Gemini (3 page)

“None taken, Mr. Scott,” said Commissioner Roget, with a smile. “I have to admit, there have been many days in the last thirty years when I've thought the exact same thing. The Nadorians can be a very stubborn people. And,” he said, cautiously, after a brief pause, “there are some rather obstreperous political factions you should know about.”

Kirk and Spock exchanged a brief glance. “Go ahead, Commissioner,” urged Kirk. “We know the population of the planet's main continent was composed primarily of two major tribes who've spent the majority of the past few centuries trying to wipe each other out.”

“Must put you in mind of the good old days on Vulcan, Mr. Spock,” said McCoy, blandly.

“Indeed,” nodded Spock, evenly. Kirk smiled to himself; Spock's refusal to rise to the bait would irritate McCoy more than McCoy's barb had irritated him. “That similarity between the two planets as warring cultures does exist, as does another, more pleasant similarity. As I recall from my reading of your summary of Nadorian history, Commissioner, the tribal leaders finally realized that their culture's progress was coming to a virtual standstill. It was then that the tribal leaders finally realized, when they were first contacted by the Federation, that their efforts would be better spent in working together rather than against each other. Quite commendable; it speaks highly of them as a people.”

“Exactly right, Mr. Spock,” said Roget, with the enthusiasm of an expert in an obscure subject who has found a kindred spirit. “To that end, the prince of one tribe and the princess of the second married. It is their sons who are next in line for the throne, though to all intents and purposes they rule the planet now.”

“Yes, ‘Their Serene Highnesses' Abon and Delor,” said Kirk. “I recall that they were named for the tribes they were descended from, the Abonians and the Delorites. But from your lead-in, I'm afraid things aren't running as smoothly as all that.”

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case. Though most natives have accepted the idea of a united planet to keep themselves competitive in this shrinking galaxy, there are a few diehards who still like things the way they were.”

“There always are,” said McCoy, glumly.

“There are some unpleasant constants in diplomacy, Doctor,” said Roget with a resigned sigh. “The two representatives of the tribes are Counselors Docos and Hanor—Docos representing the Abonians and Hanor the Delorites. Those posts as ‘representatives' are entirely self-granted, but they do serve on the Planetary Council, and they do carry great influence among the people as a whole.”

“Well, what about this Regent Lonal?” asked Scotty, in a tone of mild irritation. Kirk smiled slightly. A practical man, in his own way Scotty hated inefficiency as much as Spock. “Isn't his job to make 'em sit down and play nice?”

“I often think Regent Lonal would like nothing more than that, Mr. Scott,” said Roget, “but he, too, is a politician and is doing his best to hold the fabric of Nadorian society together.”

“Their Serene Highnesses aren't much good at that?” asked Kirk.

“They are still young men, Captain, with little actual experience at ruling a people, much less a people so divided, though the Nadorians do put a great deal of store in them as figureheads. And, of course,” he said, shaking his head, “there's the physical situation—”

Kirk couldn't help interrupting. “But there are several thousand Federation citizens on the planet, how are they taking all this political intrigue?”

Commissioner Roget sighed. “As well as can be expected. Their safety has been often my major concern, of late. Nador's most radical separatists have even attacked some of the Federation citizens. In response, some of the more indignant Federation citizens who have put down roots here have formed an activist group of their own, feeling themselves at risk. But don't worry, Captain,” he said, quickly, “such instances are rare. Your nephew is quite safe.”

“Thank you, Commissioner,” replied Kirk, avoiding McCoy's suddenly intent gaze. “One last question—are any of these groups ardent enough in their beliefs to take armed action?”

The laugh lines of Roget's face disappeared, and he seemed to pale. “What do you mean?”

“We encountered an unidentified ship. Small, but fast and heavily armed. Spock, have you been able to learn anything from the debris?”

“All attempts at analysis have proven inconclusive,” replied his first officer. “The hull samples retrieved are composed of various alloys common to starship construction across several inhabited systems. Nor have any of the unidentified ship's energy frequencies produced any usable information as to its place of origin.”

