Gemini (13 page)

“I'm sure the lad's fine, Captain,” said Scotty, heartily.

“Captain.” The conference room doors parted to reveal Chief Giotto and Lieutenant Sinclair, neither looking too much the worse for having been disturbed in the middle of the night. But, Scotty was certain, like himself, they hadn't been in bed long when Kirk's summons came. Giotto and Sinclair approached Kirk, Sinclair placing a small bundle on the table before him.

“What's this?”

“It appears to be the uniform issued to your nephew when he came aboard, Captain,” said Giotto. “A tricorder scan reveals millions of cells left behind corresponding to his DNA.”

“But what we didn't find, sir—” Sinclair began to say.

“Were the clothes he wore onto the ship, the clothing he had worn on the planet!” said Kirk, the realization coming to him in the sudden, intuitive rush Scotty had seen so often.

“Exactly, sir,” said Giotto. Scotty noticed that Sinclair seemed disappointed that she hadn't had the privilege of explaining this to Kirk. Well, he had been young once.

“So wherever he was going on Nador, he didn't want to be connected with Starfleet. He wanted to be able to blend in with the citizenry, for whatever purpose he had in mind.”

“Aye, that seems reasonable,” said Scotty.

“But to return planetside with the tensions in this society … that doesn't seem reasonable at all,” said Kirk, thinking furiously, not looking at any of them, but staring intently into space.

“Captain.”
Lieutenant Palmer's face appeared on the three-sided viewer set in the center of the table.
“I have Commissioner Roget.”

“Put him through.” Palmer's face faded, to be replaced by Roget's. The silver-haired statesman had tried to compose himself, despite being disturbed in the middle of the night, but his confusion was still quite evident.

“Captain?”
asked Roget.

“My nephew has beamed down to the planet,” said Kirk. “Have you had any contact with him?”

“Your nephew? Peter? I—no, no we haven't.”
Despite obviously having been roused from a deep sleep, Roget grasped the situation immediately.
“Shall I issue a memo to Nadorian security?”

“No, I—yes, yes you'd better.” Scotty saw a rare conflicted emotion play over Kirk's features, and he wondered if Kirk's momentary hesitation to involve planetside security was due to the possible political complications of Peter's status, not only as a Federation citizen, but as the nephew of a starship captain, or some other, security-related reason.

“Very well, Captain. I'll put a few unofficial feelers out too, if you don't mind.”

“Whatever you can do would be greatly appreciated,” said Kirk, fervently. From somewhere off the screen came a murmured voice. Roget turned to heed it for a moment, then looked back at Kirk.

“After all these years, my wife still forgets that diplomats don't have regular hours. She sends her wishes that your nephew will be found soon, and well. I'll be in touch the moment I have anything to report.”

“Thank you, Commissioner, Kirk ou—”

“One last matter, Captain,”
said Roget.

“Yes, Commissioner?” Kirk sighed, but Scotty saw him shake himself almost imperceptibly and face the screen, his interest renewed. Scotty had heard something else in Roget's voice, an undercurrent that he didn't like, and figured Kirk had picked up on it as well.

“I was going to wait until morning to report this, but … well, I've not been able to keep from the citizenry the fact that the princes have been separated.”

“I didn't think you would be, given the fact that many people already knew it,” replied Kirk. “How are they taking it?”

“Some of them are taking it quite badly—there are rumors of civil unrest, of riots, looting mobs … ”

“Don't they know Their Serene Highnesses are alive and well?”

Roget smiled faintly, cynically, one man of the world to another.
“Some of them don't care, Captain. Some people only want a chance to spread chaos. Others, more sincere but no more rational, see it as an omen of social breakdown or as a portent of religious chaos.”

“I've encountered a few of those, yes,” said Kirk. “Please keep me apprised of the situation, and tell the Federation citizens we'll make every effort to guarantee their well-being.”

“Thank you, Captain, I'm sure they'll appreciate it.”

“In the meantime, you might counsel Regent Lonal to release the whole truth about the princes to the Nadorians. Mobs live on gossip and innuendo.”

