"No, excellency. But I have some experience in these matters."
Vheled knew that, of course. "I see. And who is to be assassinated?"
With just the slightest amount of hesitation, the gunnery sergeant replied: "Gidris."
The captain grunted. Gidris was his first officer, an efficient and dedicated man. Not one who was widely liked, but that was of no importance to the captain; popularity wasn't necessarily a virtue on a bird of prey.
"And the assassin?"
The man's narrow features hardened into a scowl. "Your second officer seeks advancement. I believe he intends to create an opportunity for himself sometime in the next couple of days."
Vheled looked at him askance. "You have evidence? Or has the second officer confided in you?"
The other man shrugged, ignoring the taunt—and impressing the captain with his self-control. "No evidence. But it is obvious, nonetheless."
Vheled digested that. He had served with this officer long enough to know his capabilities.
Besides, the report came as no great surprise. Vheled's second officer was an ambitious sort, Gevish'rae through and through.
Under normal circumstances, the captain would have allowed the assassination to proceed. After all, it was part of the process by which Klingons remained strong, ensuring themselves that the most capable and aggressive personalities were always at the forefront.
However, these were not normal circumstances. Vheled wished his crew to be as stable as possible when they arrived at Pheranna. He would brook no distractions, nothing that might upset the quick and efficient fulfillment of their task. There was too much riding on this mission to let any one man's desires get in the way.
The captain nodded to the younger man. "You've made your report. You may leave."
"As you wish, excellency."
He turned and exited the cabin. Vheled watched him go, not without a certain amount of satisfaction. Haastra, his current security officer, was getting old. He believed he had just found his replacement.
After all, Grael was Gevish'rae, too.
Boudreau was right, the captain mused. This world's Bois de Boulogne was somewhat humble compared to the original.
Actually, it was a cluster of perhaps fifty golden-needled conifers, none of which was more than a dozen feet tall. As Kirk walked among them with Carol at his side, the foliage was barely thick enough to block out his view of the white colony domes.
"You say these are hybrids?" he asked.
Carol's cheeks were already beginning to turn ruddy with cold. He remembered that about her—how red her face used to get, and how beautiful it made her eyes look by contrast.
"Half Aldebaran eristoi, half Marraquite casslana," she answered. She was all business; he could have been a complete stranger. "We planted four of them to start out; none were more than a foot high. Obviously, they thrive in this kind of environment. And they responded very well to the G-seven beam. What's more, we think they'd get along fine with Terran flora. But as I mentioned at dinner, they don't produce as much oxygen as we'd like—not as much as I'd like, anyway, and I set the standards for them. In that respect, they're a disappointment. And oxygen production is, after all, the most important trait of all."
"So you'd call this group a failure?"
She shook her head. "I wouldn't go quite that far. On the other hand, I obviously wouldn't call it a success, either. I guess it's somewhere in between."
"A step in the right direction?"
"Yes. A step in the right direction. And when we get over this oxygen production bugaboo, we'll have taken even a bigger step."
"You're optimistic, then?"
Carol nodded. "Very optimistic. We've had other obstacles, and we've always gotten past them. There's no reason for me to believe we won't get past this one as well. And someday, we'll reach our goal—"
"A plant that can reproduce like crazy and spew out oxygen even faster . . . a plant that can help turn a freezing ball of dirt into a class-M world."
Carol hesitated, then looked at him. "My words?"
"Your words, after you got that job working on Schwimmer's terraforming project. I only heard them on subspace radio, but I'll never forget how excited you were."
For a moment, a silence hung in the frosty air. In a way, it was more personal than any of the talk that had passed between them, more lush with feeling. Then the moment subsided.
"Anyway," she said, "for the time being, we've pretty much turned our attention away from Bois de Boulogne and Sherwood Forest and all the other little woodlands we've created down here in the valley. We've set our sights on a couple of projects up in the hills—so we could test the range of G-seven technology."
Kirk nodded. "And a new batch of hybrids?"
"Uh huh. Though the next batch I'd like to test isn't a hybrid at all. Ever see a Klingon fireblossom?"
He half smiled. "No, I can't say I have." And then: "Where did you get hold of a Klingon plant?"
"Not just one—a number of them. Remember the Klingon ship found a few months ago by the Potemkin? Or should I say the wreckage of a ship?"
"Sure. The one whose impulse engines blew. It had every admiral in the fleet buzzing for weeks. But—"
"A couple of compartments survived intact. One was the captain's quarters. And his hobby, it seems, was cultivating fireblossoms."
The captain chuckled. "I see. How convenient."
"The funny thing," Carol said, "is that the fireblossom is outperforming everything else in the garden. And I didn't have to splice any genes to make it; it occurs as naturally as you or I. Of course, it has its share of drawbacks: specifically, it can't seem to get along with its neighbors. But I'm hoping we can find neighbors it'll like a little better."
Kirk looked around at the tops of the golden conifers, emblazoned against the crisp, blue sky. "All right. Let's say you find a way to tame your fireblossom, or you come up with a hybrid that does what you want, or you isolate the glitch in the G-seven beam and correct it. Then what?"
