise,

along with"--he smiled slightly--"the one New Klin-

gon I still trusted. Mr. Spock will explain to you what

I should have concluded. Mr. Spock."

"Thank you, sir. I interrogated the Klingon woman,

Kalrind, who is currently detained in Security Section.

As the Captain hypothesized, the aftereffects of the

mood-altering drug she had been taking include a

lowering of normal psychological barriers. By simply

questioning her and remaining unmoved by her anger,

I was able to extract a good deal of interesting infor-

mation from her."

McCoy snickered. "You have that effect on me,

Spock, without any drugs." He looked at Kirk's face.

"Sorry, Jim. Okay, Spock, go on."

"I have combined what Kalrind said to me, and

earlier to the captain, with what I deduced from my

own investigations of the nature of the disappearance

of Mauler to arrive at the following," Spock said.

"There was in fact no time travel at all. Captain

Kirk remained in our own time but was duped into

believing he had jumped forward one hundred years.

He was given a plethora of Klingon drugs to mask the

symptoms of the internal injuries he sustained while

aboard Mauler, and he has suggested himself that

other drugs were included in that regimen that in-

creased his credulousness, so that he would be more

likely to believe what the Kiingons told him. As we all

know, Captain Kirk is not normally a particularly

credulous man."

What Spock intended as a simple observation elic-

2O5

ited grins around the table, quickly covered by hands

or coughs. Kirk frowned and gestured at Spock to

continue.

"My own suspicions were first aroused by what

happened to Commander Uhura at the time Mauler

disappeared. The electric shock she suffered was of

mysterious origin. By experimenting with the Romulan

cloaking device stored at Starfleet headquarters in San

Francisco, I was able to confirm my suspicion that the

shock was the result of the transponder, transmitting

through Uhura's console, undergoing a cloaking field

of high intensity. Nothing else was required to show

me that Captain Kirk's disappearance was due to very

ordinary, if daring, circumstances.

"What happened to Mauler was no accident. Nor

was the storm that attacked the ship a natural phenom-

enon. It was produced by the Klingons and is indica-

tive of their callousness toward their own people that

they would so willingly risk a ship and crew."

Sulu said, "That's another dangerous capability,

Mr. Spock. If the Klingons can create such a storm at

will and aim it at a shily--why, that could be quite a

weapon."

"Possibly, Mr. Sulu, but I doubt it. The energy

expenditure must have been prodigious. Kalrind men-

tioned a specially built ship that was little more than a

shell built around an enormous matter-antimatter re-

actor, the sole purpose of which was to provide the

energy for the storm. While I would be interested in

knowing the theory behind the storm generator, I

believe it's unlikely that the Klingons would benefit

from building many such ships. Still, your concern is

valid; we must put the question aside for later consid-

eration by Starfleet experts.

"Note, in fact, that the Kiingons did not use the

206

storm as a weapon during the incident with Mauler.

The attack by the storm on Enterprise was intended as

a diversion and to further convince us that the storm

was a natural phenomenon. But the true purpose of

the entire incident was the abduction of a high-ranking

Starfleet officer under such circumstances that, both

to the abducted officer and to Starfleet, it would later

seem plausible that he had experienced a jump in time.

Our special transponder, enabling us to transport

through the storm, was surely a surprise to them. I

assume that the original plan was to cripple Mauler to

the point of inoperability and 'turn off' the storm.

After a rescue team had beamed aboard from whatever

Federation ship had come to investigate the distress

call, the storm would be 'turned on' again, along with

the cloaking device, to make it seem that Mauler had

disappeared."

He went on in a mild tone, "That they would cap-

ture someone of such a high rank and such eminence

in Starfleet as Captain Kirk lay outside their plans. It

is, after all, rare for a commanding officer to person-

ally participate in dangerous missions."

"Reprimand noted, Mr. Spock," Kirk said with a

hint of anger. "Please continue with the relevant

facts."

"The captain has told you about the trip through the

gravitational field of the supposed 'supermassive

body.' However, the captain never saw any sensor

readings on the body, nor did he see it directly all he

knows of it is what he saw on the Alliance view-

screens. I have no doubt that the image was created

by means of computer graphics. That would be a

trivial matter for even a Klingon ship's computers to

generate. A five-year-old Vulcan child could create the

necessary program in less than half an hour."

207

McCoy snorted and said something to Scott, who

chuckled. Spock ignored them.

