They went down like dominoes, one after the other, in an almost comical, ever-expanding wave. Just before it reached the traitor, he must have caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye, because he turned his head to have a look.
But he was too late. The falling dominoes had arrived at their ultimate destination—and that destination was him. As a tall, ungainly-looking Heiren fell heavily on the guard’s legs, he cried out and went down in a heap ... his weapon unfired.
Suddenly, with all those people lying on top of each [243] other in front of him, the lieutenant found he had a clear path to the traitor. Sprinting forward over the bodies of the fallen spectators, he saw the guard fumbling with his directed-energy device, trying to steady it and draw a bead on the startled Perris Nodarh.
Launching himself across the last onlooker in his way, Kirk came down on the traitor. One hand drove the Heiren’s chin into the ground while the other reached for the weapon.
The guard was stunned and bloodied, but he didn’t give the device up easily. What’s more, he was stronger than he looked. For a moment, the lieutenant rolled and grappled with him, fighting for control of the Heiren’s weapon. Then he got in a blow to his adversary’s throat.
With the wind knocked out of him, the traitor’s knees buckled and he let go of his energy device. By that time, another couple of guards had seen the disturbance and descended on them. Ignorant of the details, one of them pulled Kirk away while the other snatched the weapon from him.
“No,” said a voice. “Not him. The guard.”
The lieutenant looked around and saw that it was the telepath who had spoken. The guards glanced at their comrade, who was lying on the ground, gasping for breath. Then they turned to Kirk again.
It had to be hard for them to go against their instincts—no matter who had advised them to do so. The lieutenant watched their faces, trying to see which way they were leaning.
[244] “Let him go,” Perris insisted.
Everyone who had been watching the telepath was now watching the guards, waiting to see what they would do. Would they comply with Perris Nodarh’s instructions or defy them?
In the end, the Heir’tza had no choice—it was either follow the telepath’s directions or take a chance on upsetting the ceremonial applecart. Frowning, they took their wayward comrade into custody.
As the lieutenant dusted himself off, he regarded Perris Nodarh. The fellow looked shaken by the close call—in a way, even more shaken than when the cadets had discovered him in the kidnappers’ lair.
But as Kirk watched, the telepath composed himself. He found some inner focus, some place of calm in which to dwell.
Then he resumed his walk.
For a second or two, the crowds on both sides of the road were silent. But before long, a couple of Heiren began to clap for Perris Nodarh—not only for what he represented, but for his courage and determination in the face of what had obviously been an armed threat.
Little by little, others took up the applause, and it swept from one part of the throng to another—like wildfire in a field of dry corn, the lieutenant thought. The telepath acknowledged it with a wave or two, and the crowd roared its approval even louder.
The Heiren loved him, down to the last man, woman, and child—and at that moment, they would have done anything to show it. It was a wondrous thing for an offworlder to behold.
[245] In fact, Kirk was starting to get caught up in the euphoria himself. Despite his tendency to anticipate trouble, he was beginning to get the feeling the rest of the ceremony might go more smoothly.
“Man,” said a voice behind him. “For a second or two, I thought we were in trouble there.”
The lieutenant didn’t have to turn around to know it was Mitchell who had made the comment. He smiled to himself.
“No trouble at all,” Kirk told his fellow cadet. “One just has to be up to the challenge.”
Mitchell grunted. “Uh-huh. Or lucky.”
The lieutenant considered the notion for a moment. “Or lucky,” he was forced to concede.
Gary Mitchell had never been in a parade before.
Back home, in New York City, there had been a parade almost every Sunday to celebrate one thing or another. But he had always been a spectator—on the outside, looking in.
That day, on an alien planet several light-years from Earth, it was different. For once in his life, the underclassman from the Big City was on the inside looking out.
Of course, neither he nor Kirk wanted to attract any attention, so they strolled along the edge of the road rather than the middle. Also, they made sure to hang back a good twenty meters from Perris Nodarh.
