The Cry of the Onlies

by Judy Klass

  One ugly incident marred the pleasant atmosphere and drove this point home.

  Kirk was accosted in the market by two men. One was tall and gaunt, with a piercing gaze. His head was covered with a dirty cap, and as he approached, Kirk saw soiled blond hair beneath it. So, then, not a Boacan. He was accompanied by a squat, plump Boacan boy.

  He could not place them at first, then realized that they had disturbed him on his first visit. They had been following him.

  "We must speak to you," the older man hissed.

  "State your business, then." Kirk stared at him, hard.

  "We are the alternative to this government. The alternative the Federation now wants to do away with."

  "I don't understand."

  "With Federation support we can defeat the rebel council."

  "What support? Arms?"

  "We can get argea to you. We can come to some arrangement—"

  "Who are you?" Kirk cut him off.

  The blond man took a step back, and the squat boy came forward. "My gang is small. But we are one of many. The city of Boa is honeycombed with such gangs, and if the Federation made it worthwhile I could convince many to join us."

  "The Federation," Kirk told him slowly, emphasizing every word, "has no interest in your offer. We are negotiating with the planet's leaders."

  The boy shrugged. "We already have support. Planets, groups within the Federation give us backing, have bolstered us for years. So, finish what you start."

  "I have started a peace initiative. I intend to follow through."

  The blond man again asserted himself. "We are not going away. You have not heard the last of us."

  Kirk regarded him coolly. "Perhaps not. But the peace talks go on, regardless."

  A loud noise from a neighboring street, that could have been metal cracking, or could have been a shot, caused the two men to start, then run for the cover of an alley. Kirk watched them flee, watched the dust settle in their wake.

  The presence of Starfleet forces on Boaco Six was a temptation to such people. Kirk made arrangements with the Federation and the Council of Youngers for civilians to come in and take over.

  He discussed the final arrangements with council members as they walked along the shore of the ocean, outside the city. For Kirk and his men, it was the last day on the planet. They had ridden to the shore on the backs of the bony, camellike larpas. The beasts seemed glad to reach the ocean, and now were stepping their hooves through it delicately, thirstily guzzling the cool black water with their long hairy muzzles, hooting happily to themselves. Apparently, the salt in the water did not deter them or harm them.

  Refreshments for the Boacans and the men of Starfleet were served picnic style on embroidered blankets laid out on the sand. Several musicians sat on a rock and filled the air with their light, fluttering music. The sunlight shone off their instruments of metal and wood. Small, weird crustaceanlike creatures rose up out of the sand dunes and skittered past Kirk's feet into the water.

  Kirk saw young Ensign Michaels kicking at purple pebbles and bits of driftwood that littered the beach, and walked over to him. He should have talked to Michaels sooner. He hoped the boy would be receptive to what he had to say.

  "Captain," Michaels said now, "I wish to apologize for my behavior on the bridge. I panicked in a moment of crisis. I interrupted your thinking and planning at a crucial moment. In fact, my general behavior and performance of duty has been—"

  "Belay that, Ensign," Kirk said gently. "And listen to what I have to say. I'm setting up a continuity team, to stay on the planet until the Federation diplomats and researchers arrive. Some Starfleet people should be here to advise them on how things stand, and to stay and work with them. Rizzuto, the historian, will be running this continuity team. He needs an assistant with enthusiasm, who has come to know and like the people here."

  "I think, Captain," Michaels said carefully, "that I am not ready yet, perhaps, for the pressures of starship service. Maybe I could be more useful here."

  Kirk gripped his shoulder approvingly. "Starfleet isn't the answer for everyone, Michaels. This job may grow on you. But while you're sorting things out and getting used to your work here, don't jump in with each new thought as soon as it comes to you. Just watch and listen …"

  "And play it by ear." Michaels grinned. "I will, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Kirk left him and headed on down the beach. The double sunlight warmed his back and his forearms through the cloth of his shirt. For the few days of their return to this world, he had been filled again with a sense of wonder at its dazzling beauty, color, and small creatures. He crouched and watched a group of tiny sand mites fighting over a large piece of salt. There was something about this world, the moist smell of the trees as the wind rustled through them, the feel of the air at night, the pulse of the local music …

  What was it that the poet from the early Neptune colony had written when he first visited the aquatic world of Cestus Fourteen? "A planet drunk with springtime." And that was it, that described Boaco Six as well. A planet drunk with spring, drunk with life and growing. Drunk with sunlight—despite the dark cloud of terror and poverty that had hung over it for so long. He was struck, as he had been when visiting the Onlies at the Children's Center, by the resiliency of the young. Their stubborn, insistent, renewal and growth.

  Kirk could see Spock engaged in earnest discussion with old Mayori, the council member who had led the torch chanting. They seemed to be discussing some point about the role of the continuity team.

  Kirk had signed an initial nonaggression pact and trade treaty with the Council of Youngers. The Federation had given him the authority to do so, and Spock's logic had seconded what Kirk's instincts told him was the right move.

  Kirk picked up a purple piece of coral, smooth as a sand dollar, and skipped it out across the dazzling black water. Waves crested near the shoreline and licked at the dry sand, then pulled back, bubbling with black foam. Farther down the shore, away from the clusters of people, Kirk could see Tamara Angel walking, wading in the shallows. She was dressed in her fatigues again, but her dark hair hung loose and shone in the glow of the suns. Her trousers were rolled up to the knees, and she stared at the water as she walked, looking serious and young. She paused, as he watched, and flipped bright orange seaweed up into the air with her toes. No beach to walk on … thought Kirk. Well, there were other compensations.

  Tamara Angel became aware of him watching her, smiled, and splashed toward him. She explained, as she approached, that she hated wearing her boots on the beach. They slowly walked along together.

