by M S Murdock
"Sir, was there any question as to who was the prisoner of whom? It is completely out of character for a Romulan to allow himself to be captured."
For the first time since they had met, Iota regarded the Potemkin's captain with a tinge of respect.
"No doubt. Not in my mind, at least. As far as I can see Kirk is a free agent. I've given him two solar days to come up with some kind of a solution."
"Don't you think that was a decision for the entire council to make?" said Iota tightly.
"There wasn't time. The Romulan fleet is at Canara. Kirk is taking the Enterprise there. He has my authorization to act as intermediary for the Federation, to try to negotiate a settlement. Until that time you will take no action except in self-defense. Justifiable self-defense. Is that clear? You have been apprised of the situation, gentlemen."
Poppaelia's image faded from the screen and the joint commanders looked at one another.
"I don't believe it."
Iota's jaw was set and his voice carried complete conviction.
"I admit it requires a lot of faith, Admiral. But I know Kirk, and his word has always been sounder than most formal treaties."
"I don't doubt your friend, Garson, and I'm aware of his credentials, but who can withstand the kind of brainwashing techniques those savages use? It's all an elaborate plot to take us by surprise. I don't believe it."
"We are under orders, Admiral."
"I can see no valid evidence Kirk is in command of the situation. He could just as easily be a hostage, used to lull us into complacency while the Romulans prepare their attack. I will not sit idly by while the Federation is duped."
"We are under orders," repeated Garson, but the admiral shed his words with a lift of his head.
"I will not stand idly by," he intoned.
Iota was standing behind the command chair in an attitude befitting a conqueror. His head was high, his shoulders squared and there was a light of conviction in his eyes. Garson watched him with growing apprehension and the dawning knowledge he was dealing with a fanatic.
Chapter 13
"Captain's Log: stardate thirty-one twenty-eight point eight, Mikel Garson, Captain, USS Potemkin, recording.
"We are holding position at the Neutral Zone awaiting further orders from Star Fleet Command. The situation is intense, nerves are on edge, and I am particularly concerned about Admiral Iota. He seems to be almost pathologically convinced the Romulans intend to provoke a war. I must admit his arguments are not so far-fetched as I first believed, but his obsession with the 'Romulan menace' is frightening. He has been in his quarters since our last contact with Star Fleet Command. I am afraid he is considering some drastic action."
Admiral Iota, Star Fleet Intelligence, member of the Defense Council, known to his friends as 'Jake,' emerged from his quarters. Crewmen, watching him pass, looked twice. The sense of purpose which drew their eyes coursed through his veins like fire. He saw the obvious solution. Only one course promised complete safety for the Federation. So simple. Why hadn't he thought of it before? True, it defied that clacking grandmother Poppaelia's orders, but that was only a technicality. When it was successfully over and he was a hero, the savior of the Federation, no one would remember. Or if they did, it would be to authorize his actions. He smiled as he walked through the last metal doorway separating him from his goal. The doors snapped shut behind him, concealing his presence. A sign on the wall read "Auxiliary Control."
"Captain! My helm control has been cut off! I've lost the ship!"
"Are you sure, Helm? Check that control panel."
Arviela's salt and pepper head bent over the control panel as she checked the circuitry. Her enameled silver nails pressed buttons with deliberate care.
"No, sir. The control panel checks out. Power has been cut off—diverted to some other area."
"Engineering! Are you having difficulties?"
"No, sir, everything's normal down here." The engineer's voice was puzzled.
"Captain … I've lost the phasers too—it's like a main power switch has been flipped off."
"Go to manual."
"No manual response, sir."
Garson watched Arviela check the controls for the third time. His worries over Iota became a solid rock in his stomach: he knew what had happened. Iota had sabotaged the manual safeguards, taken over auxiliary control and was at this moment by-passing the main computer.
"Auxiliary control," Garson snapped at the intercom. "Admiral Iota."