"That the captain experienced strange physical sen-

sations at that moment, much like those he felt when

Mauler disappeared, and that the Klingon fleet seemed

to our sensors to spring suddenly into existence, are

all explained by massive use of the cloaking device at

extraordinarily high power levels."

Kirk was surprised at how disappointed he felt at

Spock's mundane explanation of what had seemed at

the time a magical experience. "Spock, how do you

explain this they showed me a recording of events on

the Enterprise bridge. I saw you talking to McCoy.

And a scene from Sickbay, as well. You were discuss-

ing the message I had broadcast to the fleet from

Alliance; specifically, you were discussing my proba-

ble mental state. They claimed to be showing me

recordings given them by the Federation, incomplete

copies."

McCoy gave part of the answer. "We did discuss

your mental state, Jim, but I don't recall ever doing

that in Sickbay."

"Dr. McCoy is correct, Captain. That alone indi-

cates that what you saw, whatever it was, was not a

true recording of events in the supposed past. Was

there anything specific in what you saw that would

make the context unarguable?"

Kirk frowned in thought. "I'm not sure," he admit-

ted.

"Careful suggestion in advance can cause the mind

to supply missing data along the lines desired by the

administrator of the experiment. The technique is

common among prestidigitators."

"In other words," McCoy said, "stage magicians

use misdirection, and your mind fills in the gaps in

208

what you see the way they want you to. It was because

Spock suspected all of this, Jim, that I shot a miniatur-

ized transponder into you on the Klingon flagship."

"Yes, and it hurt, too. You could have just handed

it to me, you know, and let me hold onto it."

McCoy shook his head. "Uh-uh. Scotty came up

with the superminiaturized version because Spock

pointed out that the Klingons probably had the one

you took over to Mauler and would therefore recog-

nize it. We couldn't take any chances of arousing their

suspicions."

Spock added, "For that matter, that's why we de-

cided to use the transponder, Captain. We could have

found you eventually by scanning the Klingon flagship,

since we knew that's where you were, but the Klin-

gons would have detected the scan instantly and would

have guessed the reason for it. They might even have

chosen to kill you, rather than risk letting us get you

back with whatever you might have discovered about

them. We might have suspected they had done so, but

we could not have proven it; we would have known

only that we could not find you with our sensors."

McCoy grinned maliciously. "Also, I knew that

injecting something of that size would sting like the

devil. That's why I argued for its use."

Kirk shook his head. "Bones, it's a good thing you

have friends in high places. But, Spock, where did

they get recordings from our own ship?"

"From Elliot Tindali, or some other agent like

him--someone who had attained a high enough level

in Starfleet to have access to the copies of ship's

recordings that are stored in San Francisco."

"Do you realize what this implies? They must have

built up an enormous library, because they couldn't

know who they would manage to capture, and there-

fore what ships he would have served on."

209

"Yes," Spock said. "That fact argues for extensive

preparations covering every detail of the masquerade

and absorbing a great deal of manpower throughout

the Klingon Empire. Furthermore, their agents must

have told them that we would change codes and dis-

positions throughout Starfleet upon the disappearance

of any high-ranking officer. Thus the Mauler incident

represented a great sacrifice of what they had managed

to learn about Starfleet's current status---data that

must have represented a large and long information-

gathering effort. Overall, this entire episode consti-

tutes a huge investment for the Empire--a wasted

investment."

"Quite a charade," Scott said. "Elaborate. Expen-

sive. What could the Klingons have hoped to gain

from it?"

Kirk said, "Remember, Scotty, the idea was that

their fleet would be escorted all the way to Earth. That

was the way their invented history told the story. Once

they got there, I suspect they would have launched an

attack on Earth, trying to destroy the seat of Federa-

tion government and Starfleet headquarters. They

even had strike craft on their ships. Maybe they

planned to make a landing and capture our top peo-

ple."

Scott shook his head. "Makes no sense, Captain.

Our own ships would've turned on them immediately.

Some of them might've escaped, but not many.

There'd've been tremendous destruction on Earth, but

how would that've helped them?"

"Probably more destruction to Earth than you real-

ize, Scott," Kirk said thoughtfully. "If a few of their

ships had been assigned a suicide mission and were

properly equipped, and if those were the ones that

started the attack, they could have destroyed much of

210

the surface area of Earth before our defenses could

have reacted. We're not equipped to handle a huge

fleet that manages to get that close to one of our major

worlds, you know. Starfleet plans to be able to stop

them long before they get that close to our nerve

centers."

"The captain is correct," Spock said. "Earth is, in

effect, the capital of both the Federation and Starfleet.

