by L. A. Graf
"At this point, that seems unlikely, Doctor."
Kirk frowned at his first officer. "Explain."
"Seventeen months ago, Dohlman Elaan was killed in combat defending the Troyian dilithium deposits from raiders."
Chapter Three
KIRK FELT a dull stab of grief, not as strongly as he would have expected, and rubbed at his arm where McCoy had given him the injection. "Go on."
"While Elaan's death established her as a hero among the common people of the Tellun system, it left King Bejas of Troyius without a bride, and Elas without a direct influence in the workings of the Troyian court."
McCoy tugged Kirk's abandoned chair out from between the examining tables and thumped it down at its original workstation. "Why?" he asked, sitting and propping his feet up on the desk. "Couldn't the Elasian Council just marry off the next Dohlman in line to keep their hand in things?"
"The next Dohlman in line, Doctor, was Dohlman Israi, with whom we spoke this afternoon. According to Federation records, she is not yet a mature female and therefore has not yet been confirmed as the supreme ruler of Elas." Spock lifted the doctor's foot only high enough to retrieve his record tapes from beneath it. "Israi has an older aunt who is acting as her Crown Regent until she matures, but King Bejas objected to a marriage with her. Apparently he became disenchanted with Elasian Dohlmen after Elaan stabbed him with a kitchen utensil on their wedding night."
McCoy nearly tipped his chair from laughing. Kirk couldn't help smiling somewhat at the memory of the fiery, black-eyed warrior nearly taking his ear off with a dagger throw when he tried to leave her presence.
"I guess her miraculous conversion to dewy-eyed miss was too good to last," the doctor drawled amiably.
Kirk glanced down at him, cheeks growing warm. "I liked her better when she was stabbing people."
The doctor snorted. "You would."
"It seems," Spock continued, "that Bejas of Troyius held different standards. He appointed his wife Elaan admiral of the Troyian space fleet, specifically to insure that they would live in separate dwellings. However, their professional relationship evidently prospered where their marriage did not. Elaan held the post of admiral for years, and upon her death, King Bejas settled a magnificent bequest on her sister and heir, in appreciation of Elaan's services to Troyius."
Kirk scowled at his first officer, quick to see the connections Spock had left undrawn. "Enough of a bequest to allow the Elasians to buy warp technology from the Klingons?"
"And to purchase interplanetary weaponry from them as well," Spock agreed calmly. "If they were so inclined."
With a race as aggressive as the Elasians, Kirk reflected, their inclinations were likely to be unpleasant for anyone their hot tempers chose to fix upon as an enemy. "All right, let's assume the Elasians used King Bejas's bequest to buy Klingon warp technology and weapons." Kirk eyed his senior officers intently. "Now the question is—why are they in such a hurry to mine dilithium on Rakatan that they didn't even notify the Federation they were here?"
"To get a quick shot of disposable wealth, before their claim can be disproven?" McCoy hazarded. "The Klingons gave them a taste of what they could get on the black market, and they want to buy more."
"Thus setting up an arms race in the Tellun system that would destroy the peace Starfleet created there between Elas and Troyius five years ago." Kirk swung around to angle a sharp look at his science officer. "Spock, have you started checking out the Johnston Observatory's sentience report?"
Spock tipped his head in question, coming dangerously close to expressing surprise. "No, Captain. Given the current political developments—"
Kirk cut him off with a nod. "Get on it."
"Jim …" McCoy rotated his chair to more fully face the captain. "What in hell do magma men inside volcanoes have to do with the Elasians mining dilithium on Rakatan?"
Kirk grinned down at the doctor over one shoulder. "The Prime Directive."
McCoy repaid him with a look of dour annoyance. "Excuse me?"
Spock folded his arms in unconscious mimic of Kirk, nodding slowly. "Since Rakatan is a Federation planet, any sentient life-forms on it would be protected under the Prime Directive." He shot a confirming glance at the captain. "The Elasians would not be allowed to mine dilithium there, and so would not be able to build their black-market arms supply further."
Kirk smiled, pleased with himself, and McCoy asked skeptically, "Isn't that a little underhanded?"