After all, the Heiren of two worlds hadn’t gathered there in the thousands to see a couple of tired, sweaty Starfleet cadets. They wanted a glimpse of the telepaths who held their species’ hopes in their hands, [246] and Mitchell and his friend were only too happy to remain in the background.
Only Minister Lenna’s guards paid any real attention to them—and it was all good. Like visiting dignitaries, they nodded to each white-and-red figure they passed and received a nod in return.
More than once along the route, Mitchell and Kirk told each other they were providing extra security for Perris. But truthfully, the plebe just wanted to be there to see the telepath meet his Heir’tza counterpart in Heir’at’s central edifice, which was looming ahead of them in all its open-arched, bronze-roofed glory. And despite Kirk’s protests to the contrary, it was obvious he was intent on the same thing.
As luck would have it, there were no other incidents of violence. There wasn’t even a hint of one. In a matter of a few minutes, the Heir’och telepath reached his destination.
He walked up a handful of broad, shallow steps, entered the ancient Government House on his bare feet and approached the building’s open-air ceremonial hall. At the same time, another figure approached from the west—a female Heiren in a white robe trimmed with red.
The other telepath, Mitchell thought.
She was slender, petite ... little more than a child, he realized. And yet her people, the Heir’tza, had seen fit to place a great responsibility on her narrow shoulders.
The cadet hoped they had made the right decision.
As the telepaths caught sight of one another, they smiled. Obviously, neither of them had ever done this [247] sort of thing before—and now that they were faced with it, they seemed to feel a little self-conscious.
There were other Heiren present in the hall as well—leaders and luminaries representing the Heir’och and the Heir’tza, dressed in the somber robes of their offices. But Mitchell didn’t really dwell on them, and it seemed to him no one else did either.
It was the telepaths whom people cared about. For good or ill, they were the ones who would determine the future of their species—the ones who would chart their society’s course for decades to come.
Perris and his opposite number seemed to collect themselves for a moment or two. Then they moved a step closer to each other and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes.
Mitchell found he was holding his breath. Everyone was, he realized, Heir’och and Heir’tza alike. And they continued to hold their breath for what seemed like a very long time.
On a plane the cadet couldn’t hope to approach, intuition or no intuition, the telepaths were exchanging promises. They were warranting the intentions of their respective peoples and their respective leaders. They were offering assurances, making pledges, furnishing guarantees ... and they were doing it in the only language that really meant anything to either of them.
The language of their minds.
Mitchell couldn’t “hear” what was passing between Perns and the girl. But by watching their expressions, by opening himself up to them, he could sense the tone of their conversation. To his delight, it was more [248] than cordial. It was as if the telepaths were old friends.
“It’s working,” he found himself saying.
Kirk turned to him. “How
do you—?” And then he caught himself. “What I mean is ... that’s good to hear.”
As the cadets looked on, the telepaths smiled again. But this time, it wasn’t an expression of embarrassment or self-consciousness. It was a display of elation and accomplishment, the magnitude of which neither of them had known before.
They weren’t the only ones who witnessed it, either. The Heiren masses who had gathered around the government building saw the looks on the telepaths’ faces and cheered, and the cheer spread out in concentric circles like the echo of a stone dropped in a pool of still water.
In seconds, the cheer had filled the streets surrounding the building. In a few more, it had gone beyond that. And as far as Mitchell could tell, it kept going undiminished—a wave that seemed destined to run through the entire city, stretching as far as its most distant precincts.
Despite the kidnappers’ best efforts, the telepaths had achieved all they had set out to do. Peace and unity had been secured. With luck, the Heiren would enjoy a different society from that point on.
Kirk turned to the underclassman. “All’s well that ends well, eh?”
Mitchell nodded. “I suppose.”
The lieutenant continued to look at him. “You know,” he said, “I owe you some kind of apology.”