To the Klingon mind, its destruction would lead to the

downfall of the Federation."

"Then they don't understand how our minds work,

in the Federation," McCoy said. "It might work in the

Empire. I mean, if someone destroyed Klinzhai, then

the Empire might fall. So they just assumed that

applied to us as well."

"They'll probably never understand how the minds

of free men work, Bones," Kirk said. "It's curious

that their spies could live among us for so long,

drugged to behave like human beings, and yet still not

come to understand the human mind. But even though

they were wrong in their estimate," he pointed out,

"the death and destruction on Earth would have been

terrible, and certainly the Federation would have been

temporarily crippled by it. In that sense, they would

have achieved a large part of their planned goals.

"Well, gentlemen, I don't think we have anything

more to cover. All that's left now is a final talk with

Morith."

"Followed by some surgery," McCoy reminded

him.

211

Chapter Twenty

"You'RE EARLY, JIM!" Morith said, his beaming face

filling the front wall of the bridge. "I assume this

means you've managed to smooth over all your diffi-

culties at last and the flight to Earth can begin."

Kirk didn't bother with false joviality. "You and

your fleet will retreat back across fiqe frontier imme-

diately, or we will open fire."

"Jim! I'm shocked! You're acting as if nothing

had changed. This is a new age, Jim! We New

Klingons--"

"Morith !" Kirk interrupted harshly. "We know how

you generated the storm, we know about your agents

in the Federation and the drugs you gave them, and

we know there was no time travel and no such thing as

New Klingons."

Morith's face worked for a few seconds, varying

between smiling geniality and something darker and

menacing. Finally he relaxed, giving up some internal

struggle. "You know, Jim, the funny thing is that there

really are New Klingons. But there never were very

many of them, and we're hunting down the last of

them right now. Soon the only New Klingons will be

those of us with enough of the drug still in our system

212

to act like humans!" He laughed and shook his head.

"That's an irony I can still appreciate, but in a day or

so my attitudes will have changed."

Kirk leaned forward. "Morithl Keep taking the

drug! You can hold onto that persona !"

"It never was my persona, Jim. I wasn't altered to

that extent. Not like Kalrind. I was given elements of

a New Klingon, just enough so that 1 could do this job

convincingly."

"It was convincing. Doesn't that mean something?

Doesn't that mean that part of you is capable of

friendship with humans? Someday we could still have

the Great Peace!"

Morith smiled. "On your terms, not ours. Besides,

didn't you hear what I just said? The few real New

Klingons are being hunted down and killed. Now why

would I want to put myself on that side, hmm?" He

laughed again and said, "You've cost us a great deal,

James Kirk. Some careers--my own included, no

doubt. I won't forget what you owe us." "My ultimatum still stands."

Morith held tip his hand. "Of course. I'll give the

necessary orders. Your fleet now outnumbers ours.

However, I won't leave Federation space until you

return Captain Kalrind."

"Immediately. Prepare your transporter room.

Uhura, cut transmission." He thumbed a toggle switch

on the arm of his chair. "Transporter room. Lock into

the Alliance transporter room. One person will be

beaming over in a few minutes." He thumbed the

switch again. "Security. This is Captain Kirk. Deliver

the Klingon woman to the transporter room. Hold her

there until I arrive."

'Captain' Kalrind, eh? So much for the mild-man-

nered scholar. Few Klingons were so ruthless and

213

competent that they could climb to command rank. In

the Klingon Empire, that was an accomplishment pos-

sible for only a rare and frightening type of individ-

ual.

"Yes, sir. Sir, what about Mr. Tindall? He's a

Klingon, too, isn't he?"

"Mr. Tindall will be returning to Earth with us.

Kirk out." Going home, he thought. It was Spock's

idea. In the Empire, Tindail would be surplus, useless,

waste material to be eliminated. Perhaps human psy-

chologists could do something with him; perhaps

someday his wife would get her husband back, after

all.

Kirk rose from his seat. "Mr. Spock, you have the

con."

Kirk and Kalrind stared at each other. Kirk turned

to the transporter technician and said, "I'll operate

the machine. You can leave."

After the tech had left the room, Kirk said to the

giant in charge of the Security team, "Thank you,

Corporal. You and your team may return now."

"But, Captain," the giant protested, "the prisoner

disabled two of my best men! I can't leave you alone

with her."

Kirk smiled. "Noted, Corporal. The prisoner is a

Klingon captain. You will salute her and leave."