Leave it to the doctor to find the downside to everything. "Not if we actually find evidence of sentience," Kirk replied smoothly. He motioned for Spock to follow him as he stood. "Get all of Metcalfe's notes. If there's even a chance of intelligent life in one of those volcanoes, I want to know about it now."
"And if there is?" McCoy pressed.
"Then, mining claim or no mining claim—" He leaned across the desk to tap at the clock mounted next to the doctor's elbow. Twenty minutes, to the second. "—the Elasians, just like me, are out of here."
From her seat aboard the shuttle Gamow, Uhura watched Rakatan loom against the velvet dark of space below them. The planet looked like the ghost of an earlier Earth, its blue oceans laced with familiar white clouds, but unbroken by any brown-green shadow of continents. Sulu's carefully plotted approach had taken them away from the enormous peak of Rakatan Mons and its erupting companion, to a side of the planet where the seas were freckled with small, dormant volcanoes. Uhura noticed that in places they linked into curving island arcs, fragments of continents in the making.
"Underling."
"What?" Uhura glanced across the shuttle's main aisle, surprised by the unexpected word.
Chekov made the kind of face he usually reserved for spicy smoked bean curd or raw mollusc pâté. The muffled thrum of the shuttle's impulse engines couldn't hide his indignant tone. "I don't think I like being called an underling."
"But you are an underling, Lieutenant." Sulu didn't look away from his instrument panel, but mischief danced in his voice. Uhura heard a stifled breath of laughter explode from the young geologist who sat in the copilot's seat. "Starfleet is just too polite to make it an official classification."
"But it sounds so … disposable," Chekov protested. "Like someone a Dohlman could throw a knife at without anybody noticing."
Uhura smiled. "I'd notice if she threw a knife at you."
"We all would," Sulu added lightly. "There wouldn't be anyone gloomy left in the landing party."
Chekov snorted. "You just wait until she throws a knife at you. Then tell me how much you like being an underling."
"She's not going to throw knives at any of you," Uhura declared. "You're my underlings, not hers. No one's allowed to throw knives at you but me." She caught the amused look Sulu threw over his shoulder at her. "You know what I mean. It's just another way of saying that you're my subordinate officers."
Sulu laughed. "A rose by any other name—"
"—still has thorns," Chekov finished. When Uhura raised an eyebrow at him, he gave her a shrug and a smile. "That's the Russian version."
The other security guard in the shuttle looked up from the electronic reader he'd been studying, his coffee-dark face alight with interest. "Really, sir?"
Chekov sighed. "No, Murphy, not really. I made it up."
Not being close enough to swat the Russian on the shoulder, Uhura contented herself with practicing what she hoped was a Dohlmanlike scowl. "Don't pay any attention to him, Ensign. He's just trying to tease us."
"I think I'd leave that to Commander Sulu, if I were you, sir." The geologist from Johnston Observatory looked around, speaking unprompted for the first time since he'd transported up from the moonbase. Uhura looked at the young man more closely, seeing the thin, intelligent face beneath his scruff of hair and beard. "He's better at it than you are."
"He's allowed to be," Chekov said curtly. "He's my commanding officer."
The geologist bit his lip and fell back into silence, looking as if he regretted having spoken.
Uhura practiced another Dohlman glare on the Russian without any visible effect. She sighed and turned back toward their guide.
"Will there be a lot of ash in the atmosphere down on Rakatan, Doctor—" She paused, trying to remember the name he'd mumbled upon his appearance.
"Mutchler," he supplied, more readily this time. Being asked about his specialty obviously broke through his reticence. "Scott Mutchler. And no, we shouldn't encounter much in the way of volcanic ash, not on the side of Rakatan we're landing on."
"There's some up here in the stratosphere," Sulu said. "You can hear it hitting the shuttle."
Uhura tilted her head, and heard the faint whisper of particles rattling against the shielded windows. She looked out and saw streaks of dark gray fingering through the thin upper atmosphere. Sulu carefully piloted the shuttle through the clearer spaces.
"There's always some ash up at these levels," Mutchler agreed quickly. "We think that's what keeps the planet cool despite all the greenhouse gases in its atmosphere. But Mazama Mons—the volcano that erupted this morning—lies leeward of where we're going. We shouldn't have to wear breathers."
