Gemini (9 page)

If there was irritation in the prince's tone, she decided not to hear it. Kirk smiled to himself; he had suffered that kind of selective deafness now and then. The princes rotated on the transporter platform, moving like two figures glued to a pivoting stick, taking in everything with a barely contained very unprincelike awe (which Kirk found rather charming), while Securitrix Llora faced Kirk, her superb brows arching. “Captain.” In that single word was a challenge:
This isn't over yet.

“Securitrix,” replied Kirk, neutrally. “Welcome aboard the
Enterprise.
You, too, my lady.”

“Oh, Captain, thank you.” The Lady Pataal was also looking about, her glance more appreciative than that of her transporting companion. “What a wonderful ship! May I see more of it?”

“Of course,” nodded Kirk, smiling appreciatively. Here was a woman who knew how to talk about a starship. Pataal joined the rest of the entourage, saying hello to McCoy, who welcomed the girl warmly, as Kirk approached the platform.

“Your Serene Highnesses,” Kirk said, “welcome to the
U.S.S. Enterprise.
May the warmth of the welcome we give you in our domain match that of the welcome you gave us in yours.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Abon. He took the lead as they stepped from the platform, nodding gratefully at Kirk's welcome, then offering his hand. Abon straightened his neck then, his head barely touching the back of Delor's, and the two rotated.

“We are most appreciative of this opportunity, Captain,” said Delor. He did not offer his hand. The princes might have been identical physically, but, as with most twins, there were many differences beneath the surface—or, rather, surfaces. “We found the process you call ‘transporting' quite unique—”

“—and delightful,” said Abon. Had Kirk not been watching them, if would have been impossible to tell that two people were speaking.

“I'm glad you enjoyed it,” replied Kirk. “You might wish to discuss it with Dr. McCoy, who has his own, equally strong views.”

“We should enjoy that,” said Abon. The princes had now taken one step sideways to the right, putting them equidistant from Kirk.

“Please, let me conduct you to the dining hall,” said Kirk, sweeping a hand toward the door.

The princes followed, their entourage followed them, and the entire parade glided through the halls of the
Enterprise,
the heads of Their Serene Highnesses, and those of most of the Nadorians as well, turning so rapidly as they tried to take in every sight that Kirk feared Bones might have to repair some strained necks.

To their credit, Kirk's crew handled themselves well. Not just those chosen to attend the banquet, but those who, going about their normal duties in the ship's halls, had no idea the princes were aboard. Kirk had, during his years in space, noted the odd fact that human beings are likely to regard as more bizarre some deviation from the standard humanoid form than the weirdest abstract alien physique. Knowing this, he gave high marks to his crew, who barely cast a second glance at the princes, though it was obvious many of them wanted to, partly owing to their unique physical conjoining, but mainly to the unique grace with which the twins moved.

As Kirk escorted them down the halls of the
Enterprise,
some detail of the ship's design would occasionally strike the monarchs, requiring Kirk to deliver an explanation. Either the twins examined the object of interest while standing sideways before it, or one would bend to deliver a full scrutiny. Then, after a few seconds, the other would tap his twin on his left elbow, at which point they would rotate one hundred and eighty degrees, and repeat the process. Kirk regarded with admiration their achievement of learning how to exist with what could have been such a major handicap. Though he tried not to stare, he felt that Abon and Delor could not have been ignorant of the hundreds of eyes upon them. Abon, who seemed justly proud of the ease with which he and his twin navigated life, bore this with a greater grace than Delor, who, from a slight reticence in his manner, seemed to take great pains to make sure he was not performing for the crowd.

The seating arrangements for the banquet—to be held in the re-dressed officers' lounge on the aft side of deck four—could have proven tricky. No one in the princes' entourage had broached to Kirk the concept of seating the twins. Kirk felt certain that this had been a deliberate oversight on the part of certain elements in the government that wished him embarrassed. But when the princes entered the banquet hall, they were delighted to find in the place of honor a chair, specially constructed just for them, as fully functional as their own furniture on Nador, but designed along the cool, flowing lines of the
Enterprise.
Kirk had kept several of Scotty's most talented engineers busy with its design, based on specifications supplied by Spock, who remembered everything about the chair they had sat in during the reception planetside.