"Captain," acknowledged Iota, oozing sarcasm around the title.
"Admiral, I must ask you to return helm and phaser control to the bridge."
"I think not."
"Admiral, I remind you I am military commander of this mission."
"And I will remind you of my rank and my position on the Defense Council. Do you really think Star Fleet Command would, in the end, accept your views over mine?"
"My authority—from the head of the Defense Council—is on record."
"Perhaps, perhaps," Iota answered, "in normal times. But we are at war and war requires drastic measures. If we sit here and wait for the Romulans to shoot first we're throwing away the best chance we have!"
"Admiral, no one has made a move! The Romulans are completely within their rights! You can't fire on them!"
"The Romulan fleet has invaded Federation space."
Iota's voice stated this fact as if it were a religious tenet repeated in blind faith. Garson was helpless to combat his righteous conviction. Physical battles he could fight, diplomatic discussions he could cope with, but he had no idea how to pierce Iota's blindness.
"Admiral, wait! Please give it some time. You can always attack. Just give me some time!"
"There is no time."
"Yes, there is! One day! Just one day and I'll give in."
Garson caught a flicker of hesitation on the admiral's face and pressed harder.
"Do it for the Federation you love. Give peace a chance before you plunge into war. Please, Admiral, think of the Federation."
"I think only of the Federation. All right, Captain, one day. But that is all. If at the end of that time peace has not been declared, this ship will attack the enemy. One day," repeated the admiral as he switched off the intercom.
Captain Garson drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. One day. He had no ship, no weapons. At least the other ships were functional … and he still had communications. He had told Iota relying on Kirk was a matter of faith. The truth of his own statement mocked him.
"Lieutenant, get me Poppaelia. Block the transmission so it can't be monitored by Auxiliary Control."
"Aye, sir. I have him, sir."
"On the screen."
"Yes, Garson?"
Poppaelia sounded annoyed and Garson could not blame him.
"I am afraid I'm forced to add to your burdens, sir. I must report that Admiral Iota has barricaded himself in Auxiliary Control and now holds weaponry, helm and navigational systems. He refuses to believe the Romulans do not want war. He has issued an ultimatum: if he does not have conclusive proof peace is declared within twenty-four hours, he will attack the Romulan ships in the Neutral Zone."
"My God!"
Garson nodded.
"I'll do my best to outmaneuver him, sir, but there's only one sure way I can see to stop him."
"Don't do it until the last moment. Keep at him. I know he's a fanatic, but I don't think he's completely crazy. I think you can still get through to him."
"Sir, he has very little respect for me."
Poppaelia snorted.
"He has little respect for anyone, but he's big on facts. Do your best. If Kirk comes through …"
Poppaelia left the sentence unfinished as his image faded from the screen. Kirk was the fulcrum of the situation. If he could push things the Federation's way—and he had managed some tight spots before—there might be a chance to defeat the admiral's obsession. Garson clung to this isolated sliver of hope.
"Captain, I have
Canara on the sensors. ETA, forty minutes."
"Very good, Mister Spock. Mister Chekov, put us in standard orbit around Canara, but keep the Romulan fleet on the other side of the planet at all times."
"That will require an oblique approach, Captain," replied the navigator. "It will take longer."
"Yes. I don't want the Romulans to know we're here … yet."
"Aye, sir."
Spock turned from the computer station and went quietly to the captain's side. Kirk looked up from the report he had just signed. His eyes held an unspoken question.
"I have investigated the Canarans, Captain. They are indeed a primal and ruthless people, but they are endeavoring to extend their knowledge. The head of the Canaran council of elders, Romm Joramm, is in a large measure responsible for this. I believe if he can be convinced to deal with the Romulans there is hope bloodshed may be avoided."
"This … Romm Joramm … how does he feel about the Federation?"
"It was through his leadership Canara became a member of the Federation."
"Then we should be able to come to some agreement."
