Captain's Peril

by William Shatner

  Kirk could see what Spock was building toward. “It’s going to puncture his suit?”

  Spock looked stricken, though Kirk wasn’t certain how he knew that, because the Vulcan’s expression didn’t look any different from how it usually did. “By now, the punctures will have already started to form.”

  “How long does he have?”

  “If he was on Trager Three, his suit would have already failed.”

  Kirk returned to his chair, pushed by a new urgency. “Uhura, open a channel to Norinda’s ship.”

  “Coming up on screen,” Uhura announced.

  Then Norinda appeared, and for a moment, Kirk forgot why he had contacted her. All he could think of was how much he wanted to be with her.

  “Isn’t it fun to play?” Norinda asked.

  Kirk looked away to gather—and control—his thoughts, then spoke quickly to maintain momentum. “Norinda, this is important. We have to stop the game.”

  “But no one’s lost.”

  “They’re both about to lose,” Kirk continued. “We didn’t know there’s a substance on the planet that can puncture our environmental suits.”

  Norinda lightly traced her lower lip with her finger. “That’s one way to lose.”

  “You’re not listening to me! This game can’t have a winner. Kaul and Tanaka are both going to lose!”

  “Oh, well. Then someone else will have to play.”

  “Yes, all right, we can do that. Let us bring Tanaka back. We’ll have the Klingons get Kaul, too. We can repair our suits, make certain the punctures can’t happen, then we’ll play again.”

  Norinda shook her finger at Kirk as if he were a naughty child. “No, no, no, Captain Kirk. Once you play and lose, you can never play again.”

  “But we’ll both lose!” Kirk insisted. “Klingon and human! They’ll be no one else to play!”

  Norinda caressed her face, ran the back of her hand up over her cheek, closing her eyes to the sensation. “Yes there is,” she said.

  Kirk didn’t have time for this. “All right! I concede. Let me beam up Tanaka!”

  Norinda’s eyes flashed open, and once again it was as if a computer had taken her over. “You know the rules, Captain. No shuttlecraft. No transporters. No replacement contestants. You can’t concede. You can’t beam your player back. Play by the rules you agreed to, or your ship is forfeit.”

  With that, Norinda waved her hand and the screen went dark.

  “Lieutenant Tanaka is transmitting,” Uhura announced.

  “On speaker,” Kirk said, mind racing.

  “Hey, Captain, thought you forgot about me.”

  “It’s not as if you’re doing anything exciting,” Kirk said lightly.

  “Do you have an answer on that white stuff I was talking about?”

  Kirk knew better than to lie to one of his crew. “I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

  “Sort of thought so. Some kind of acid, right?”

  “Spock here, Lieutenant. Technically, it’s not an acid. But it can compromise the integrity of your suit.”

  Tanaka paused, then spoke again. “Is that Vulcan for, ‘will spring a leak?’”

  “Is that what’s happened?” Kirk asked.

  “I’m losing atmosphere, that’s for sure,” Tanaka said. “I can make it to the top, maybe another thirty meters or so, but at the rate I’m leaking, I might not make it down.”

  “Understood,” Kirk said. “We’re working on a fix.”

  “Thought you would be.”

  “You keep going. We’ll be back to you.”

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  But Spock wasn’t ready to sign off. “Lieutenant, can you see Kaul?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s about twenty-five meters from the top, but…uh, I wouldn’t be too worried. That red suit of his, it’s almost all white. I guess he won’t last any longer than I will.”

  “You’ll make it,” Kirk said. “Stand by.”

  “Standing by,” Tanaka transmitted. Then the channel cut off.

  Kirk jumped out of his chair. “I’m going down. I’m taking oxygen and a micrometeroid puncture kit.”

  Piper grabbed Kirk’s arm. “Captain, you go down there, Norinda blows this ship out of space!”

  Kirk wrenched his arm away. “No, Doctor. If I break the rules, she destroys the ship. But her rules don’t stop me from going down there. They only stop me from using a shuttlecraft or the transporter.”