The Security corporal's jaw muscles bunched, but

he gave Kalrind a smart salute, then one to Kirk, and

he and his two subsidiary giants left the room.

"Kalrind," Kirk said quietly, "for a while, you were

a New Klingon. What happened between us proved

that friendship between our peoples is possible.

Friendship and much more. It's up to people like us,

214

in high positions, to make the old Organian prediction

come true."

Kalrind grunted. "No real Klingon would willingly

take on permanently the personality I had. You just

don't understand us, Kirk. Softness repels us. We are

warriors, first and foremost. We are trained to destroy

the soft. You're soft, Kirk. You repel and sicken

me."

She no longer spoke hysterically as she had in her

cell. The violent period of overreaction to the drug

had ended. But that made her words even more

wounding to Kirk now he was hearing her true feel-

ings.

Nonetheless, he tried again. "We could build a

happier galaxy, Kalrind. Peace, prosperity, coopera-

tion-you seemed to welcome all of that before."

"That wasn't me, Kirk. That was a false personal-

ity." She stepped upon the transporter platform.

"Send me back to my people immediately."

Kirk took the operator's position behind the trans-

porter controls and fumbled with the levers. The set-

tings were blurred. Kirk shook his head, frowned, and

squeezed his eyes shut. "My feelings for you

haven't changed. To me, you're the same woman you

were. ' '

Kalrind stood impassively on the transporter plat-

form, her face wooden, as if she had not heard any-

thing he'd said.

"Well." Kirk reached for the two levers that acti-

vated the transporter.

The settings blurred again. The levers wavered. The

controls of the transporter dissolved into dancing

black dots. Kirk fell against the control box and slid

to the floor.

"Jim!" Kalrind gasped and leaped from the plat-

215

form. She ran to the communicator panel on the wall

and pressed the button. "Sickbay! Emergency in

transporter room !"

She turned back to Kirk, who lay unmoving,

scarcely breathing, his face white. She stood staring

down at him helplessly, then dropped to her knees

beside him and slid her arms under his shoulders,

pulling him against her, cradling his head gently.

Her sharp hearing picked up the sound of running

men. She tenderly eased Kirk back on the deck. Then

she stood, pulled the two levers forward, and jumped

back to the transporter platform.

Just before dematerialization began, Kalrind moved

as if to go back to Kirk, but then stepped back into

position and waited stoically, her gaze fixed on Kirk.

When the door opened and McCoy burst into the room

with Joes Blankhuis right behind him, her figure was

vanishing in a sparkling column.

"You really cut it close this time, Jim. If not for my

remarkable surgical skill, Starfleet would have been

out one captain, and the ship's routine would have had

to be disrupted for a funeral."

"I am as impressed as always by your bedside

manner, Doctor."

Kirk smiled faintly at the interchange between Mc-

Coy and Spock, standing to either side of his bed in

Sickbay. "If you two are trying to cheer me up," he

whispered, "it's almost working."

"Maybe this'il h elp," McCoy said. "Near as I can

figure it out, it was Kalrind who gave the alarm and

summoned help when you fainted in the transporter

room. Also, when you talked to her in her cell and she

shrieked all of that stuff at you, my sensors showed

that she was lying. Not that she wasn't really murder-

216

ously angry, but the real source of her anger was

horror at her own feelings. She recognized strong

feelings for you in herself, and that frightened and

repelled her."

Kirk managed to say, "Thanks for trying, Bones."

It was genuine, while we were both onboard Alliance

and the Klingon base, l'm sure of that. Drug-induced

in a way, but it must have become real.

Those nightmares I had--real memories of emer-

gency surgery and injections of drugs. But she asked

me about "historical data," which really meant sen-

sitive information, even though they could have got a

lot of that out of me while I was under the drugs. So

she must not have known what they were doing to me,

all the dangerous things. She was a dupe, too.

Consoling himself with that thought, he drifted into

sleep again.

On the diagnostic table beside Kirk, Elliot Tindall

lay in a coma-like state again. This time his state was

self-induced, not drug-induced this time it was a flight

from reality.

What had been Elliot Tindall was a mere spark, a

tiny light at the center of a maelstrom of hatred and

rage. Spock stood beside the tightly curled figure. His

long fingers rested gently on the special contact points

on Tindall's face. Their minds merged. Spock's skit-

tered carefully about Tindall's like a starship in orbit

about an incipient nova, ready to flee at the slightest

hint that the explosion had begun.

