Star Trek: The Original Series - 161 - Savage Trade

by Tony Daniel

  Kirk nodded toward the exterior. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “But also somewhat dangerous.”

  “The outpost will withstand the storm,” Washington-Yarnek said. “During my time here, I’ve seen worse.” Washington-Yarnek had ordered a Saurian brandy when they arrived (another luxury indulgence for the outpost, it seemed), and he swirled it around in its glass, then took a sip. He smiled in pleasure at the taste, but then his face became more serious. “I must tell you, Captain, this outpost has become less of a study center and more of a refugee camp. We—my people—need to get on to the next stage of our lives hopefully within the Federation and not on its outer edge. We are no longer residents of the planet Excalbia, but it seems that the Federation is very ambivalent about claiming us as citizens, no matter how much we may wish to become productive members of your society.”

  “I empathize with the way you feel, but you have to understand the position in which you’ve placed the Federation,” Kirk replied. “You are an unknown quantity from a species with powers beyond our capabilities.”

  “Originally, true, but I do not know what else we can do to prove our sincerity.”

  “Valek would probably say that what you can do is wait out the administrative process. You want to become Federation citizens. This is how the Federation operates. Sometimes the wheels grind much more slowly than any of us would like.”

  “Granted, Captain,” Washington-Yarnek replied. “But in the meantime, my people are getting restless. They need something to do. Let me tell you from experience that this is a demoralizing state.”

  Washington-Yarnek stared down at his brandy. “Have you had it before?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Extraordinary stuff. One could drink oneself to oblivion with this and wake up with a head as clear as day.”

  “There are hangover cures that work very well these days,” said Kirk gently. “And one need not even choose to get drunk at all. A simple pill before drinking.”

  Washington-Yarnek nodded, but by his gaze Kirk could tell his mind was elsewhere.

  “When we were encamped in Pennsylvania in seventy-six, there were moments when I felt in my heart that all was lost. We’d been chased like scared children through and out of New Jersey, across the Delaware. Supplies were low. The enlistments were running out. We had whole regiments leaving at once for points north and south—anywhere to get away from a dreadful winter in an ill-equipped camp. Was this what the revolution was promising?”

  “A difficult situation,” Kirk said with a smile. “I’ve read about it. In fact, we studied it at the Academy.”

  “The enemy held New York and Philadelphia. Things seemed truly hopeless.”

  “But you found a way to give the troops, and the country, hope.”

  “We learned from our spies that the British had garrisoned one of their most fearsome battalions of mercenaries, the Hessian warriors, in the dormitories at Trenton, New Jersey,” said Washington-Yarnek. “It was extremely provocative information, but what was I to do with it?”

  “You considered that they were an outlying portion of the British forces and that reinforcements would not be immediately available to them if they were engaged.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You also knew that, as poor and bedraggled as your forces were, if you concentrated them, you could overwhelm a garrison-sized unit.”

  “Not easily, Captain,” Washington-Yarnek said with a rueful shake of the head. “When you are dealing with Hessian mercenaries, nothing is ever easy. But the opportunity was there.”

  “All you had to do was get a substantial force across the Delaware River during winter, attack, and then get back before reinforcements arrived,” Kirk went on with a smile. “Not an easy task at all, sir.”

  “We crossed at night. I’d hoped to have the aid of the moon, but the evening proved to be cloudy. It was the middle of December and ice floes filled the water. Dreadfully cold. It seemed I could feel the suffering of my men physically.”

  “But they were moving.”

  “Yes, and though it was the Yuletide and most were far from home, they understood they had been given a meaningful task. They did not shirk it. We attacked at dawn, and the Hessians gave us quite a fight. I sent out Greene to my left, Sullivan to my right. Colonel Knox brought his cannons up to fire on the garrison. It was difficult, bloody. But, in the end, we overcame the mercenaries, sent them scurrying. We lured Cornwallis down. We then confronted him at Trenton, achieved a stalemate.”

  “You withdrew during the night, after that second battle.”

  “A tactical retreat,” Washington-Yarnek said. “Sometimes it seems as if my entire military career was a series of maneuvers and tactical retreats. This was a lesson I learned well in my youth from the war with the French and Indians on the Virginia frontier. Ten years we spent losing men and giving ground. More than once, all seemed lost. Then suddenly the all-powerful French simply collapsed. Britain had won in other places around the globe, and Montreal fell to General Wolfe. It was over.”

  “You won for Virginia during the French and Indian War without winning a single major battle.”

  “In fact, I lost my fair share, two of them badly,” Washington-Yarnek said. “A commanding officer’s task is to win a war, not achieve victory in this or that battle.”

  “You won the battle at Trenton.”

  “Yes. We won,” Washington-Yarnek replied. “Captain, I don’t have to tell you: it felt good to win for a change.” He smiled, and this time his smile, wholly unconscious, revealed the off-white surface of his set of false teeth. Kirk had read somewhere that it was hippopotamus and not elephant ivory that went into the base of Washington’s teeth. This was one of those facts that stayed with you long after history class.

  Not such a bad imitation for eighteenth-century technology, Kirk thought. But I see why he doesn’t smile much.