  Piper was a study in confusion. “What other way is there? You plan on flying yourself?”

  “That’s exactly what I plan on doing.” Kirk ran for the turbolift. “Uhura, tell Mr. Scott and Sulu to meet me in the hangar bay. I need a full engineering team, too.”

  Uhura nodded without understanding. “Aye, Captain.”

  Kirk jumped into the turbolift, grinned back at his science officer. “Don’t worry, Mr. Spock. Whether this works or not, you and the doctor won’t have any trouble making your psychiatric finding stick.”

  The red doors swept shut, and Kirk laughed, relieved.

  He was finally back in action.

  And he was going to win.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  BAJOR, STARDATE 55597.8

  “WHY ME?” Corrin Tal asked.

  “You’re the only one I can trust,” Kirk said.

  The tall technician laughed. Kirk shrugged. At this point, it wasn’t important what the man believed. If the Bajoran could be won over as Kirk had managed with Lara and with Dr. Rowhn, then his trust would follow soon enough. “Will you help me, or not?”

  “Why not?” Corrin said. “Spread out your maps.”

  They were in the largest tent in camp, one set aside for cataloguing and storing large artifacts, other than the clay fragments Dr. Rowhn worked with. In the corners and along two walls were stacks of shipping crates, some of them actually made from wood, a sign of Bajor’s diminished manufacturing capability. A few large stone blocks were set out on tarpaulins, each marked with a small, hand-painted Bajoran number. A number of clay pots, dishes, and a few clay figurines were precisely arrayed on soft padding on wooden shelves. As in Dr. Rowhn’s work tent, barrels of seawater contained other recovered items still to be examined. They added a wet, sour scent to the close air of the tent.

  But Kirk wasn’t interested in artifacts. He stood in the center of the room by a large metal table which held an actual sheet of real paper, almost two meters long and a meter wide, on which a pale grid pattern had been printed, and a map of the underwater dig had been carefully hand drawn.

  “Before we look at the location maps, tell me about this site plan,” Kirk said.

  “What’s to tell?” Corrin asked. “We’d dive, make our sketches and measurements on our location maps, deploy our marker buoys, then come back here and Nilan would add the data to this plan, to show the extent of the entire city.”

  “Any chance someone could hold back information?” Kirk asked.

  Corrin’s grin twisted the web of scars on his left cheek. “Such as if Sedge Nirra had found a chest of latinum and wanted to keep it for himself?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Possible, I suppose. But Sedge never dived.”

  “Who did?”

  “Me. Two of the younger staff—Rann and Freen.”

  “Not Exsin?”

  “You’ve seen him. We don’t have a thermal suit large enough. He’d handle equipment on the diving platform. Help haul up the artifacts.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Trufor and Kresin. One of the brothers would always be with us.”

  “So no one ever dived alone?”

  “Too risky.”

  Kirk gave him a half-smile of disbelief.

  “You don’t think so?” Corrin asked. “Diving alone?”

  “I think our ideas of risk are…different,” Kirk said. He closed his eyes for an instant at a sudden thought of Picard, once again realizing how much he would miss the man. “So let’s see if you’re right,”
he said.

  Corrin eyed him, confused. “About what? Who killed Nilan?”

  “Not yet. About who might be hiding buried treasure…”

  Kirk rolled out the first location map. It was Arl Trufor’s. A small sheet of artificial paper, smooth and slippery, a kind that would not be spoiled by water. The Bajoran diver’s map held rough blue lines and Bajoran script that had been written on it during a dive to the ruins of Bar’trila. Kirk showed it to Corrin. “Where’s this?”

  Corrin turned to the large site plan on the metal table. He pointed to a hexagonal foundation plot at the plan’s easternmost part. “We call this the Watchtower. From the number of stone blocks piled over the foundations, we think the original structure stood about fifteen meters high. Very impressive for the day.”

  “No doubt,” Kirk said. He set the small location map on the table and began checking the diver’s marks against those on the larger site plan, grid square by grid square. “Notice any discrepancies?”