“I will do that, Captain. Good night.”

Kirk sat for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, restlessly. Finally, he rose stiffly from the chair, sighing, exhibiting a fatigue Scotty had rarely seen in him.

Then he turned to the three-sided screen again and called the bridge. “I'll be in my quarters, Scotty.”

“Aye, sir,” he said. “Pleasant dreams.”

“At this point, I'll settle for no dreams,” said Kirk with a tired smile. “Thank you for all your help, Scotty.”

“Anything I can do t'help, sir, just ask.” Scotty knew Jim Kirk didn't ask for help unless there was no other way. Scotty was that way himself, and so was determined to give Kirk whatever help he could.

* * *

“May I approach them, Doctor?” asked the Lady Pataal.

“I'm afraid not,” said McCoy. “The princes are in a sterile field, it's best not to chance compromising that.”

Pataal nodded and swallowed, her eyes blinking back tears as she watched the two unmoving forms on the sickbay biobeds. “They have never slept alone before.”

“They're not alone, Pataal,” replied Yeoman Barrows, squeezing the girl's hand reassuringly. “Dr. McCoy or Nurse Chapel will never be far away, in case there's some kind of emergency, or—”

“No, I mean they have never slept separated before. In different beds.”

To Tonia Barrows, who had grown up with a full complement of siblings of both genders, sleeping in bed with your brother not six feet away hardly constituted being “alone.” Yet after trying to view the situation from Pataal's perspective, she knew what her friend meant.

“They are not moving,” said Pataal, anxiously. “Are they all right?”

“They're fine,” said Nurse Chapel, glancing at the medical scanners over the twins. “Dr. McCoy has them medicated and immobilized so they won't roll over on their backs and disturb their wounds before the physiostimulator can heal them. See? Look closely enough and you can see them breathing.”

“Your Mr. Spock said Dr. McCoy was an excellent physician.”

“Mr. Spock said that?” Chapel smiled, and it seemed to Barrows that the nurse particularly savored the possessive adjective Pataal had used. “Well, he's right.” She reached out and patted Pataal's free hand, smiling. “But you'd better keep that to yourself, all right?”

“Very well,” nodded Pataal, thoroughly confused. “May I stay and watch them for a few more … ”

“Pataal,” called Barrows, softly.

“What?” Pataal's eyes jerked open. “Are the princes—?”

“They're fine, but you almost passed out on your feet,” said Barrows, putting a hand around Pataal's back and guiding her to the doorway. “You'd better get back to the palace and get some sleep.”

Upon hearing the word “palace,” Pataal gasped, as if hearing a familiar word used in an obscene context. “The palace? Oh, Tonia, I can't return there! With Abon and Delor—with Their Serene Highnesses absent, the place will be either as empty as a mausoleum or so full of royal lackeys, jockeying for position in their absences, that I won't be able to sleep.” She looked at Tonia, trying not to appear too desperate. “Please, may I stay with you? If it's too much trouble, you needn't bother, but—”

“We're not supposed to have guests without the approval of the watch officer,” replied Barrows, as they headed down the hallway, “but I'm sure it'll be okay.”

“Your room is very … nice,” Pataal said, as they entered Barrows's quarters.

“It's probably a little smaller than the room you're used to, but it'll be fine,” said Barrows. She spun the closet on its axis, rotating it into the wall, revealing a chest of drawers surmounted by a beauty table. “Here,” she said, handing Pataal a pair of pajamas, “I think these will fit you.”

“I feel like a real member of Starfleet,” said Pataal with a grin.

“It's good to see you smile,” said Barrows, brushing her hair.

“Sometimes I wish I were in your Starfleet,” said Pataal, a little more plaintively. “Sometimes I wish I were anywhere but on Nador.”

Barrows listened carefully. This was something Leonard had mentioned, a clue as to her emotional state. “Nador seemed like a lovely place.”

“Oh, it is. It is my home and I love it. But … sometimes, my life can be very difficult.” She blushed immediately, and shook her head. “I know what you're thinking, ‘How can her life be hard?' Many people on my planet envy me, I assure you. By most people's standards, my life isn't difficult, no, but it can be, sometimes.”