Kirk told the princes that the chair was a gift, then found himself startled, but gratified, to be on the receiving end of a Nadorian medal. It was engraved with the faces of Princes Abon and Delor, heads back-to-back, looking very much like the Roman god Janus, for meritorious service for his handling of the rioters, and the protection he had afforded Their Serene Highnesses. He made a short speech upon receiving it, having the good grace not to dwell too long on the gazes of the Counselors Docos and Hanor, Regent Lonal, or Securitrix Llora.

The entertainment for the evening had gone swimmingly, if Kirk said so himself. Feeling the Nadorian contingent would be curious about Earth culture, he had prevailed upon Scotty to render some Nadorian songs upon his beloved bagpipes which, Kirk admitted, he could take in small enough doses. The reception to this performance had been so enthusiastic that Scotty was about to begin another set, before he caught Kirk making a slashing motion across his throat, a gesture Scotty was all too sure could become more than symbolic if not obeyed.

After dinner the tour of the ship began. The princes seemed interested in literally every aspect of starship life, from the bridge to the hangar bay. The Lady Pataal and Yeoman Barrows seemed thicker than thieves, continually making that incomprehensible transition between capable grown women to giggling girls, then back again. He approached them at one point, purely to ask Pataal how she liked the tour, only to find her in earnest conversation with Barrows, apparently concerning some of the more intimate details of her physical relationship with Their Serene Highnesses. Kirk inquired courteously and briefly after her, then hastily reversed course.

Though Prince Abon, from his former statements, seemed to be the twin who had an interest in astronomy, both princes seemed most intrigued by the stellar cartography section of the ship. Spock took the lead here, calling up charts of many different systems across the galaxy, including those of Earth and Vulcan.

“Your Serene Highnesses may find this of personal interest,” said Spock, fingers tapping keys without looking at them. On the screen before them appeared a pair of stars Kirk knew well. “Castor and Pollux in the constellation Gemini,” said Spock, “a set of twin stars, named after twins from Earth mythology.”

“I had heard of the stars,” replied Abon, eyes fixed on the screen, “but I was unaware the names were from Terran culture.”

“They shared the same mother, but different fathers,” said Spock, “yet were identical twins, in the disregard for logic that myths often have. They were called the Dioscuri, ‘Dio' from Dios, meaning ‘god,' and ‘kouroi,' or ‘boys,' in the Earth Latin. ‘Divine boys' is often the translation of the term.”

“‘Divine boys,'” said Abon with a laugh. “How our tutors would have disputed that designation, eh, Delor?” Delor made no response for several seconds (Kirk snuck a glance at the Lady Pataal, who seemed to be holding her breath), then:

“Quite the opposite, they would have claimed,” said Delor, and the dour twin even managed a smile. The Nadorian contingent laughed expectedly, but even the
Enterprise
crew chuckled, and Kirk wondered what they must have been like as boys, realizing they were unique, yes, but therefore totally, utterly alone in their eternal togetherness.

They returned to the officers' lounge for dessert—something frigid with flames of lit Saurian brandy leaping from it, Kirk recalled—and the talk developed into a question-and-answer session about the
Enterprise.
Spock was quite capable of handling this, and Kirk excused himself as he saw a member of the palace entourage leave the room.

“Did you find the dessert a little too rich?” asked Kirk, catching up to her in the hall outside.

“No,” replied Securitrix Llora, in a tone nearly as chilly as the dessert. “I simply wished to get some air, so to speak. I have little taste for sweets.”

“I'm almost surprised you didn't sample the princes' food before they ate it,” said Kirk, falling in beside her, quite unbidden.

“Now you mock me.” Her dark eyes flashed dangerously.

“Not at all,” said Kirk, seriously. “You take your job with palace security quite seriously; I admire that.”

“You do?” The dark eyes shifted uncertainly; her full mouth twitched a little.

“I do,” replied Kirk. “I take my job seriously, too. In a way, our tasks are much alike—we both bear the responsibility for a great number of people.”