“Please keep me posted on this,” said Roget. The softness of his voice was belied by the urgency of his speech. “The situation is critical enough without bringing armed vessels into it.”

“You'll be the first to know,” said Kirk. Throughout this exchange, Kirk could feel McCoy's eyes on him. Peripherally, Kirk saw McCoy's mouth about to open when the table intercom sounded.

“Kirk here.”

“Uhura, Captain. Cargo bay reports that Commissioner Roget's effects have been secured. And I have a message for the commissioner from his wife.”

Roget chuckled. “She probably thinks she needs to remind me of the banquet tonight.”

“I'm glad someone reminded me,” said Kirk, rising. “We'll give you some privacy, Commissioner, and look forward to seeing you later tonight.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Roget, warmly shaking hands with all of them, save Spock; Kirk wondered if he had ever served on Vulcan.

“Why didn't you tell me your nephew was on Nador?” asked McCoy, in an accusatory tone, once they were outside.

“I thought I had mentioned it,” replied Kirk, innocently. “At any rate, you know now. What of it, Bones?”

“Nothing,” said McCoy, a little too easily. Then he chuckled. “If he's a real Kirk, he's probably got a girl he wants you to meet. How'd he wind up on Nador?”

“I pulled a few strings,” said Kirk. Spock joined them as they headed toward the turbolift. “Sam and Aurelan knew Commissioner Roget, and it didn't take much coaxing to get them to agree to let Peter join the Federation party here as a kind of junior adjutant.” He felt McCoy's concerned gaze on him as he spoke of his late brother and his wife and all he had lost on the planet Deneva, but he was all right. “They say he's getting along fine.”

“I would not find that surprising,” said Spock. “The boy seemed resilient.”

Kirk smiled, tapping the side of his head. “He's a Kirk, complete with a very thick skull.”

“Let's hope he doesn't need it,” said McCoy. “I don't like this talk of Federation citizens being attacked.”

Spock nodded. “Such news is most alarming.”

“Let's not go looking for trouble, gentlemen,” said Kirk, grimly. Experience had taught him that trouble, more often than not, found them on its own.

C
ONSTITUTION
-
CLASS STARSHIPS
were wonderful creations, with their myriad devices for enabling humankind to travel with relative safety in space. Their marvels extended past the basic mechanism of travel to the environmental programming, with, among other wonders, the subliminal tapes of the sounds of animals and bodies of water that they still couldn't live without (and hopefully, would never learn to).

But there was nothing to compare with the native air of a Class-M planet. They could mix anything they wanted into the air on the
Enterprise,
but it would never smell quite like the surface of Nador did when Kirk and his landing party beamed down. It was an olfactory dream, a combination of pleasant odors, some familiar, some unique.

Kirk looked around to find himself in a partially enclosed plaza on the periphery of the grounds of the royal palace of Nador. Beneath and before them stretched a length of what Kirk took to be some variety of native rock; it was partially translucent, with veins of color and—he looked again—yes, that was some sort of wood growing through it. He made a mental note to ask Spock about it. Beyond the plaza was a well-maintained swath of forestry, tended just enough to give it that untended look, studded with a few sizable boulders. And beyond that was a high wall, enclosing the palace grounds. It seemed to Kirk that beyond that he could hear an urgent murmur of voices, but he could distinguish nothing particular, and he could see only samples—doubtless carefully chosen—of native architecture, a kind of long, curved, design sense that seemed to sweep down, then up, drawing the observer's eye, giving the impression of a rising that continued past the scope of the structure itself.

Approaching them was Regent Lonal, wearing the bland smile familiar to every career diplomat Kirk had ever met, followed by a number of functionaries, including a lovely young woman, with blond hair and a shy smile that seemed to flicker on and off like a ray of sun trying to peer from behind a cloud.

“Captain Kirk,” said Lonal, making a precise bow, “the planet and people of Nador wish you and your fellow travelers all the peace and plenty our globe contains.”

“Thank you, Regent Lonal,” Kirk said, with a warmth that was genuinely felt. “I bring greetings from my ship and the entire United Federation of Planets, in the hope that Nador will soon be joining us.”