  Corrin used his finger to jump from square to square, each time looking from the diver’s rough sketch to the more formal one drawn by a trained archaeologist. “The site plan’s neater.”

  “Other than that,” Kirk said. “We’re looking for walls marked on one, but not on the other. Openings there, and not there. Measurements that don’t add up.”

  “Nothing like that,” Corrin finally said. “It’s all there, Kirk. Every measurement Trufor made underwater has been transferred to the site plan.”

  Kirk put the diver’s sketch to the side. “That’s one.” He took a second location map from a stack of about fifty. “Let’s try this one.”

  Two hours later, they had compared all the raw maps with the master site plan.

  “No discrepancies,” Corrin said. “What now?”

  “First thing,” Kirk said, “is that we don’t jump to conclusions.”

  The Bajoran sighed. “We just cross-checked fifty maps, Kirk. That’s not jumping to conclusions.”

  Kirk tapped a small foundation plot marked on the topmost edge of the site plan, farthest from the shore. “What about this?”

  Corrin glanced at the plot, shrugged. “What about it?”

  “How did it get onto the plan?” Kirk asked. “There was no location map for this.”

  The Bajoran looked puzzled. “There must have been,” he said. “That’s the Bakery.”

  “The Bakery?”

  “That’s what we call it. It’s a small structure…or was a small structure, before it collapsed. Single story. With mounds of bricks inside that were exposed to fire and smoke, but only on one side. Ovens, Dr. Aku said. For baking bread. The bricks weren’t the same kind as those used for kilns to fire clay in what’s left of the library buildings.”

  “Did you map this structure?”

  “No. It’s not in one of my search grids.”

  “Do you know who did map it?”

  Corrin started flipping through the stack of location maps again, as if he expected to prove Kirk wrong and that an original sketch could be found. “Might have been one of the graduates. Wouldn’t be surprised if they lost one of their maps.”

  “Except,” Kirk pointed out, “Professor Nilan must have seen the original map in order to copy the information onto the site plan.”

  Corrin stopped flipping. “So someone’s taken the original?”

  Kirk nodded.

  “Why?”

  “To hide whatever information is on it.”

  “But it’s information Nilan would have already seen, and would have included on the site plan.”

  “Unless he wanted to keep the information a secret, too, and never copied it over.”

  Kirk’s reasoning escaped Corrin. “You’ve lost me.”

  So Kirk presented his theory to Corrin—at least as much of it as he wanted the Bajoran to know. “I think there’s an extremely valuable artifact hidden in Bar’trila. I think someone on this dig knew about it from the beginning. And I think Professor Nilan learned about it once he got here.”

  “You’re suggesting a conspiracy?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m suggesting that one member of this dig withheld field data in order to make it possible for him—or her—to get the artifact without anyone else knowing about it. And I’m suggesting that Professor Nilan withheld information so that no one could find the artifact. Two people who weren’t connected to each other knew the secret of Bar’trila, but they both wanted to do very different things with that knowledge.”

  Corrin stared down at the site plan. He didn’t seem convinced. “What could possibly be that valuable in a city more than ten thousand years old?”

  Kirk moved on to the next stage of his investigation. “Let’s go for a swim.”

  “This makes no sense,” Rann Dalrys said.

  Kirk finished wrapping a new, makeshift bandage around his right knee, over the already tight covering of the thermal suit he wore. He had improvised the new bandage from strips cut from another diving suit, so it wasn’t as bulky as the one Lara had first applied to his leg. More important, the thermal fabric wouldn’t soak up water.

  “Did you hear me, Captain?”

  Kirk looked up from where he sat on the edge of the deck of the diving platform. It was still aground where he had left it the night before. Rann was with the others: his fellow graduate students, Freen Ulfreen and Exsin Morr; Professor Aku; Dr. Rowhn; Prylar Tam; and Avden Lara.

  “I heard you. I just happen to disagree.” Kirk braced himself on either side of the rail opening and pulled himself to his feet. The wooden deck of the diving platform was cold, even through the soft thermal boots he wore. The sea, he knew, would be colder still. But there was no turning back now. The answer was out in the sunken ruins of Bar’trila. All he had to do was find it.