[249] “Oh?” said the plebe.
“I was selfish,” Kirk admitted. “I thought my career was the most important thing in the galaxy.”
“And?” asked Mitchell.
“And it’s not.”
“Hell,” the underclassman responded cheerfully, “I could have told you that. All you had to do was ask.”
Kirk scowled at him. “I’m trying to apologize, dammit.”
“And I’m trying to accept,” Mitchell responded.
The lieutenant sighed heavily. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”
“Never,” the plebe confirmed.
“Uh-oh,” said Kirk, his eyes locking on something in the distance.
“What is it?” asked Mitchell, following his friend’s gaze and expecting to see him point out another threat.
“This isn’t good,” Kirk told him. “Not at all.”
“What isn’t?” The underclassman insisted on an answer, his heart racing with anticipation.
The lieutenant tilted his head to one side and uttered a single, chilling word: “Bannock.”
Mitchell looked at him. “Bannock?”
“Bannock,” Kirk confirmed.
The underclassman took a breath of relief—not that the captain’s presence there was a blessing, exactly, but it wasn’t quite the menace he had anticipated. “Where is he?”
“Just outside the government building,” the lieutenant told him. “On the other side.”
A moment later, the underclassman found Bannock [250] among the dignitaries amassed near the telepaths. Unfortunately, the captain seemed to have found them as well. He was glaring directly at the cadets, his eyes a startling blue in the bright afternoon light.
“He sees us,” said Mitchell.
“Tell me about it.”
“And we’re not at the bakery,” the plebe pointed out.
“We’re very much not at the bakery,” Kirk replied.
“We’re in trouble,” said Mitchell, “aren’t we?”
The lieutenant grunted. “Has anyone ever told you what a talent you have for understatement?”
Under normal circumstances, the underclassman would have come up with a ridiculously clever quip in response. But under these circumstances, he didn’t much feel like it.
Chapter Twenty
KIRK MADE SURE to arrive at the Republic’s briefing room a few minutes earlier than necessary. He also made sure his friend Mitchell arrived there alongside him.
Entering the room, the cadets took their places at one end of it. Then they locked their hands behind their backs, took a couple of deep breaths, and awaited their fate.
As he stood there, the lieutenant couldn’t help but recall the captain’s instructions. Unfortunately, they were rather explicit. In fact, if memory served, he had issued them twice.
Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to leave the vicinity of the bakery.
No circumstances, Bannock had told them. [252] Whatsoever. It didn’t leave much room for interpretation, did it?
“What are you thinking?” asked Mitchell.
“I’m thinking I’d rather be facing a room full of Heiren kidnappers than be standing here waiting for Captain Bannock.” After a moment, Kirk decided that wasn’t quite right. “Make that a room full of Klingon kidnappers ... all of them in a bad mood. A very bad mood.”
The underclassman nodded. “I feel the same way, pal. But, listen ... what’s done is done. Whatever happens now is in the lap of the gods.”
The lieutenant turned to his friend. “In the what?”
Mitchell shrugged. “You know, the lap of the gods. The hands of Fate. Que será, será and all that business.”
“It’s beyond our control, you’re saying?”
“Beyond our control,” the plebe confirmed. “Exactly.”
“So there’s no need to worry,” the lieutenant concluded.
“That’s right.”
Kirk grunted. “But I am worried.”
“But you shouldn’t be,” Mitchell argued.
“But I am,” the upperclassman insisted.
He would never know if his friend had a response for that, because the door chose that moment to slide aside with a soft whoosh. A moment later, Bannock entered the room.
With an icy glance at Mitchell and Kirk, he sat down. Then he leaned back in his chair, folded his [253] arms across his chest and studied the cadets, his own face expressionless and unreadable.
Kirk waited for the captain to say something. But he didn’t. He just stared at them. Finally, the man cleared his throat, signaling that he was about to speak after all.