“Well,” said Barrows, cautiously, “I imagine it's difficult, being—with two men, isn't it?”

“I could hardly be with just one of them, could I?” asked Pataal, reasonably. “That would be impossible. Though … not anymore.” Her voice started to thicken, and she started to blink back tears. Barrows hurried to her, sitting next to her on the bed.

“But they're twins. Isn't it almost like there's just one of them?”

“Oh, no,” said Pataal, shaking her head. “They are very different. They have always been, ever since they were little. I even find their appearance normal. It was when I saw them up in the sickbay that they seemed strange to me, for the first time in my life. I enjoyed dancing with them,” she said, keeping down the faint shudder in her voice, “you saw how graceful they are—were.”

“They're remarkable,” said Barrows, noncommittally. The girl seemed to want to talk. The best thing was to let her talk without getting too distraught, Leonard had said.

“Of course, they didn't always get along so well,” said Pataal, stifling a capacious, unladylike yawn.

“Here, stretch out,” said Barrows. “That's it. What do you mean?”

“They would fight often,” said Pataal, her voice growing fainter.

“About dancing?” asked Barrows.

“About everything. Matters of state, treaties, land disputes between the tribes, everything.”

“Well how did they get to be so popular, if they couldn't make up their minds?”

“I helped them make up their minds.” Pataal smiled, her voice sounding as if it were coming from very far away. “When we were alone, I would often ask them about their day, and help them to decide, help them realize what was best.”

Behind every great man,
Barrows thought, then was immediately thankful she hadn't said that aloud.

“Now, Tonia, tell me about your Dr. McCoy,” said Pataal, her eyes opening slightly.

“He's not mine,” said Barrows, dryly. “He's his own man, that's for sure.”

“But do you love him?” Pataal murmured, her voice almost inaudible.

“I don't know. How do you know when you're in love?”

“I was in love with my princes,” said Pataal, faintly. Her eyes flickered open, and she sat up, big tears rolling down her face.

“You still can be, honey,” said Barrows, going to her, hugging her.

“Can I?” Her voice came in hiccups between sobs. “Things will never be the same again, Tonia. Never.”

“No,” said Barrows, helplessly. “No, they won't.”

They rocked back and forth for a while, until Pataal's grip loosened around Barrows. Barrows laid the sleeping girl down, gently, then tiptoed across to her couch, where she lay for a long time before sleep came.

* * *

“I assure you, Admiral Fitzgerald, I am fully aware of the gravity of the situation,” said Captain Kirk to the small viewscreen in his quarters. He refrained from sighing; a call from a skittish Starfleet admiral was not his favorite way to begin the day, especially after a night like the one before.

“I'm sure you are, Captain,”
said Admiral Fitzgerald, sounding rather the opposite,
“but the request for this communication came directly from the Federation Council, which has received a report that is severely critical of your handling of this matter.”

“Let me guess,” said Kirk, this time allowing himself the sigh. “From Counselor Docos, Counselor Hanor, or Regent Lonal?”

“The source of the report was not revealed even to me,”
replied Fitzgerald,
“but the Council was most emphatic that your mission on Nador not be sidetracked by planetary politics.”
Fitzgerald seemed tense, and looked as though he needed sleep. His mane of fair hair, which he was normally as vain as any beauty queen about, seemed somewhat mussed. Kirk, who had known him for several years, since before he had ascended to the admiralty, recalled when his hair had been jet black.

“Nor is that my desire, Admiral, I assure you,” said Kirk, evenly. “Unfortunately, the
Enterprise
crew seem to be the only persons in this whole affair who don't care about the politics of the planet—or, rather, didn't. When the rulers of the planet were nearly killed while my guests, you can imagine that my interest in Nadorian politics was suddenly rather accelerated.”

“I understand, Captain,”
replied Fitzgerald, sympathetically,
“but you must do everything you can to make sure the handover goes off without a hitch—despite the myriad ways it can go astray.”