“That is so,” Llora said, precisely. She continued walking, the muscles of her long legs playing rhythmically under her leggings.

“I'm very much afraid we got off on the wrong foot, and I'd like to apologize. Here,” he said, directing her down a hallway. He placed a hand on one of her elbows; she did not pull it away. He guided her to a wider portion of the hall, stopped before what appeared to be a bulkhead, and tapped a button set into it. The bulkhead slid silently to one side, revealing a large port. “We call this the observation deck.”

Kirk knew what the view would be, so he watched Llora's face. Her eyes widened as she saw her home planet from space, for the first time as one of a thousand thousand celestial bodies, an azure globe swathed in its atmosphere, backdropped by the reaches of the endless universe.

She gasped; the cool blue light washed over her, softening her features delicately, and it occurred to Kirk that he had no idea what color her hair was. The wariness fell from her face, and she seemed as awestruck as a child seeing the sky for the first time.

“You wanted some air,” Kirk said, softly. “I thought I'd give you a little space.”

“It's so beautiful,” she said, simply. Her voice was low, she seemed to have trouble breathing.

“Yes,” said Kirk, bending toward her.

Just then, the wall intercom whistled.
“Bridge to captain,”
sounded Sulu's voice.

Sighing, Kirk turned from Llora.

“Kirk here, Mr. Sulu. This better be important.” He glanced back at her. She hadn't moved, but one corner of her mouth lifted in a small, quizzical smile.

“Captain, shields have snapped on.”

“Status,” said Kirk, everything else in the universe forgotten.

“Sensors read some kind of missile attack, heading straight for us. Source and type of weaponry unknown.”

“Sound red alert, all hands to battle stations.”

“Aye, sir.”
A small panel in the wall console began flashing red.

In far less time than he could have described it, Kirk knew something was wrong. Sulu's response was absolutely right by the book, and yet the years he had spent in that center seat told him—

“Sulu!” he rasped. “Maximum power to
aft
shields! Prepare for—”

Suddenly, it was as if a giant hand slammed the
Enterprise
from one side, sending it reeling through space.

T
HAT ATTACK
didn't come from forward,
realized Kirk, as he picked himself up from the deck,
it came from aft.
He had been right, though as with many such decisions in his career, he would have given much to have been wrong.

The bulkhead had slid back over the transparent aluminum of the observation port as soon as battle stations had sounded, and the deck lighting had flickered momentarily at the moment of attack. So it was in brief darkness that Kirk sprang to his feet. “Llora!” he called.

“I am here,” came a low voice from not far away. Lighting was restored, and Kirk saw she had been thrown against the bulkhead directly behind her.

“Can you—”

“I am well,” she said, struggling to her feet, taking Kirk's outstretched hand. “What of the princes?”

“Come on.” The observation port was on the other side of the deck from the officers' lounge. Kirk sprinted down the hallway, hearing Llora's light footfalls just behind him.

Just outside the lounge they met a group rushing there from the other direction: Spock, Counselors Docos and Hanor, Commissioner Roget and his wife, Regent Lonal. “Some of the guests wished to see more of the ship,” said the Vulcan, tersely.

“The princes?”

“Still inside, to my knowledge. With the doctor and Yeoman Barrows.”

The rest of the princes' entourage had urgently flocked around them. “Their Highnesses—!” began Regent Lonal.

“Open this door!” said Counselor Hanor, banging uselessly against the hatch.

“Not so fast,” said Kirk. He took Counselor Hanor's hands gently but firmly, and led her away. “Please, stay back.” She stared at Kirk, but made no protest. Commissioner Roget later told Kirk it was the first time he had ever seen her speechless.

He returned to Spock, who was leaning against the door, placing an ear against it.

“Hull breach?” asked Kirk, urgently.

“If so, the breach seems to have been sealed,” said Spock, after an eternal second. “I detect sound within the lounge.” He put his back to the door, with Kirk joining him. For seconds the hatch refused to move. Then Kirk sensed another presence beside him. He glanced over to see Securitrix Llora also applying her strength to the door; they soon wrenched it open.