Chekov grunted again and nudged the plastic box sitting in the aisle beside him. "Is that what's in all these boxes you brought? Protective gear?"
"No, that's a focusing device for a ground-motion detector." Mutchler ducked his head, looking reticent again. Uhura began to suspect his quiet manner was due to something other than shyness. "Um—Dr. Bascomb said that as long as I was coming down to guide you guys, I might as well fix Seismic Station Three. That's the one the Elasians messed up when they landed."
Chekov's eyebrows drew together. "Did she clear that with Captain Kirk?"
"Not yet." Mutchler looked up pleadingly. "But we've really got to get the upper caldera site on-line again! If we don't, a year's worth of data collection is going to get wasted. And it'll only take an hour or so—"
"I'll have to check with the captain."
Mutchler opened his mouth, then closed it again when Uhura shook her head at him in warning. She recognized the note of finality in Chekov's voice. Further argument would only annoy him, and she had a question she wanted to ask Mutchler.
"Dr. Mutchler, you must have tried to repair your seismic station before this. What happened?"
The geologist made a wry face. "We got chased away twice, that's what happened. That little Dohlman of theirs took a fit when I tried to explain our research program to her. Those goons she calls her cohort broke my equipment, stuffed me back into my shuttle, and pointed their guns at me until I took off. Which I didn't waste any time doing." He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration, ruffling it even more. "We tried contacting them by communicator after that, several times, but all the Dohlman would say was that the Crown Regent didn't want her to talk to any of us."
"The Crown Regent?"
Mutchler shrugged. "Some older female relative back home. Dr. Bascomb says she gets the impression that this Crown Regent person actually runs the Elasian government."
Uhura dredged up hazy five-year-old memories of the last Elasian Dohlman she'd met. "I don't remember Dohlman Elaan of Troyius saying anything about a Crown Regent running things for her back home on Elas."
"Was she a mature female?" Mutchler inquired, then flushed at Uhura's lifted eyebrows. "I mean, could she secrete the biochemical compound in her tears, the one that enslaves the Elasian males?"
Uhura exchanged a thoughtful look with Sulu. "I think so," she said at last. Although it had never become public knowledge, the two of them had discussed Captain Kirk's unusual behavior around the Dohlman of Elas, and pieced together some of what must have happened to cause it.
Chekov, obviously, had not. "Enslave their males?" he repeated doubtfully.
Mutchler nodded. "We read up on the Elasians after they showed up here. Turns out the Vulcans have done a lot of scientific studies on them lately because of their unusual reproductive adaptations. The females secrete a compound in their tear glands that makes their males"—he flashed a mischievous look at Chekov—"their underlings, loyal to the death. They've apparently based their whole governmental system on it."
Chekov frowned at him. "But why would they need to do a thing like that?"
The geologist shrugged. "No one knows for sure. The Vulcans think the adaptation evolved to compensate for the Elasians' pronounced sexual dimorphism."
Uhura saw the Russian's puzzled look and translated. "The big difference in size between the sexes. You remember that, don't you, Pavel?"
"I remember that the Elasian men were very big," he agreed readily. "Were the females very small?"
Sulu tossed a quizzical look over his shoulder while he brought the shuttle skimming down toward the sparkling surface of the sea. "You don't remember the Dohlman coming up on the bridge?"
Chekov shook his head, looking baffled. "How could I? We were busy fighting the Klingons."
Uhura and Sulu exchanged smiles, but said nothing in reply.
The shuttle leveled off, the whistle of its descent through the atmosphere easing into a comfortable cruising hiss. Sunlight slanted golden through the windows, and for a moment Uhura closed her eyes and enjoyed the welcome feel of it on her face. It was the one thing she missed in space—the radiant warmth of a nearby star.
After a too-brief moment, however, the sunlight went away. Uhura opened her eyes, noticing that the shuttle had stayed on its arrow-straight path across the ocean. "Are we under a cloud?"
"Not exactly." Sulu's voice held an odd note, part amusement, part awe. "Come up here and see for yourself."