"Yes … but it would be unwise to discount the stubbornness and severity of the Canaran people. Once committed to a line of action, they are not easily swayed."
Uhura cupped a hand over the subspace receiver in her ear. She cocked her head to catch a faint signal.
"Sir, I'm picking up a distress signal from Canara. It's faint, sir. They're requesting assistance from Star Fleet."
"Good. They should welcome us, then."
"Fortuitous indeed, Captain," commented Spock.
"Jim, timely though our arrival may be, how do you think the Canarans will react when they find there are Romulans aboard the Enterprise?" asked Doctor McCoy.
"That does present a problem," murmured Kirk with a glance at S'Talon.
"Indeed, Captain. The Canarans may believe they are being manipulated. And if you present me as a prisoner of war they are not likely to accept me as an ambassador," interposed S'Talon.
"Mmmm … Lieutenant Uhura, open a channel to Canara—scrambled—I want to speak with Romm Joramm."
"Aye, sir."
"Perhaps, Captain, it would be better if I withdrew during your interview," said S'Talon.
"Thank you, Commander. That would be wise. Doctor McCoy, would you escort the commander?"
"I'd be happy to. Sir?"
The Romulan leveled a look at Kirk, a warning against betrayal. He watched the human's changing hazel eyes absorb the warning and respond. "Trust me," they said. He had no alternative … trust was the only chance the empire had. For himself, he was lost. He knew when he looked on the Praetor's face he would see his own death.
"I have Romm Joramm, sir."
Kirk waited until S'Talon and McCoy had left before he replied.
"Put him on the screen, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir," acknowledged Uhura.
Kirk had never met a Canaran. Except for the vaguest generalizations and the information Spock had given him, he knew nothing about Canara, but Romm Joramm impressed him. The man's immense dignity gave his frail body stature. It flowed through his movements and hung in the drapery of his clothing. His pale gold eyes were translucent.
"Welcome," he said. "I am Romm Joramm, leader of the Council of Elders."
"James Kirk, sir, commanding the USS Enterprise. We heard your distress signal."
"Yes. We are in most dire need of help. We have been invaded by Romulans. They came disguised as traders, demanding gran. When we refused they said they would take what they needed. We told them we would destroy the crop. In turn, I think they will destroy us."
"Sir, would you consider letting the Romulans buy your gran—at a fair price?"
Kirk's face held all the earnest honesty of a cherub.
"If they had come to us openly … but no. They have lied; they must take the consequences. But why do you ask—are you with them? Is this a trick?"
The old man's voice sharpened suddenly and Kirk thanked the providence that had removed S'Talon from the bridge. It had been a wise move.
"No. No. But there are extenuating circumstances."
Romm Joramm checked his rising anger and waited for an explanation. The captain launched his argument.
"The Romulan empire is, itself, under attack—not by military force, but by disease. A plague has destroyed one-third of the population. There is a medicine that can stop the plague, but to make it they need gran. Their own supplies ran out long ago. They come to you wounded and for that reason they are dangerous, for they have nothing to lose. If you will sell them gran there is a chance the Romulan empire will survive and you will prevent a galactic war."
"The Romulans are enemies of the Federation. Why do we not simply allow them to die? The life of this planet would not be too high a price to pay for the survival of the whole Federation, unmolested by this outside menace."
"Sir, I will be honest with you. There are many who see no objection to what you propose. It would seem to be a practical solution. But it means war. And war means suffering and death for both sides. It is in our best interest to prevent it."
Joramm considered this.
"I see," he said. Suddenly he smiled. "It means we must place what we would like to do behind the welfare of the people. That is a lesson, Captain, I have been working on all my life. I doubt that I shall ever master it. However, in this instance, I see in the bending of my will a measure of profit. Not only will Canara survive, it will become rich—at least by our standards."
The captain felt relief flow through his body. He answered Joramm's smile with his own. "Thank you, sir," he said.