"You mean where do we go from here?"
"Yes. What's the next step?"
Carol shrugged. "Provided we can continue to make the Federation believe in us, we find another planet. Not like this one—where it's already got a bona fide oxygen atmosphere, and just hasn't produced any organisms yet—but one of those marginal places where there's barely enough warmth and oh-two to support life. And we terraform it. We make it into a garden." She grinned, her mind focused on that distant paradise.
He grinned, too. Beyond the branches, the sun was sinking, turning the colony domes pink with its dying light. "You sound happy," he observed.
She fixed him with her eyes, and for the first time since his arrival, it was truly Carol looking out at him. "The happiest I've been in a long time. I mean, I complain about oxygen production and such, but we're making real strides here, Jim, real progress. For the first time, I can see the day when we'll be able to terraform any planet at all."
"It's hard to imagine," he said sincerely.
"Nonetheless, it's going to happen. I don't know when, but it's going to happen." She regarded him, the sunset light in her eyes. "And I've got at least a small chance to be a part of it. That's about the most exciting thing I can think of. It's what I've worked all my life for."
The captain looked back at her. "Good. Lord knows, you deserve it. No one's lobbied harder than you have to make terraforming a priority for the Federation."
Carol shrugged. "I don't know about that. Dr. Boudreau's the one who got this colony off the ground. Without him, I'd still be conducting research in a lab back on Earth." She paused. "And what about you, Jim? Are you happy?"
He thought about it. "I guess I am, most of the time. I mean, being a starship captain isn't all glory and adventure. People die—people who depended on you to keep them safe and secure. And too often, you have to compromise your ideals—your sense of justice—for the sake of policy." He took a deep draught of the cold air, which was getting col
der by the minute. "But it's got its up side, too, of course. You get an opportunity to travel the stars. You get a chance to see something new every day, maybe something no one has ever seen before. And every now and then, you strike a blow for something you believe in."
She nodded, then turned away, as if some nuance of movement in the tree branches had caught her eye. When she spoke again, there was a distinct note of emotion in her voice.
"Would you trade it for something else?"
The captain hesitated, understanding completely the significance of the question. After all, he'd heard it before, in a slightly different form. But there was still only one answer.
He shook his head. "No. I wouldn't. Or rather, I couldn't."
It might not have been what he wanted to tell her. It might not have been what she wanted to hear. But it was the truth—no less today than eleven years ago.
Carol nodded again, still not looking at him. "I had a feeling you'd say that."
Instantly, Kirk regretted making the conversation personal. He regretted asking her if she was happy, and the line about the freezing ball of dirt.
He could have left things as they were. He could have let the past be the past, and nothing more.
But now, the memories of their loss were bubbling to the surface. The old emotions were coming back unbidden.
He felt awkward, off-balance. And a little sad—maybe more than a little. He could only imagine how she was feeling, the things that were going through her mind.
It had been a mistake to recall what they'd had together. If he could have taken the words back, he would have. But it was too late. Hell, it was too late for a lot of things.
"I'm sorry," he told her. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
Carol turned to him. "It's all right," she said. "If you hadn't brought it up, I probably would've done it myself." She sighed. "I guess neither of us has changed very much. We're still two people going in different directions, though we may wish it were otherwise." Smiling ruefully, she added: "Funny how life gives you just what you really want, isn't it?"
He didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately, Carol didn't leave him twisting in the wind too long.
"Care to take a look at Sherwood Forest?" she asked him. "Before it gets too dark?"
It didn't require much thinking on his part. Anything was preferable to standing here like this. "Sherwood Forest it is," he replied.
They started walking. Before long, they emerged from Bois de Boulogne and felt the wind on their faces again. It seemed to clear the air a bit—not completely, but enough for them to feel comfortable with one another.
As they skirted the colony, headed for a somewhat smaller cluster of trees, the captain's attention was drawn to something moving up in the hills. When he turned to look, he saw that it was only a white plastic playground set, with some swings moving in the wind.
The playground was the standard model, of course. He'd seen it a dozen times before on colony worlds. Nor were the swings themselves anything remarkable.
But for some reason, he found them fascinating. As if there were something to be learned from watching them, as if they held the key to some sort of ancient and obscure wisdom.
Then the fascination faded, and it was just a playground again. He turned back to Carol.
And noticed she was watching him—not circumspectly, as before, but with plain and terrible intensity. Then she saw the look in his eyes, and she became interested in something else, or pretended to.
But there was a rouge in her cheeks much deeper than that imparted by the weather, and a tightness around her mouth that he recognized from days gone by, when she'd been angry with him about things neither of them could control.
"Is something wrong?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "No, nothing at all." When she regarded him again, she was smiling, though he sensed it was only for his benefit. "Really."
Kirk didn't probe into it any further. He'd done enough of that already.
Without another word, he let Carol guide him into the shade of Sherwood Forest.
Chapter Six
IT HAD BEEN a lonely night. And a restless one.
Sighing, Kirk sat up in his bed and surveyed his quarters. They had that uncertain, not-quite-real look, the predictable result of not enough sleep.