She gave Chekov an inquiring look and got a shrug in reply. Evidently, whatever it was, he couldn't see it either. Sighing again, Uhura threaded between seats and leaned into the small, open cockpit. "All right," she said. "What's so strange that you couldn't—"
She broke off, struck as wordless as Sulu by the view through the shuttle's windshield. Far to the west of them, the sunlit horizon rose up into the massive blue-white peak of an enormous volcano, blurred with distance but still big enough to cast a long, ominous shadow hundreds of kilometers out to sea. The shuttle had just entered into that shadow.
"The biggest stratovolcano in the galaxy," said Scott Mutchler with almost possessive pride. "Rakatan Mons."
Chapter Four
"CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE 4372.5.
"On a top-secret diplomatic mission, the Enterprise has entered the Tellun star system. Maintaining communications blackout, we have taken aboard Petri, the ambassador from Troyius, the outer planet, and are now approaching the inner planet, Elas."
Duty jacket thrown across the crisply made bed behind him, feet propped beside the terminal on his work desk, Kirk smiled wryly as he turned the small stiletto over and over in his hands and listened to his captain's logs from half a decade before. Light whisked up the oiled blade in his hands like tiny shots of lightning, sparking off the ruby in the dagger's hilt with such depth and clarity that it made the stone glow like a dollop of polished blood. Kirk remembered the first time he'd really noticed the graceful knife—buried for half its length in the Troyian ambassador's back—and marveled at how young and innocent these five-year-old log entries sounded compared to the very real dangers his older self could sense in the situation surrounding them now.
"Captain's log, supplemental.
"Ambassador Petri has just granted me the dubious honor of receiving Her Glory Elaan, the Dohlman of Elas, on boardthe Enterprise for transportation to Troyius. According to the ambassador, Elas and Troyius have only recently ended their bitter interplanetary war by negotiating a symbolic marriage between the female warlord of Elas and the king of Troyius. Petri tells me that the Enterprise's role in this mission should be simple: escorting the reluctant bride to her new home on Troyius. Petri himself has been assigned the more difficult task: making sure Elaan doesn't kill the bridegroom once she gets there."
Kirk ducked his head, pressing the knife handle against the bridge of his n
ose and wincing at the note of condescending laughter in his younger voice. He'd recorded this entry less than two hours after the first, within minutes of Petri's first whining explanation of the unpleasant duties he faced as Dohlman Elaan's etiquette instructor. Kirk had barely met Elaan at that point, hadn't yet realized how fiercely and easily the Dohlman's temper could flare. Without the option of throwing her into a security cell, Kirk's only choice had been to treat the Elasian warlord as playfully as he would a child, hoping to teach her that the arrogance her culture expected of her would not serve her in the larger world of the Federation. She'd learned her lesson all too well. In turn, she had taught Kirk never to underestimate an opponent. Kirk had often wondered which between the two had been the more valuable lesson.
"Captain's log, stardate 4373.9."
This entry was quiet, the young voice dictating it noticeably stiffer and more grim.
"Her Glory the Dohlman has just hospitalized the Troyian ambassador sent to reconcile her to her upcoming marriage. McCoy assures me that Ambassador Petri will recover, but the Federation High Commissioner has made it clear that completing the ambassador's mission is now my personal responsibility. The prospects of a successful outcome are not promising. Mr. Spock reports that our long-range sensors have detected a sensor ghost—most likely a ship of unknown affiliation—shadowing the Enterprise at—"
"Bridge to Captain Kirk."
Memories of the past swarmed over Kirk with startling immediacy. For a moment, he expected Spock to tell him that their sensor ghost was really a Klingon cruiser, that the Enterprise's warp matrix was fused beyond repairing. Then the relative calmness of his darkened quarters registered on his distracted mind, and he remembered that he was waiting for news on his landing party, five years later and more than seven parsecs away.
He pulled his feet off the desk and sat up to punch the intercom stud. "Kirk here."
"Spock here, Captain." The gentle machine chatter of the second-shift bridge tatted a soothing web of sound behind the first officer's voice. "We have just received word from Commander Uhura that the landing party has been denied access to the Elasians' astrogational charts."