  Dr. Rowhn wore the same kind of stiff, lavender, oiled-leather cloak Lara wore. But both women had their hoods back. The rain had stopped an hour ago, while Kirk and Corrin Tal were preparing for their dive. “Captain,” Rowhn said, “do you honestly believe that one of us is the murderer?”

  Kirk let his gaze travel over the Bajorans, and not one of them looked away. “I consider it likely,” he said.

  “Then aren’t you putting us at risk by leaving us?” Exsin complained.

  Kirk shook his head. “The murderer wants what’s out in the sea. As long as you all stay put on land, he—or she—has no reason to harm you.”

  Corrin Tal walked up behind Kirk from the wheelhouse. He was also in a formfitting, rust-colored thermal suit, ready to dive. “But the murderer has every reason to harm us,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, but not succeeding.

  Kirk acknowledged Corrin, nodded to the others. “That’s where we’re counting on them.” From the deck of the diving platform, Kirk turned and addressed the Bajorans on land as a commander giving orders to his crew. “For this to work, you all must stay together, keeping watch. No one is to leave sight of the others till we come back. That way, there’s no chance of one of you sneaking away to launch another disruptor attack.”

  “The way you’ve figured this out,” Corrin said straight-faced, “I suspect you’re part Vulcan.”

  Kirk half-smiled. The Bajoran’s second attempt at a joke was better. “By this point in my life, I am.” He clapped Corrin on the shoulder, checked the faint glow of the sun through the slowly diminishing gray cloud cover. “Only a few hours till sunset. Let’s go.”

  “Right,” the Bajoran said solemnly. “Don’t want to be out there at night.”

  “No,” Kirk agreed. “Not again.”

  Then Corrin ran the twin propulsers from the wheelhouse, putting them into full reverse while Exsin, Rann, and Freen pushed the platform from the shore.

  Low, green translucent waves splashed over the rear of the platform as Kirk, his knee on fire, held on tightly to the railing, trying to anticipate the rise and fall of the deck. The only thing that was keeping him going was knowing that in just over a day, McCoy would wave som
e miraculous device over the injury, and bring instant relief. Along with a lecture, of course. And Kirk was even looking forward to that.

  Twenty meters out from shore, Corrin began to swing the platform around to head for the marker buoys. Kirk looked back, saw everyone still gathered together, watching.

  They’d be in a state of confusion, he knew, not really understanding what was happening, nor what he had planned. And that was understandable. Lies had that effect on most people, and most of what he’d just told them had been exactly that. But not everything.

  He eased his way across the rocking deck to the wheelhouse. If it weren’t for his knee and the seriousness of what he had planned, he would have savored the sensation, the freedom of being on open water again. But he drove those thoughts from his mind, just as he drove away his memories of Picard. He could not afford to truly mourn his friend until his mission was complete.

  Corrin called out to inform Kirk that they would arrive at the markers for the Bakery in ten minutes. Kirk called back that he’d check the rebreathers.

  Ten minutes later, as scheduled, Kirk heard the propulsers power down, and the platform’s forward motion slowed, its rough, pitching motion changing to a gentler rise and fall. He watched as Corrin emerged from the wheelhouse, going aft to throw out the inertial anchor before joining Kirk by the opening in the railing, where Kirk had laid out the dive gear.

  “I checked it,” Kirk said, “so you have first choice.”

  Corrin gave Kirk a questioning look. “You think I don’t trust you?”

  “It’s an old tradition,” Kirk said. “At least on Earth. The person checking the equipment for a potentially hazardous activity doesn’t know which set of gear he’ll end up using, so he has to treat each set as if his own life depended on it.”

  Corrin thought that over. “Sounds like something Klingons would do. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Corrin took the rebreather, mask, and buoyancy gear from beside Kirk. “I take it humans don’t get along all that well with each other.”

  “Didn’t used to,” Kirk said.