by Diane Carey
“No, no, you’ll be rotated back as soon as they’re anchored on their planet. We’ll send a frigate out to patrol the area. This is just for the initial transit. Just get them out there alive. It’s far, though, Jim, six months at warp six, and the Conestogas can only go warp two. That makes it a nine-month one-way journey, then six back with a starship. Are you game? A new mission in deep space? Or have you given all that up for the admiralty?”
“You know my reputation,” Kirk reminded. “I never give up. I’ll do it, Howard, but on one condition.”
“Ouch! The last time you said that, you made the Council release a whole planet to some guy who—ah, never mind. Let me get my legs braced. What’s your condition?”
Kirk glanced at McCoy, wearing his washed-out medical suit, and at his own clothing, a cloud-blue flight suit with sewn-on slippers instead of boots.
“My condition,” he parried, “is that you get me out of these pajamas and into the new uniforms slated for next year.”
Tanner’s face turned into a jack-o’-lantern.
“Deal!”
McCoy leaned forward, pressed his elbow to a knee, and eyed Kirk as a mouse eyes an Australian brown.
“The new uniforms,” the doctor appraised. “Jim, I always knew that someday your power and influence would be used for good instead of evil.”
“What answer did you offer the councilman, if I may ask, Admiral?”
Standing peaceably in his own shapeless blue flightsuit, Spock was waiting for them as Kirk and McCoy emerged from the UFP Bureau Building on the grounds of Starfleet Headquarters. Together the three walked down the curved brickwalk toward the shuttle pad, and Kirk felt the prying eyes of both his friends, Spock wondering what he’d said and McCoy poised to analyze what he was thinking.
“Don’t be a sorcerer, Spock,” Kirk commented. “I know when I’ve been cornered.”
“I’ve no idea what you mean, sir.”
Kirk paused, gazing down the slope to San Francisco Bay, where the Golden Gate Bridge was enduring its yearly paint job. Workers in antigrav weather suits floated around the bridge like fairies on a garden trellis. The enormous suspension bridge seemed ever to be reaching, holding its own for centuries, so people could get to the other side. Sunlight decorated the artful grid of cables and made him think of bigger things.
“A new star system,” he mused. “New planet. Fresh, young . . . untamed. I wonder if they know what they’ve laid out for themselves.” After a moment he blinked. “What do you know about it?”
“Common knowledge only,” Spock confessed. “I know the Expedition has arranged for two rather large high-warp robotic supply barges at the perimeter of the roughest area, the sensor-blind phenomenon. They’re counting on those barges to resupply them with food, fuel, power packs, medication, and other amenities to reinvigorate them and support their travel through the roughest quarter of the voyage. All this assumes the two barges will arrive safely, which is a fair assumption, given known risk factors.”
“Oh? But you don’t know anything about it.”
Spock offered only a vocal shrug. “I also know the Belle Terre planetary system has a single star as well as a large scrubber planet which serves to clear the area of asteroids and other dangers, much as Jupiter serves us here. Therefore the combination is particularly alluring. Most such star systems are already occupied.”
“What’s the big deal about a single star?” McCoy asked.
“Lone stars are actually unusual, Doctor. The greater majority of stars are binaries. They may loop at great distance, but they’re moving in direct relation to each other, such as the star system nearest to Belle Terre, which is a relatively active binary. We call Belle Terre’s single sun ‘Occult,’ and the nearby binary ‘Whistler’ and ‘Mother.’ Other than that, I know relatively little about the Expedition project.”
“Whistler? Mother?” McCoy blustered. “Who picks these names? And are they getting bored with their job?”
“The UFP Agency of Stellar Cartography and Cataloguing picks them,” Spock said. “Since names like ‘Gemini’ and ‘Romulus’-‘Remus’ were already taken, the binary was named after other famous people. Occult was named because Gamma Night causes the sun, from our perspective, to go dark at regular intervals, rather like an occulting navigational beacon.”
McCoy peered at him. “Remind me to explain to you what ‘rhetorical’ means again.”
Breaking off his communion with the bay and the bridge, Kirk turned to Spock. “You’ll come with me, Captain, I humbly assume.”