Speaking to the other, mind to mind, Spock said,

"Tindall. Elliot Tindall." He projected his thoughts

cautiously at first. When there was no response from

the roiling, red core, he tried again, louder this time

"Elliot Tindall!"

217

The reply was a mental shriek. "I AM KOL! I AM

NOT ELLIOT TINDALL!"

Spock winced but held his hand in place, maintain-

ing the channel of communication, even as the Klin-

gon's protest echoed in his brain. "There is little

future in being Kol, I think."

This time the reply was calmer and tinged with

despair. "There is little future in being Elliot Tindall,

either, Vulcan. There is no future for me in either

place."

"Kol is disgraced," Spock suggested, "but human

society does not have such rigid rules of honor and

dishonor."

"I am Kol, and Kol is disgraced," the Klingon

insisted. "The dishonorable rules of human society no

longer matter to me."

"Tindall's work, Tindal!'s wife..." Spock thought,

presenting images of Tindall's laboratory in San Fran-

cisco and of Luisa.

Tindall groaned and moved. He pushed Spock's

hand away and spoke out loud, his voice rough and

whispery. "I am infected by him. Tindall has made

me filthy inside, but I'm still Kol, and so I will still

pursue honor." He sat up and leaned back wearily

against the wall.

"The honor of the warrior's code," Spock said with

well-concealed irony. Humans, Kiingons, Romulans--

how much agony they brought upon themselves by

their refusal to follow the path Vulcans chose so long

ago. "The honor that demands you destroy Elliot

Tindall's life and Luisa Tindall's life, even though

your foolish Empire will gain nothing by the sacri-

fice."

"My honor will be satisfied by my self-destruction,"

2115

Tindall insisted. "My family's honor will be saved that

way."

Spock looked away, embarrassed. He found that he

resented this reminder of a weakness to which even

Vulcans were liable. But Tindall was lying. When

Tindall had pushed Spock's hand away from his face,

he had broken the mental contact, but not before

Spock had seen what he had hoped to see. "You know

that you are not really Koi," he said gently, "any

more than you are really Tindali. You were Kol, but

you lost that part of yourself for so many years, and

you were Tindall for so many years, that you can no

longer claim to be solely Klingon or human. You do

not truly hate your human side. Both halves pull at

you."

Tindall sighed. "True. And that's why I can't return

home again."

"But which is home?" Spock persisted. Both are

home, my friend, but the choice of having both is not

available to us.

Tindall said nothing.

"Tindall was not an invader, an outsider who forced

his way into your mind and possessed it for all of those

years. It was a persona created by your psychologists

and maintained with the help of drugs, but it was

created out of elements of yourself. You are Tindall,

just as you are Kol. Elliot, we can choose which part

of ourselves to become, which will dominate. Klin-

gons would reject you, but humans would not consider

you tainted. To humans, it is who you are that counts,

not what you are. You are an individual. You can make

the life you choose for yourself."

Tindall shook his head. "Without the Klingon

drugs, I would always be violent when in the company

of humans."

219

By Vulcan standards, Spock was almost smiling.

"You are doing remarkably well without drugs right

now."

Tindall looked at him, startled. After a long,

thoughtful pause, he said, "I was always taught that

Vulcans were weaklings--a once-great warrior race

that had chosen to submit itself humbly to rule by

humans. There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

Spock nodded. "Much more. There always is."

When Kirk awoke again, he was alone. Was Kalrind

truly lost to him forever? And if he did somehow

manage to meet her again, would he be able to call up

from within her the Kalrind he had grown to love? She

had as much as admitted that that other woman was

not a mere artifact of the drugs, that she was instead a

part of Kalrind that the drugs had liberated. "Jekyll

and Hyde," he muttered. "Or in this case, Hyde and

Jekyll."

The picture of a future that the artificially manufac-

tured New Klingons had painted for him was a beauti-

ful and seductive one, one that Kirk wanted to see

come about.

Jekyll and Hyde. Hyde and Jekyll. Which one was

the true Klingon personality? Were both? If so, could

some outside force other than drugs determine which

personality dominated? In other words, he wondered,

could the Federation--could James Kirk--do anything

to make the New Klingon type really come about and

really take over?

There was no way to know, but the possibility was

a tonic.

Perhaps that future might yet exist. Perhaps there

would be a Great Peace, and then even a union be-

220

tween the United Federation of Planets and Klingon

Empire. Perhaps the peace would come about in his

lifetime and it was really possible that he, James T.

Kirk, would be the first Federation ambassador to the

Empire.

Just possibly, Kalrind would be waiting for him.

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