Kirk cursed beneath his breath, then peered back over his shoulder at Chief Rodianos. Fortunately, the brawny security officer hadn’t looked up from his bridge station.
The lieutenant turned back to his monitor. The face was still there, still smirking like crazy. Come to think of it, Kirk mused, maybe crazy was the operative word here.
“Mitchell,” he whispered between tightly clenched teeth.
“At your service,” said the cadet. “I thought you might like some company up there.”
Kirk leaned closer to the audio receiver in his control board. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”
“Probably,” came the reply. “But could it be any more important than visiting with my friend, Jim Kirk? We’re still meeting in the gym, right? Oh-one-hundred hours, as I recall?”
“Dammit, Mitchell ... do you know what they’ll do to you if they catch you hacking into the navigation controls?”
“Oh, I don’t know ... congratulate me on my initiative? Pin a medal on me, if they can find one in my size?”
Kirk’s teeth ground together. “You’re an idiot.”
The cadet looked at him dubiously. “Are you qualified to make that kind of analysis, Lieutenant?”
It was no use. The man was incorrigible.
[122] “Get out of there,” he told Mitchell. “Now. That’s an order.”
Suddenly, Kirk had the uncomfortable feeling that there was someone directly behind him. Someone looking over his shoulder. He whirled in his seat—and found himself face-to-face with the steely-eyed visage of Captain Bannock.
“What’s going on up there?” Mitchell asked, unable to see what the lieutenant was seeing. “Am I missing something good?”
The captain regarded Kirk for a moment, the lines around his mouth drawn into a deep, forbidding frown. Then he leaned past the younger man and addressed Mitchell’s image on the monitor.
“I believe the lieutenant gave you an order,” he told the plebe. “Let’s see if you’re more inclined to follow his directions than you are mine.”
Kirk saw his friend blanche with surprise.
“Aye, sir,” Mitchell replied. “I mean, I am, sir. Inclined to follow his orders, sir.”
A moment later, the underclassman was gone, and the plasma-release graphic had been restored to the screen.
Bannock turned back to the lieutenant. “Whatever the problem with your monitor was,” he said, “I believe I’ve fixed it for you.”
Kirk didn’t know what to say to that. Finally, he just nodded.
The captain harrumphed. “Don’t mention it.”
* * *
[123] Less than five minutes after he had been discovered on his friend’s monitor, Mitchell received a summons from Captain Bannock.
Damn, he thought. What have I gotten myself into now?
Leaving engineering, where he was supposed to have been running diagnostic routines instead of hacking into places where he didn’t belong, the cadet made his way to the Republic’s briefing room. When he got there and the doors opened for him, he saw that the captain was already seated inside.
Bannock was studying the two-sided monitor in the center of the table. It displayed a personnel file. Mitchell didn’t have to see the headshot that accompanied the text to know whose file it was.
“Sir,” said the cadet, as the doors slid closed behind him.
The captain took a moment to finish his reading. Then he looked up, the glare of the monitor illuminating his craggy features. He didn’t ask Mitchell to sit down.
Bad sign, thought the cadet. Very bad sign.
“Interesting file,” said Bannock. “Back in New York, you were quite the resourceful young man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes,” said the captain, drawing the word out. “Very resourceful. A real credit to the institutions you attended.”
Mitchell nodded. “Thank you again, sir.”
Bannock regarded him. “On the streets of New York, you must have been something, Cadet. You [124] must have been the king of the hill. But you’re not on the streets of New York anymore, are you?”
Here it comes, thought the plebe. “No, sir, I’m not.”
“You’re enrolled at Starfleet Academy now. And at the Academy, you can’t get by on cleverness alone.”
Mitchell nodded. “I’ll remember that, sir.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. Clearly, he was wondering if the younger man was saying that just to appease him.
Frowning, he said, “Tell me, Cadet. Where would you like to be ten years from now?”