Spock clasped his hands behind his back, as he did when he wanted to pretend he hadn’t already made up his mind. “In fact, Admiral, I could not make a selection until I knew of your decision. Whether the Enterprise remains here or leads the Expedition rested wholly upon your decision. Certainly I would decline such a mission otherwise.”
“But you won’t decline it now?”
Spock gazed at him hopefully. “Then you’ll go?”
Kirk swiveled a little and looked at McCoy. “Should I just keep him in the dark?”
“Why not?” McCoy rocked back on his heels. “He’s so comfortable there. . . .”
“I, Doctor,” Spock continued, “will accompany the Enterprise on her new mission on one condition.”
Kirk buried a grin. “More conditions.”
“Yes, sir. I have suggested to the admiralty that an admiral’s authority is not necessary on such an expedition as the Belle Terre project since there will be no Starfleet armada of ships of the line. I suggest removing myself to the role of first officer, and that you once again assume the mantle of post captain.”
“The decision seems to have been made for me.”
McCoy waved off the impulse. “Before you accept, Jim, you know it’ll be a giant headache. You won’t be just leading the way, no matter how splashy that sounds. You’ll have to set up C and C, conjure up a duty roster, disseminate judgments, arbitrate disputes, try to get freewheeling private captains to fly in formation, not to mention handling privateers who won’t want to listen to a Starfleet authority. You don’t strike me as the trail-boss type.”
“Doctor,” Spock flouted, “the admiral has never shied away from new challenges. Why would you expect him to do so now?”
“Because this isn’t his kind of challenge. He’s always commanded crews who knew what they were signing up for—Starfleet crews, who understood they were putting their lives on the line. Most colonies start small, after space has been secured and studded with outposts. That’s why the military goes first into the wilderness and establishes forts. These colonists don’t have any idea what unoutposted deep space is like. They think they’re rowing across a nice calm pond. The area they want to settle hasn’t even been thoroughly scouted. Just because there’s been no sign of trouble doesn’t mean there isn’t any trouble. Jim, you know what it’s like to go across a swamp—the water looks peaceful and still until you step in. Then you find the alligators and snakes. I just don’t see you as having an interest in a colonial operation.”
Kirk started walking again, gratified to have them both here with him, for he was admittedly unsure of his next few steps. “I not only have interest, Bones, but from the first moment I heard about Belle Terre, I never had any intention of letting them leave without me.”
He let them drop back a few steps to imagine what he meant, to concoct in their minds whether he had been manipulated to be here today or whether he himself had done the manipulating. He wasn’t about to clear the air. Some things were better murky. There would be a Starfleet presence on the Expedition after all, and it would be the Enterprise, with the crew of choice, and it would be him.
“It won’t be easy,” McCoy warned. “Or even pleasant. These people are in for some surprises. They’re only looking at the pretty picture.”
Kirk almost looked back on his career, to the ugly moments, the terrible losses, the pain and sacrifice, but somehow those seemed clouded to him now. He tried to put
faces to those who hadn’t made it back, but only heard a choir of encouragements.
That’s what we died for. Go out, and make our lives worthwhile.
Before him, the bright blue water of the Bay rippled toward the ocean, drawing him forward.
“To get out in a ship again,” he murmured, “be part of something fresh, something young, a true adventure, not just a life securing the benefits of past accomplishments . . . I want it. I need it. And I’m going. You’re both going with me.”
“Me?” McCoy protested. “Do you see the word ‘sucker’ painted on my back?”
“No,” Kirk said, “but I did see your name on my active-duty roster this morning.”
“Now, look—”
“No arguments, Bones. I need Spock and I need—I seem to need my shuttle. Where’s my shuttle?” They reached the end of the walkway, crossed the avenue to the shuttle pads, only to find the tree-lined waiting area completely empty. “You left it here, didn’t you, Spock?”
“Yes, I did.” Spock stepped out onto the tarmac, made a little circle, and looked mildly annoyed.
“Not another one,” McCoy grumbled. “How many is this?”