  There must be a way to modify the dentures in such a way that the form-renewing molecular activity within Washington-Yarnek would not reject the improvements. Kirk knew this was something the outpost scientists were working on. Scotty might have a few suggestions that would help them. I’ll have him look into it.

  “The effort galvanized the new nation,” Kirk said. “Your manpower drain slowed—platoons, squadrons, regiments began to reenlist rather than leave for home—and new recruits arrived.”

  “The engagement was of little military worth. I knew this at the time. The officers were aware of the fact, as well. Most of all, we gave the men something to do. Something that was not obvious make-work, a small thing, but important.” Washington-Yarnek took another sip of Saurian brandy and looked out the window. The dust storm was almost upon them now, and with the sun below the horizon, it seemed an ominous black cloud bearing down upon them. “What I did not realize until later was how important Trenton would be strategically, for it proved the spark in morale that reignited the fires of resistance. I got lucky.”

  “In my experience, a man usually makes his own luck, Mister President.”

  “That is why I am determined to act,” Washington-Yarnek said. “We are determined to act.”

  Yarnek reached inside his dark blue jacket. Kirk stiffened. He knew this was where Washington-Yarnek’s musket pistol perpetually reappeared. Was he about to face a primitive gun muzzle? Hear some sort of demand?

  But when Washington-Yarnek’s hand emerged, it held a scrolled piece of paper, tied with a ribbon.

  “A declaration, Captain Kirk, stating our position,” Washington-Yarnek said. “It has been put together by several of us. Mister Franklin and Mister Machiavelli are on the committee. They were responsible for the word-craft.”

  “Do you want me to deliver this to Valek? Why not present it yourself?”

  “No, you misunderstand,” said Washington-Yarnek with a quirk of the eyebrow and a sly smile. “I wish you to read it over and consider it. I don’t want to make use of you as a mere messenger, Captain. I hope to pull you into our li
ttle conspiracy.”

  He held out the scrolled paper, and, after a moment, Kirk took it from him and slowly untied the ribbon.

  “Do I really want to see this?”

  “It’s just a piece of paper, Captain,” Washington-Yarnek said. “What can it hurt to take a look? And, if you happen to agree with its sentiments and proposals, we’ve left a space on that declaration for your signature, James.”

  Thirteen

  “Reports,” Kirk said. “Mister Spock.”

  “A fascinating experience becoming acquainted with the Excalbian Benjamin Franklin,” the first officer said. “I had expected to discover an obvious anachronism, but could not do so. My conclusion is that, if the real Benjamin Franklin were taken from his place in time and put into the present day, he would behave much like this Benjamin Franklin.”

  “Franklin was a genius,” Kirk pressed, “and a polymath. Surely this Franklin isn’t as dazzling as the historic Franklin seemed to be.”

  “I cannot speak to that point directly, having knowledge of the historic Franklin only through secondary sources and Franklin’s own writing,” Spock replied. “I would make the observation, however, that I have played this Benjamin Franklin eight times in three-dimensional chess. He has been victorious five of those times, and we have achieved stalemate once. I have, so far, two victories to my credit.”

  Kirk nodded. That was impressive Yet three-dimensional chess did have an element of bluffing as well as pure analytics. A human could beat a Vulcan on occasion, as Kirk himself had proved.

  But five out of eight?

  “Doctor McCoy, you’ve had a look at them on the inside. What are they, Bones?”

  “They’re human, Jim,” said McCoy. “To a point. I could treat any of them with human medications, and those would be effective. If I had to operate, the organs would all be in the right places.” McCoy leaned forward and scratched his head. “On the other hand, I did watch one of them regrow an arm in the period of twelve hours.”

  “Every bit of baggage and accouterments they have regenerates, Captain. Watt told me that it would limit itself to about the contents of a room,” Scott said. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but, along with several members of my engineering team, I watched a beautiful bottle of six-hundred-year-old Scotch fill itself up.” Scott put out a hand, palm side down, lowered it. “And we’d drink it down, and it would fill back up. And we’d drink it down, and it would fill back up, and we’d—”

  “We get the idea, Mister Scott, thank you.” Kirk turned to his science officer. “Speculation?”

  “Analysis indicates a holographic engram in a matrix between every major molecular structure in both people and objects,” Spock said. “This is very likely the mechanism, but we have yet to ascertain how it functions.”

  “They’re not really human at all.”

  “Captain, I wouldn’t necessarily go that far,” Uhura said. “Spending time with the Excalbian Harriet Tubman has been very stimulating. She may not be a human being, but I got the sense that she truly believed in the cause she fought for. I have to admit that speaking with her has been . . . inspirational.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. So this is a not a conscious charade that the Excalbians are putting on, it would seem. Even if they know differently, it’s clear the Excalbians feel as if they are who they say they are,” Kirk said. “But since none of them are Socrates, do they know themselves? Might there be something within them, something Excalbian and ugly, waiting to spring to the fore? They threatened to kill us before to satisfy a whim of curiosity.” Kirk paused, surveyed the faces around the table.

  These are the ones I trust more than anything, he thought. When I can feel an iota for the Excalbians of what I feel for these people, then we’ll see about relaxing our vigil.