Mitchell hadn’t thought about it. “Ten years, sir?”
“That’s right.”
The underclassman considered the question. “On a starship,” he replied at last, unable to think of any better answer.
“As what?” asked Bannock. “Captain? First officer?”
Mitchell shrugged. “As anything, sir. I just want to be part of it.”
“Part of it?”
“The adventure, sir.”
Bannock grunted. “The adventure,” he said, as if he were describing something he had found on the sole of his boot. He shook his head. “That’s just what I was afraid of.”
Mitchell didn’t understand. He said so. He also didn’t like the tone of the captain’s voice, but he kept that part to himself.
“Listen,” Bannock told him. “There’s nothing wrong with simply wanting to contribute. Not everyone has the tools to qualify for command. But others [125] in the Academy do have the tools, and Jim Kirk is one of them.”
Mitchell felt a surge of resentment. He swallowed it back.
“If I may say so,” the captain went on, “a guy like you isn’t going to be a positive influence in Jim Kirk’s life. He’s not going to be an asset with regard to Kirk’s career prospects.” He leaned forward, his eyes boring holes into the cadet’s psyche. “Do I need to spell it out for you, Mr. Mitchell? Or can you read between the lines?”
Mitchell’s jaw clenched. “I can read fine, sir,” he answered in the steadiest voice he could manage.
“Good,” said Bannock. “Then remember this conversation, because I don’t wish to repeat it.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Mitchell. You’re dis—”
“Permission to speak freely, sir,” said the cadet.
The captain raised an eyebrow. “Permission granted—though I have a feeling you’re determined to speak freely with or without my permission.”
For a moment, Mitchell wondered if the man had some flashes of insight of his own. Then he dragged his mind back on course.
“I appreciate the advice with regard to Lieutenant Kirk,” he said. “I think he’s got a lot of potential myself. But I should tell you, Captain ... I have no intention of keeping my distance from him, regardless of what you think of the situation.”
The muscles in Bannock’s temples rippled dangerously. “Is that so?” he grated, his eyes hard as rocks.
[126] “Yes, it is. If you want to boot me out of the Academy,” Mitchell continued, “I suppose that’s your prerogative, and there isn’t much I can do about it. But I’m not going to abandon a friendship just because some high-ranking muckety-muck tells me to.”
The captain turned livid. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” said the cadet. He straightened, sensing that things had become formal again. “That’s all, sir.”
Bannock regarded him with anger and contempt. “I wish I could order you to leave Kirk alone,” he rasped. “Hell, I wish I could ship you back to New York with your tail tucked between your legs. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. But I’m going to do everything in my power to drive a wedge between you and Kirk. Is that understood, Cadet?”
“It is,” Mitchell assured him.
The captain’s eyes blazed with hellish fury. “It is ... what?”
Feeling his cheeks burning like twin suns, the underclassman thrust his chin out. “It is, sir.”
Bannock let him stand there for a second or two, as a reminder of who was in charge. Then he said, in a low voice, “Dismissed.”
Mitchell turned and walked out of the room, the door whispering open in front of him and then whispering shut again in his wake. It was only when he was out in the corridor by himself that he stopped, looked back, and muttered a long, elaborate curse.
Suddenly, he realized how he must have looked, swearing at the briefing-room door ... and he started [127] laughing at himself. Kirk should see me now, he thought. He’d eat this up.
That is, he mused, just as soon as he got done chewing me out for that stunt I pulled. Unfortunately, I’m going to be hearing about that one for a long time to come.
Still chuckling, Mitchell made his way back to engineering.
Chapter Eleven
BY THE TIME Kirk got to the Republic’s gymnasium, he was primed and ready for a fight.
It had been one thing for Mitchell to test the patience of a newly minted lieutenant. That, Kirk had been able to tolerate. But to demonstrate complete and utter contempt for the authority of someone like Captain Bannock?
That, he told himself, was another matter entirely.