“Do you know what you did today?” Bannock asked them, his voice so calm it was almost eerie.
Kirk started to provide him with a summary.
“No,” Bannock insisted, holding his hand up for silence. “Don’t tell me. I’ll tell you.”
The lieutenant swallowed. This didn’t sound good. He watched as the captain ticked off item number one on his leathery fingers.
“First,” said Bannock, “by using directed-energy weapons within the boundaries of Heir’at, you violated one of the oldest and most sacred laws of an alien culture.”
There was no arguing with that. First Minister Lenna had forgiven the cadets their indiscretion, of course, but they hadn’t known in advance that the minister would be so generous.
“Second,” the captain continued, ticking off finger number two, “you knowingly and intentionally ignored my orders by leaving the vicinity of the bakery and proceeding on your own.”
Kirk winced. True also, he thought, though he had hoped for a little leeway in the matter.
“Finally,” said Bannock, ticking off finger number three, “as if all that weren’t enough, you put the populations of two entire planets at risk with your bullheaded and ill-considered derring-do.”
[254] The lieutenant could see his Starfleet career taking wing. Maybe I can get a job on a freighter, he mused. Or a passenger transport. It’s not what I had hoped for, but at least I’ll be out in space.
Kirk thought about Captain April and Admiral Mallory. He thought about how they had gone to bat for him, and how he had ultimately let them down. That was the worst part for him, by far—the knowledge that he hadn’t been worthy of the trust they had placed in him.
“All in all,” Bannock concluded, “I’d say the two of you had a busy day. If it had lasted a little longer, maybe you could also have started another shooting war with the Romulans and radioed our ship designs to the Klingon High Council.”
The lieutenant didn’t respond. He didn’t offer any excuses either. After all, they wouldn’t have done him or his friend any good. He just kept his
chin up and consoled himself with the knowledge that the captain’s speech couldn’t go on much longer.
But Mitchell didn’t seem capable of exercising the same restraint. “Permission to speak freely, sir,” he said.
Bannock considered him. “Permission denied.”
“But, sir,” the plebe persisted, “none of what happened down there was Jim’s fault. I—”
“Enough,” the captain growled.
“But, sir—”
“But nothing, Mr. Mitchell.”
Bannock leaned forward in his seat. His eyes looked as if they would spit fire at the underclassman.
[255] “You’re equally to blame,” the captain said. “Equally in the wrong.”
Mitchell’s nostrils flared and his mouth became a taut, white line, but he finally stopped arguing. Apparently, thought Kirk, even the plebe had seen that it was futile to say anything at that point.
Still, Bannock wasn’t finished yet. “The two of you demonstrated an inability to follow orders, a marked lack of respect for other cultures’ mores, and an overeagerness to take foolhardy risks. In case you were wondering, those aren’t qualities we cherish in Starfleet.” He turned to the lieutenant. “Are they, Mr. Kirk?”
The upperclassman couldn’t help frowning. “No, sir,” he answered reluctantly, “they’re not.”
“And it wouldn’t be unreasonable of me to have you both booted out of the Academy for this ... would it?”
Kirk swallowed. “No, sir,” he answered again.
Bannock’s face darkened. “Especially when you consider what happened in the sensor room the other night. In light of that, it would be anything but unreasonable to relieve the Academy of your presence—and clear the way for men and women who can obey a simple order. Isn’t that true, Lieutenant?”
Kirk eyed him. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly, “it is.”
The captain leaned back in his chair again. Finally, the lieutenant thought, their ordeal was over. He and his friend could slink back to their quarters and try to piece together the rest of their lives.
Suddenly, the captain did the last thing Kirk would have expected of him. He smiled.
[256] “On the other hand,” Bannock observed in an almost congenial tone, “it would’ve been difficult for anyone—me included—to stand by and watch that telepath get abducted.”
STAR TREK: TOS #85 - My Brother's Keeper, Book One - Republic Page 19