  "So, in an hour you will be leaving us, Jim. I will be sorry to see you depart. It is a shame that we could meet only as actors for our causes, maneuvering, playing a complicated game."

  They moved up from the water, and Tamara patted the bony flank of a larpa as they passed.

  "I'm sorry, too, Tamara," Kirk said. "I hope I haven't in any way compromised your position, your situation as a government minister."

  "Not at all, Jim. It is simply my misfortune to be a leader of people who like to tease. But perhaps you will come back to visit us someday? When we are less busy and relations are less tricky? Not as a special envoy …"

  "I understand. I certainly hope I can come back. Your planet does me good. And I'd like to visit you."

  "May you have many happy trails till then," Tamara said cheerfully. She caught sight of Iogan, who was glancing toward her frowning and beckoning. "Iogan worries too much. I think he is eager to have you leave. We have several formal events scheduled for today after this one."

  "Like what?"

  "This afternoon we are formally dedicating the Irina Memorial Peace Park in honor of our fallen comrade. The delegation from Boaco Eight will be there to say a few words about their diplomats who were killed that day. And this evening is the formal christening of Puil's palace, which you visited, as a national landmark."

  Kirk recalled the palace, in all its grotesque opulence,
the horrific torture devices and the mountain ranges of footwear and lingerie. "What are you going to christen it?"

  "Well, the words are Boacan. Difficult to translate. I suppose the best English version of the name would be 'The Gluttony Monument.' What do you think?"

  Kirk smiled. "I think it's a fine name, Tamara."

  "I'm sure you would be welcome to attend both ceremonies, if you wish to stay longer."

  The captain shook his head. "I would like to. But Starfleet orders dictate otherwise."

  As they gazed out over the sand and across the expanse of the ocean, the sun-streaked maroon clouds seemed swollen with moisture and light. A cool breeze blew shoreward and tempered the languorous heat. Tamara Angel said good-bye and moved on to confer with Iogan. And Kirk began to gather his men to leave.

  The crew on the bridge of the Enterprise was visibly pleased by their captain's return. Kirk asked Lieutenant Uhura to make sure that all ship's personnel who had been granted shore leave on Boaco Six were safely back on board. She confirmed that they were. Kirk paged McCoy down in sickbay, just to make sure the doctor hadn't lingered on the planet's surface to pursue last minute research. He invited McCoy to a game of billiards later, when they were both off duty.

  Kirk checked in with Rizzuto and Michaels, and the continuity team that was remaining behind. They reported that all was quiet; they were going along to the peace park dedication. Soon Spock entered the bridge.

  "I believe we have made admirable strides, Captain," he said. "The treaty you signed was a watershed. Even the venerable Mayori, long a foe of Federation aid, is coming to see the logic of it."

  Lieutenant Uhura, who was busy decoding a news bulletin from Starfleet, now printed it out on a lighted tablet and handed it to Spock. He scanned its contents.

  The turbolift doors opened and McCoy strode out. "Well, Jim. It seems as though your Vulcan first officer has lost himself a bet," he said.

  "A bet, Bones?"

  "His contention was that I'd hold up our beaming back on board, and get too swallowed up in the forest hospital I was visiting," McCoy said indignantly.

  Kirk did not tell him that he himself had had a similar worry.

  "But here I am," the doctor continued, "punctual and precise in the great Starfleet tradition! I made it back on board before he did."

  "There was no actual wager involved, Doctor," Spock said, not bothering to glance up from the screen of the tablet he was holding, "but I am glad my ploy to increase your efficiency was successful."

  "Efficiency, nothing. Seems to me you could help me out by reorganizing my little chemistry laboratory. I'll expect you down there at 1600 hours, and then I'll call us square …"

  "I regret to say that the gratification of knowing that your work habits are improving must be your only reward, Doctor," Spock said. "I would not presume to attempt to unscramble the arrangement of your chem lab."

  Work on the bridge had stopped temporarily, as the crew listened to the exchange. Kirk suppressed a smile. He was beginning to feel very much at home.

  "Hmph. Some sport you are, Spock," McCoy said. "I never trust a man who doesn't get into the spirit of gambling." He turned to face the captain. "Are you as sorry to leave that place behind as I am, Jim?"

  "Yes, Bones. It's quite a rare and lovely little world."

  Spock finally looked up from the news bulletin. "Much of this is irrelevant to our mission and our concerns, Captain. But not all. Some of the information here does concern Boaco Six and the threat of galactic war. Tamara Angel's analysis of the Klingon-Romulan rift, as you described it, seems to have been correct. The danger is past. Neither empire is willing to take on the Federation alone at this time. Or to make an issue of the Boacan system."

  Kirk stared ahead at the black and maroon and orange planet his ship still orbited. Its image filled the screen. "Splendid, Mr. Spock. That limits conflict only to the craziness and discord within the system itself."

  "The ministers from Boaco Eight who I talked to expressed to me great willingness to accommodate their neighbors, Captain, and share Federation support with the sixth planet. The threat of a war with larger powers intervening frightened them. Sanity seems to be prevailing on all sides." Spock, too, stared ahead at the bold little planet wrapped in the clouds, whose image bathed the bridge in a wine-colored glow. "We now have an unparalleled opportunity to enhance the Federation's position in the area. If we use it properly."

  "Let's hope we do, Mr. Spock. Let's hope we do." Kirk sat back in his chair. "Mr. Sulu, plot a course for the next quadrant and our rendezvous with the two starships there. Take us out of orbit, Mr. Chekov."

  Once they broke orbit, the swirling world of Boaco Six and its three moons grew smaller and quickly vanished from the main screen. The twin suns of the Boaco system grew steadily smaller and fainter. But other stars beckoned.

  Look for STAR TREK fiction from Pocket Books

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