No doubt, the captain had already taken Mitchell to task for it. But as far as the lieutenant was concerned, whatever Bannock had said wasn’t enough. He, too, had a few choice words for his friend.
As an accessory to a violation of the rules, Kirk was lucky he hadn’t been stripped of his rank on the spot. And if anything of that nature happened again, [129] Bannock wouldn’t be anywhere near that compassionate. The lieutenant had no illusions about that.
He watched the gym doors slide open in front of him and marched inside. But when Kirk entered the room, he found himself alone with the stainless-steel exercise equipment. Mitchell wasn’t there yet.
Taking a deep breath, the lieutenant tried his best to put a lid on his frustration. The least the man could have done was get there on time. But, no ... he had denied Kirk even that small satisfaction.
The upperclassman scrutinized the high bar in the center of the gym. It makes no sense to stand around and wait, he told himself. I might as well use my time here to good advantage.
Approaching the freestanding tray at the side of the apparatus, Kirk removed some chalk powder and rubbed it into his hands. Then he took a position beneath the bar, leaped, and gripped it.
As always, the lieutenant hung there for a second or two, feeling his muscles stretch, oxygenating his blood with slow, deep breaths. Then he began swinging back and forth.
This time, he wasn’t going to try any seriously intricate maneuvers. Part of his mind was still dwelling on his pal Mitchell, and one didn’t undertake a triple somersault when one’s attention was divided. That was the surest path to a crippling injury, maybe even suicide.
Instead, Kirk decided, he would try a few simple stunts. Swinging as hard and as high as he could, he elevated himself to a handstand, then changed his [130] grip so he was facing the other way. As he swung forward again, he did so with enough force to reach another handstand. Again, he shifted his grip on the bar and swung back in the opposite direction.
His arms tiring, the lieutenant opted for a demanding but ultimately rather simple dismount. Rolling forward into a position below the bar, he swung forward and back a few times to work up momentum. Then, on his third backswing, he extended his legs on either side and jerked himself forward over the bar, feeling like a missile shot from a catapult.
As it happened, Kirk didn’t execute the move very well. His rear end barely cleared the bar as he sailed over it. And when he landed on the mat below, he was a little off-balance.
Still, it garnered him a polite round of applause from somewhere behind him. So he’s finally here, the lieutenant thought. He turned to face Mitchell, still breathing heavily from his exertions, his anger with the cadet springing to the fore.
But it wasn’t Gary Mitchell he found himself facing across a gym mat. It was the Andorian female he had seen earlier in the Republic’s lounge ... the one with soft-looking skin and big black eyes and hair that looked like finely spun platinum.
Kirk tried to speak, to say something to her ... but he couldn’t. His mouth had suddenly gone dry as a desert. He managed to make his lips move, but nothing came out.
Of all the people he might have seen here, he thought. Of all the absolutely beautiful, compelling, [131] captivating individuals who could have walked into the place ...
Then it occurred to him that this was too perfect to be a coincidence. Someone had to have engineered it. Someone with a fierce desire to set him up with an attractive woman.
He gritted his teeth. Mitchell.
“Hello,” said the Andorian. She came forward and held out a slender blue hand, her antennae bending subtly in the lieutenant’s direction. “My name’s Phelana. Phelana Yudrin.”
It was too late for him to escape, as he had the other day on the racquetball court. Trapped, he shook the cadet’s hand, discovering that her skin was every bit as soft as it looked.
“Kirk,” he said, though it sounded to him as if he had uttered little more than a grunt.
“Kirk,” she repeated. “Is that your first name?”
“No,” he replied. “Jim.”
Phelana smiled at him. “Kirk Jim? Or Jim Kirk?”
He tried to smile back. “Yup. I mean ... Jim Kirk.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Is everything all right?”
“Er ... just fine,” he managed.
It was a significant improvement. Maybe soon he would get out a two-syllable word.