“Three. Three shuttles!” Kirk threw both hands into the air. “I’ve had it. Three private, coded shuttles stolen in two weeks! What’s this base coming to?”
“There has been a rash of security breaches at high levels,” Spock mentioned. “Apparently it has something to do with an interstellar cartel which exacts skyrocketing prices from Starfleet contraband. Someone seems to delight in harassing the admiralty.”
“Oh? Well, they’re not dealing with the admiralty anymore. Now they’re dealing with Captain James Kirk. Bones, get out of my way. Spock, give me the details.”
“What is this? Who do you think you are, boarding my ship like this!”
“I’m Captain James Kirk. Security, over there and over there. Get into that hatchway. Check every compartment. Clear out the crew and passengers. They’re all in custody as of now.”
Jim Kirk felt a surge of vigor as he strode past the confused captain into the hold of the twelve-hundred-foot deep-space freighter, with his starship pulled up abeam. This was his first mission back in space in quite a while, and the ship’s too. Of course, they hadn’t had to go very far yet, not for this one.
“That’s my shuttle, right over there.” He led the way past the ship’s befuddled crew to a line of parked shuttles, some private, but several obviously Starfleet design that had been chopped or painted. “They’ve sprayed over the admiralty seal. I can see it right here. All right, you people,” he began, speaking loudly enough that his voice echoed in the enormous hold, “I’m confiscating all the cargo here. All of you are under arrest for—”
“Hey, hold on!” A new voice interrupted him, with essentially the same sentiment as the captain’s protest, but a higher pitch and a bigger insult. “All right, everybody stay calm and we’ll clear all this up. Who’s in charge? Who are you people?”
Striding forward from the bow section was an impressive man with a silver coif, an iron-black mustache, engaging gray eyes, and a particularly aromatic blue-leaf cigar. Clicking quickly behind him was a woman, several months pregnant and wearing a velvet suit and too much makeup, and two followers who could only be described as yes-men.
Kirk turned fully to meet the newcomer. “I’ll bet you’re Billy Maidenshore.”
“Really?” The big man wheeled to a stop in front of him. “What does that make you, champ?”
“Captain James Kirk, Starfleet.”
“And I’m Santa Claus. What’re you doing stopping a private freighter? Everything here is due in the Orion cluster in two weeks. You’re putting us behind schedule and we’ve made promises.”
Stepping closer and ignoring the drip of despise from the woman’s glare, Kirk declared, “These are stolen goods.”
“You’ve got the burden of proof,” Maidenshore charged stubbornly. “All this cargo is here on commission or consignment. Perfectly legal.”
“Where are your bills of lading?”
“Where’s your warrant?”
“I don’t need a warrant. We’re in Vulcan space and they’ve given us carte blanche for confiscation.”
“That won’t stick in UFP jurisdiction and you know it.”
“Really?” Kirk mimicked. “What’s in these crates?”
With Maidenshore and a gaggle of wide-eyed transport crew following him, including the suddenly silent captain, Kirk motioned for his Starfleet guards to pry open one of the large crates on the starboard side.
“That’s my private art collection,” Maidenshore said with a tone of protest.
“Not anymore,” Kirk told him. “Everything here will be held pending investigation. We’re cleaning you out, Mr. Maidenshore.”
Though his face was red with controlled fury, Maidenshore chuckled. “I like a stubborn jackal, I really do. How about a whole box of my favorite cigars? Toastmaster Monsoon Blues, grown only in the rain forests of Eminiar Nine. They only put out seven thousand of these a season, after the spring rains. I’ll see that you’re buried in them. Let me light you one up.”
“Why, thank you.” Accepting the dubious gift, Kirk let Maidenshore light the fresh cigar, then dropped it and put it out with his boot. “You’re under arrest, Mr. Maidenshore.”
The other man’s eyes crinkled. “Got charges on you? In the pocket next to the warrant?”
“Interstellar racketeering, for a start. Tampering with Starfleet property, grand larceny, petty larceny—”
“This is Vulcan space. I’ve got a deal with them.”
“Oh, I think the Vulcans will comply with me this time. Don’t you, Mr. Spock?”