  “All right, then,” Kirk concluded. “Continue to observe, and let’s be on our guard. Dismissed. Spock, please remain.”

  The others trailed out of the room. McCoy was the last to leave as the door shut. Spock remained sitting, looking quizzically at Kirk.

  “All right, Spock,” Kirk said. “Tell me about her.”

  “Her, Captain?”

  “Valek,” Kirk said. “You knew her. She’s working for your father, whether officially or not. I feel that there is a game the Council is playing here, and I don’t like being a pawn in it. I need information.”

  “There is not a great deal to tell,” Spock said. “Varen, her brother, was my laboratory partner during our early schooling.”

  “Why do I think that’s not all the story?”

  “Varen was the only Vulcan child my age who wished to be my laboratory partner,” Spock said. “There was considerable opposition to anyone doing so among the other children.”

  “I see,” Kirk said. “How old were you at the time?”

  “Eight Vulcan years,” answered Spock. “Logic dictated that Varen and I would make an effective team. Our intellectual assets were complementary. He was gifted in his understanding of life sciences. I have certain analytical strengths.”

  “I’ll say,” Kirk said. “And Valek?”

  “She concluded that Varen had made an error in judgment. She made an argument that this was the case at an institute forum before the entire student body,” Spock said. “She also spoke out against the marriage of my mother and father.”

  “She argued that your human side would lead you to error.”

  “Yes, Captain, that was essentially the premise of all of the children at the time,” said Spock. “There was little evidence with which to refute it. It was difficult to make a purely analytic defense of myself.”

  “But, boy, did you ever show them eventually,” Kirk said with a smile.

  “Yes, they were mistaken,” Spock said. “Valek was one of the first to realize that her original premise was faulty. She wished to take a public opportunity to retract her previous statements, but I requested that she not do so. I believed, as I do to this day, that logic speaks for itself.”

  “But she never apologized for what she’d said before?”

  “No. She merely acknowledged error.”

  “Yet, you forgave her?”

  “Captain, you know I am incapable of feeling any ill will toward her,” Spock said. “One does not forgive a syllogistic error. One merely notes when it has been corrected.”

  “And her work with Sarek?”

  “This began after I left for the Academy, so I am not familiar with the details,” Spock said. “Varen and I have remained in touch and still exchange occasional messages. He sometimes mentions his sister’s undertakings in his letters to me.”

  “I realize those letters are private, but can you give me the gist of what Varen told you?”

  “Certainly,” Spock said. “It is unremarkable. Her parents were acquaintances of my father, therefore Sarek would have been aware that her turn of mind was geared toward the law, history, philosophy, and political science—the ‘humanities,’ as you might call this area of study. Varen informed me that she had achieved an impressive score on the social science portion of the Vulcan Science Academy entrance examinations and planned to study interplanetary relations. After graduation, she earned an apprenticeship in the Vulcan diplomatic service and from there went on to work for Sarek.”

  “And there’s nothing else?”

  “Captain, as you know I spent several years estranged from my father after my choice to join Starfleet. Our paths never crossed.”

  “I see,” Kirk said. “Thank you for being so forthcoming, Spock. I appreciate it.”

  Spock nodded, started to leave, then turned back again. “Jim, for what it’s worth, my father does not take on protégés who are not extremely gifted at what they do. Our childhood difficulties may have formed a necessary condition for her later development as an effective adult.”

  “One can hope.”

  “There is no need to hope, Captain,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow. “We shall obtain evid
ence soon enough upon which to base our conclusion. Then we will know.”

  “In any case, it’s time to make my first . . . report . . . to her, based on what we’ve found out. I’m looking forward to it with a bit of trepidation, to tell the truth.”

  “Wise,” Spock replied.

  * * *

  Valek had on a shimmering, diaphanous dress that looked to be made of some exotic material. Tholian silk? It was black and reached down to her knees, where it swished about, leaving exposed an interesting expanse of Vulcan leg. It was sleeveless, and the neckline came up to her throat. Laced throughout the black of the dress was silver thread that wound into a variety of patterns which glowed faintly, lit by some sort of luminescent element within. It took Kirk a moment to grasp what the silver weavings were meant to depict.

  “Constellations,” he said. “Are they Vulcan?”

  “Yes, as seen from the northern hemisphere, where I originate.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said, motioning Kirk into her quarters. “Your call caught me unawares, or I should have gotten into more official attire.”

  Kirk glanced over her shoulder to the bed beyond. Her clothes were lying on the cover in a clump, twisted together as if they’d been thrown that way.

  Now that’s a bit puzzling, Kirk thought. If she changed into the dress, why didn’t she put her clothes into the ’fresher? Doesn’t seem very Vulcan to leave a messy room.

  The alternative was that she’d quickly changed into the dress when he’d announced himself outside her quarters and hastily thrown her other clothes aside.

  “Please come in,” Valek said. Kirk stepped farther inside, and the door slid shut behind him.

  “Shall we sit in my reception area while you report to me?”

  “Certainly,” Kirk answered. She motioned toward a chair, and Kirk moved to it and sat down.