“I hope you’re not done,” the Andorian remarked.
“Done?” Kirk repeated, at a loss.
“With your routine,” Phelana told him. She indicated the high bar with a lift of her delicate chin. “It was a great routine. I mean, what little I saw of it.”
[132] He laughed—except it came out as a giggle. “Thanks,” he said, though inside he was cursing himself.
“I’d like to see more of it,” Phelana said. “That is, if you’re not all worn out already.”
Despite his tongue-tied responses, she didn’t seem at all bored or uncomfortable with him. In fact, she seemed to like him.
“Nope,” he answered. “Not worn out. Not at all.”
She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. Go ahead, she seemed to say. Impress me.
Kirk knew it would be more intelligent to rest for a moment. After all, he was still bushed from his last go-around with the bar, still doing his best to catch his breath.
But when a beautiful woman asked a man to show off for her, what choice did he really have in the matter?
Mitchell was sure Kirk was going to kill him. As if it weren’t enough that he had roused the ire of Captain Bannock, he was also going to be late for their appointment in the gym.
Fortunately, he had an excuse this time. Just as the cadet was about to leave engineering, a grinning Chief Brown had insisted that he remodulate the ship’s shield frequencies. There wasn’t any reason for it that Mitchell could see, but he was hardly in a position to argue with the man.
All he could do was work as quickly as possible, get Brown to approve his work, and hightail it out of engineering. Now he found himself jogging along the [133] corridor that led to his quarters, hoping to change and get down to the gym before too much more time went by.
But as he negotiated a bend in the passageway, he saw the brawny form of Chief Rodianos approaching from the other direction. Suddenly, he got the feeling that Rodianos was there looking for him.
That’s got to be wrong, Mitchell told himself. I just got done with my shift. What would Rodianos want with me?
Just as he thought that, the security chief stopped in front of him. “Mr. Mitchell,” he said. “Just the man I was looking for. I’ve got an assignment for you.”
Suddenly, all the pieces came together. This was Bannock’s doing, the cadet realized. Now that he thought about it, he won
dered if the shield remodulations hadn’t been Bannock’s idea, too.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just throw me in the brig, sir?”
Rodianos looked at him. “The brig?”
“You know,” said Mitchell, “for being Lieutenant Kirk’s friend. That seems to be a punishable offense around here.”
The big security chief shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister—and to tell you the truth, I don’t want to know. Now, if it’s all right with you, we’re scheduled to meet a number of other cadets in the ship’s lounge.”
“At the captain’s suggestion, no doubt.”
Rodianos’s eyes narrowed. “I’d be glad to discuss that with you, Cadet, if I thought it was even remotely any of your business.”
[134] Mitchell sighed. Obviously, Bannock was making good on his threat to keep Kirk and his friend apart. And for the moment, at least, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it.
“Anything else?” asked the security chief.
Mitchell shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”
Together, they made the trek to the Republic’s lounge.
As Kirk swung forward with all the centrifugal force he could muster, he thought his arms were going to tear out of their sockets. Truthfully, he should have quit thirty seconds earlier.
But he had felt his audience’s admiration for him grow with every muscle-straining maneuver, and he couldn’t have imagined a lovelier audience if he had tried. With that in mind, it was difficult to stop.
And now, he was going to attempt the triple flip again. If the lieutenant had had his wits about him, he might have acknowledged that he was too winded, too bone-tired to try anything so elaborate. But he hadn’t had his wits about him since he turned and saw Phelana standing in the gym.
At the high point of his swing, he released his grip on the bar and brought his knees up, just as he had the other day at the Academy. As he counted, the gym rotated around him. One. Two ...
Suddenly, Kirk had the feeling that he wasn’t going to complete the third somersault. Grabbing his knees, he dug them into his chest as far as they would go and leaned back for all he was worth.
STAR TREK: TOS #85 - My Brother's Keeper, Book One - Republic Page 10