"Damn," he said out loud.
It was his own fault. If he hadn't resurrected the past the night before, if he hadn't stirred it up … Although the way Carol had looked in the failing light might have been enough to do that all by itself. That, or the sound of her voice, or the almost tangible nearness of her …
Kirk's musings were interrupted by beeping from the personal monitor on his desk. Swiveling into a sitting position, he got up and crossed the room on bare feet. Then he tapped the stud that activated the device.
A familiar image came up on the screen—that of Lieutenant Uhura. "Sorry to bother you so early, sir, but it's Mr. Spock. He's calling from the colony's communications center."
"Spock?" Immediately, the captain's mind snapped into command mode, anticipating a dozen different reasons for the call. "Something wrong down there?" he asked.
"I don't think so, sir."
"Put him through, Lieutenant."
In the next instant, Uhura's sultry beauty was replaced by the Vulcan's poker-faced calm. "Good morning," he suggested.
"Is it? It's difficult to tell at this point, Spock. I mean, the damned thing's hardly gotten started."
Kirk's surliness surprised even himself. The Vulcan merely arched an eyebrow; to him, sleep was something one could occasionally do without, and he sometimes overlooked the fact that humans were different in that respect.
"I apologize," he said, recognizing his error. "Perhaps we should speak a bit later in the day."
"No," the captain insisted. "I'm the one who should apologize. I just didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night is all. What's on your mind?"
"I wish to make a request," said Spock.
A request? "Certainly, Commander. Ask away."
The Vulcan paused, as if ordering his thoughts. "I believe, as Dr. Marcus does, that there is a flaw in the G-seven unit's operation that is leading to decreased oxygen production. I would like an opportunity to find the flaw, and perhaps to correct it."
Kirk frowned. "You want to stay with the colony?"
"Yes. At least until the ambassador's mission to Alpha Maluria Six is completed. You can pick me up on the ship's return trip through the sector."
The captain thought about it. He hated to lose an officer like Spock, even for a short time.
On the other hand, diplomacy wasn't one of the Vulcan's strong points. Kirk had planned on making him a member of the negotiating team, but his presence at Alpha Maluria Six was far from necessary.
"You think you can make a difference?" he asked Spock.
The first officer nodded. "I think it is possible."
"All right, then," the captain said. "You've got my blessings."
"Thank you," said Spock.
"No need," Kirk told him. "Just find that flaw."
"I will endeavor to do so," the Vulcan assured him. "Spock out."
An instant later, the screen went blank, and the captain was alone again with his thoughts.
McCoy was washing his hands at the sink as the doors to his makeshift examination room whispered open and his next patient walked into the room. Glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge the colonist's presence, he was surprised to find a boy looking back at him.
"Howdy," the doctor said.
"Howdy," the boy echoed, trying out what was plainly a new word for him. He had curly blond hair and soft brown eyes. "Are you the doctor?"
McCoy shrugged. "I'm one of them. My name's Leonard. What's yours?"
The boy raised his chin a little. "David."
Though the boy couldn't have been more than nine or ten, he didn't exhibit any of the childish qualities the Pfeffer and Garcia kids had. There was no wariness in h
im, no hanging back. Just a lot of healthy curiosity.
"David. That's a good name," McCoy commented. "Are you here all alone, David? Usually, kids come to see me with their parents."
"I was supposed to meet my mom here," he said without hesitation. "But I was a little early, so …" His voice trailed off.
The doctor turned a kindly eye on the boy. "So you decided to come see what this medical exam business is all about."
David nodded. "I guess so."
"Well," McCoy told him, "there's not much to see." He picked up the only instrument he'd brought down with him, the only one he needed. "Just this, really. It's called a tricorder, and I use it to—"
Abruptly, the doors hissed open again. This time, a woman came in—and a rather striking one at that.
Bones nodded once by way of a greeting. "Dr. Marcus. Can I help you?"
The woman was a little out of breath, as if she'd been rushing. Frowning a little, she glanced at the boy.
David turned to greet her. "Hi, Mom."
Hi, Mom?
McCoy cursed himself for a fool. Now that he saw them together, there was no mistaking their relationship. They had the same coloring, the same proud cheekbones and graceful bearing.
Not that the boy was a clone of his mother, or anything even close. Where his eyes were warm and dark, hers were an almost alarming shade of blue. And where David's hair was a mass of tight curls, hers was long and almost perfectly straight.
But the resemblance was still striking. He should have seen it when David walked in.
Carol Marcus stroked her son's hair. "Hi," she said.
Then she turned to McCoy. "I see David beat me here. I hope he hasn't been any trouble."
Bones shook his head. "None at all." He looked at the boy again, this time in a new light. Apparently, Dr. Marcus hadn't let any grass grow under her feet. But then, why should she have? It wasn't as if Kirk hadn't pursued a number of romantic relationships in the years since he'd known her. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, right?
He grunted softly, remembering how he'd felt when he found out one of his old girlfriends had gone off and gotten married. As Nancy's face flashed before his eyes, he felt a twinge of pain. Of course, that was another story entirely.
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