“Ah, but that is a matter for wiser heads than ours to decide,” replied Lonal, heartily. “Please, may I present some of my loyal and most capable staff—” He reeled off several names of stiff-looking courtiers, who bowed with equal rigidity. Kirk greeted them as though each was the most important person he had ever met, though he couldn't have recalled any of their names five minutes later. “—and the Lady Pataal.”

The young woman Kirk had noted stepped forward and curtsied charmingly. She was wearing something flowing and diaphanous that seemed to gather around her body like a cloud. Her eyes were the color of warm almonds, her forehead high and broad, her features proud and aristocratic. Nonetheless, she barely lifted her head to meet their gazes, though her on-again-off-again smile reappeared briefly.

“We are delighted to meet you,” said Kirk, with feeling. “May I present my first officer, Mr. Spock, our ship's surgeon, Dr. Leonard McCoy, and Yeoman Tonia Barrows.” Kirk had wanted one of the rank and file present to enhance Starfleet's democratic image, and, secretly a matchmaker at heart, saw no reason why such a lovely planet shouldn't be visited by both Dr. McCoy and the yeoman, who seemed to be circling each other in a perpetual, unconsummated, mating dance since their experience on that amusement park planet, earlier this year.
What kind of captain,
he thought,
would let such a valuable member of his crew continue to endure that? What kind of friend?

Scotty, who loathed state functions to the depths of his simple soul, had practically begged to stay aboard the
Enterprise.
And, considering their encounter with that mystery ship earlier in the day, Kirk was glad to have an experienced hand on the bridge, just in case. Scotty had said he planned to spend the time trying to program the food slots for haggis. Kirk dearly hoped he was kidding, but with Scotty's often dour countenance, it was difficult to tell. Kirk still got a grin out of the time Scotty had sent a new hand all over the ship looking for a left-handed dilithium crystal articulation frame.

“If you will permit us,” said Regent Lonal, moving to one side as he bowed and extended an arm toward the interior of the palace. Kirk returned the gesture, permitting Lonal and his party to precede them. As planned, both parties started for the palace archway, mingling as they proceeded.

Kirk contrived to find himself next to the blond young woman, to, he was sure, the surprise of neither Spock nor McCoy. “Your planet is quite lovely, Lady Pataal.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She smiled, but when she finally looked up, the smile vanished like a wary animal who wasn't certain if it was wanted or not. “I hope you will find our planet hospitable.”

“I'm already finding its people so,” said Kirk, gallantly.

“She's quite lovely,” Yeoman Barrows commented to McCoy, his arm through hers, “don't you think?”

“She's nowhere near the most attractive woman in this gathering,” Kirk heard McCoy say, his Southern accent suddenly more prominent.

“That's sweet, but I mean it,” said Barrows. “Pataal, her name is? I wonder what she does here?”

“I don't know, but five to one says Jim winds up sitting next to her at the banquet,” whispered McCoy, tugging unconsciously at the collar of his dress uniform. “Any takers?” he added, to Spock, not far behind.

“It would be unfair of me to accept that wager, Doctor,” replied Spock. “I am in possession of facts you are not.”

“What ‘facts'?”

“Your name is Pataal?” Kirk was asking. “That's a lovely name, it's almost musical.”

“I am glad you like it,” said the young girl, dimpling. “Their Serene Highnesses also like it.”

“What do you do here at the palace?” asked Kirk, as they were led through a high archway into the structure itself.

“I am Their Serene Highnesses' consort.”

“Oh, those facts,” said McCoy, expression deadpan.

“Really?” said Kirk, after a moment. “Then Their Serene Highnesses are extremely lucky men.”

“You are kind,” smiled Pataal, touching his arm.

“Merely truthful,” responded Kirk, wondering if this planet's customs attached any special significance to such a simple touch. It hadn't been so long since he had been tricked into dueling nearly to the death with Spock over a minute point of planetary protocol, and he had no desire to engage in another joust over the finer points of ambassadorial rules. Surely Spock would have warned him if—