Lurking in the back, behind several of the helmeted security squad, keeping his alert eyes on the process, Spock stepped forward. “I can virtually guarantee it, sir,” he offered.
“Mr. Spock, allow me to introduce Mr. Billy Morningstar.”
A puff of cigar smoke, the impressive man’s expression finally changed. “Shore. Maidenshore. Get it right.”
“Oh, I’ll get it right where it matters,” Kirk promised. “But guess what—it’ll be somebody else’s problem after today. I’m remanding you over to the local Starfleet authority, who will remand you further to the UFP Bureau of Criminal Investigations on Starbase One. Then,” he added, turning to glance at Spock with a particular satisfaction, “I’m heading to open space. I wash my hands of your kind, Mr. Maidenshore. In a few days, I’ll be far away from you and everybody like you.”
Maidenshore nodded almost hypnotically, with cruel bravado. “You won’t be going so far away that you can’t be found by certain determined souls, I bet.”
“Bet all you like. I’m going farther than anybody ever has, with the possible exception of . . . well, me. I’m going with the Belle Terre Expedition, and I’m leaving you behind to face the music. Spock, come with me.”
Billy Maidenshore watched the Starfleet officer stride away and had no choice but to let him go. A moment later he was holding up his hand to keep his two attendants from doing the wrong thing. He waved them back. They sank away without a word. Probably choked by intimidation at the sight of Starfleet uniforms. Weaklings were like that. Had to do their thinking for them.
As Maidenshore watched the rakish Starfleet hero enjoying himself, cracking open crates up and down the hold, the woman in velvet shivered to his side. “Billy, how’d they find us?”
“I don’t know, but somebody’ll pay for it. Bastard’s confiscating the mother lode.”
“Are you going to show him the records?”
“What do you think the records are for, Lucy? To throw him and everybody else off. Why else keep any?”
“This shipment was going to make us tycoons in four star systems.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and hissed, “And you know those people—they’ll come after you! What’re we going to do now?”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Maidenshore stuffed
his cigar between his teeth and watched Kirk ordering his goons around.
“If I get a chill—” She pulled a hotpack from an insulated pouch and pressed it to her throat. “This baby’s gonna come early, I just know this baby’s gonna come early.”
“Better hang on to it till after your trial. Maybe your mother’ll help you out.”
“It isn’t funny. That man was serious. Did you see his eyes? Somebody’s been bribed. We better find out who it is.”
Maidenshore nudged her out of his line of sight as he watched Kirk and the Starfleet men smashing the control boxes on magnetically sealed crates. “Quit whining. I’m trying to think. The goddamn motherlode . . . how do I replace two years of collections?”
Her big eyes scoping Kirk from across the hold, Lucy shivered and shook her head compulsively. “A lot of people are going to go down for this.”
Irritated, Maidenshore squared his shoulders. “How does that affect me?”
Lucy stuck her hand into his elbow and pulled. “Send me someplace, will you, till it’s all over? Someplace warm, at least.”
“Go where you want. Angus, get over here. Over here, this way. Don’t look at them, stupid, what if they can read lips? Look at me.”
“Billy, cut it out!” Lucy hurried after him as he met Angus at the far end of the row of mismatched runabouts.
“Get the bills of lading.” With his legendary residual strength, Maidenshore took Angus by the upper arm and crammed him into the side of the shuttle in question. “Get the right ones, got it? If you make another mistake, I’ll dig out your heart with a nail file. Have you got this?”
“I got it, Billy. What’ll we tell the Orions?”
“You tell them nothing, nothing. We’re not finished yet. People are going to kiss my feet.”
Lucy came around to his other side. “Please, Billy, I’m getting flushed. Tell me what to do.”
Maidenshore bent over Angus, staring into the other man’s face and thinking about how much uglier he could be on a moment’s notice. “This is the last screw-up in the western galaxy for you, bubbles. You get my lawyers up here, all six of them, including Shapinski’s little pointy mustache. He’s about to get a real time-consuming hobby that—Lucy, get away from me, you’re crowding my elbows here. I don’t like to be crowded.”