"Thank you, young man. I owe you a debt for curbing my temper. You are," he added with a twinkle, "extremely persuasive."
"I have a temper of my own, sir," replied Kirk, "and it has often been diverted by the hand of a friend."
S'Talon fingered the plump leaf of a violet, touched the delicate blue and white blossom. McCoy busied himself picking the dead blooms from a small magnolia tree. He kept an eye on the Romulan, but did not intrude upon his privacy. The botany lab was fresh with the smell of growing things. If there were only a breeze the doctor could have shut his eyes and pretended he was home in Georgia.
"What a lush place your Earth must be, Doctor, to be so filled with beauty."
The still air quelled S'Talon's voice and the deep quiet of the plants swallowed it, but McCoy still heard his murmured comment.
"Yes, it is," he answered.
S'Talon looked up sharply. Dark Romulan eyes under angled brows scanned the Terran's face. It was crossed with a pain he did not understand. "Is there something wrong, Doctor? You look as if you do not feel well."
"I don't," said McCoy.
"Then help must be summoned. Your sickbay …"
"No, Commander, I'm not ill."
McCoy paused, uncertain what to say. "There is pain in your eyes—surely not without cause."
"The centurion, Commander. I am so sorry. If only we had discovered the vaccine in time she might still be alive."
S'Talon's mind clouded. He would feel S'Tarleya's loss for the rest of his life, but it had not been anyone's fault. If guilt existed, it was his, for blindness. He turned, his deep eyes seeking the doctor's.
"It could not be helped, Doctor. S'Tarleya was pleased there was a chance for the rest of her people. She said you told her she was the instrument of their survival." These humans were the strangest combination of strength and weakness. "Is there hope, Doctor? Can your captain produce miracles?"
McCoy smiled.
"Some think he can, Commander. He will do his best … and that is exceptional."
"Of that, Doctor, I have ample proof," replied S'Talon.
"He's one of a kind," said McCoy.
"Let us hope so," said S'Talon so fervently the doctor chuckled.
The intercom sounded and McCoy dug behind a large philodendron and activated it.
"McCoy here."
"Kirk here. Bones, the Canarans have agreed to sell their gran to the Romulans and they've accepted S'Talon as the Romulan ambassador. Please have S'Talon return to Control. It's time to hood the falcon."
"That may not be easy, Captain."
Kirk swiveled the command chair to face his first officer.
"You're telling me," he murmured. "We've got to place them at a disadvantage."
"We do have them at a technical disadvantage. They have invaded our territory and threatened aggression against a member of the Federation. The practical situation is, however, entirely different," said Spock.
"One ship against the entire Romulan fleet." Kirk bent his head. "One ship," he murmured reflectively. "Our only chance is to surprise them—command the situation intellectually."
"Canara coming up, sir," interposed Sulu.
"Standard orbit, Mister Sulu."
"Aye, Captain. Standard orbit."
"Captain, the Romulan fleet is on the other side of the planet," said Chekov.
The captain ran a finger across his lower lip.
"Mister Chekov, plot an intercept course that will put us right in the middle of them. No shields. Stand by. Doctor McCoy to Control," he said to Uhura.
Chekov and Sulu exchanged glances. Chekov took a deep breath and carried out the captain's order.
"Course plotted, sir," he said.
"Warp one, Mister Sulu."
"Aye, sir."
The Enterprise sailed into the heart of the Romulan fleet with the aplomb of an ancient wooden vessel under full sail. She glided gracefully to a halt in front of the Praetor's flagship. Like the proverbial fair and innocent maiden, she floated serenely in the midst of a pack of hungry wolves.
"The man is mad!"
"Not mad, my Praetor, but very, very clever," said a Romulan officer. "That is the Enterprise, commanded by Kirk. I have faced him before. He never does anything without a reason."
The Praetor glared at the Federation starship.
"This is how S'Talon buys time!" he said, contempt in his voice. "I will talk with this Kirk! Open a communications channel."