by Greg Cox
“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Kirk interrupted. He rested his chin on his knuckles as he contemplated the fog-wreathed planet. “I get the idea. Sycorax is not exactly the local garden spot.”
“It makes Siberia sound like a resort town on the Black Sea,” Ensign Chekov observed from his post at the navigation console, to the captain's right.
“Hell of place to start a colony,” McCoy groused. The doctor stood behind the central command area, leaning against the cherry-red safety rail. “Let alone a genetically engineered utopia.”
“Perhaps they had their reasons, Doctor,” Spock stated. “Certainly, the Federation has established colonies on less hospitable worlds, when there was sufficient incentive to do so.”
“But what sort of incentive could possibly induce people to spend over a hundred years in such a lifeless hellhole?” McCoy argued, not willing to concede the point to Spock.
Kirk decided to head off any long debate. “I guess we'll find out soon enough, Bones,” he said. “Mr. Sulu, place us in orbit around the planet. Lieutenant Uhura, see if you can hail the colony.”
Sulu and Uhura carried out his orders with their customary speed and efficiency. Within minutes, the communications officer had made contact with the planet on the viewscreen. “I have the regent of the colony for you, Captain,” she reported.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Kirk nodded toward the main viewer. “Onscreen.”
Sycorax's stormy, amber countenance was replaced by the head and shoulders of an attractive Asian woman, possibly in her mid-sixties. Shrewd black eyes examined Kirk from a round, benign-seeming face framed by short white curls and bangs. At least she doesn't look like Khan, Kirk thought, then introduced himself.
“Welcome to our system,” the woman responded warmly. “I'm Masako Clarke, current regent of the Paragon Colony. Thank you for answering our invitation.”
“Thank you for having us,” Kirk said diplomatically. “My officers and I are looking forward to learning more about your society. When would be a convenient time for us to beam down a landing party?”
Clarke gave the matter a moment's thought, then smiled out from the screen. “Well, it's late afternoon here. Why don't you give me an hour or so to prepare a proper reception, then come down whenever you're ready. I'm afraid, though, that I'm going to have to ask you to take a shuttlecraft instead of using your transporters. The colony is protected by a permanent forcefield, for reasons which I can explain more fully during our meetings. I hope that's not too much of an inconvenience.”
“Not at all,” Kirk assured her. Piloting a shuttlecraft through the planet's turbulent atmosphere was going to mean a bit of a bumpy ride, but it wasn't anything the shuttle's own deflector shields couldn't handle. “A shuttle it is. I'll see you in an hour then, Regent Clarke.”
“Please,” she insisted. “Call me Masako.”
* * *
Less than sixty minutes later, the landing party assembled in the shuttlebay. For this initial encounter, Kirk had chosen to keep the mission's personnel down to the minimum: just himself, McCoy, and a single security officer, discreetly armed with a compact Type-1 phaser. Kirk himself took the pilot's seat in the Columbus-2 , while the security officer, Lieutenant Seth Lerner, occupied the copilot's chair.
Muttering under his breath, McCoy strapped himself into the seat directly behind Kirk. “An awful lot of trouble,” the doctor complained, “just to hear a sales pitch for genetic engineering.”
Kirk fired up the shuttle's impulse engines, then used the ship's communicator to contact Spock on the bridge. “Last chance, Spock,” he joked over the carrier wave. “Are you sure you don't want to come along?”
“Perhaps on some later occasion,” Spock's voice replied. Kirk could easily visualize the Vulcan's cool, thoughtful expression as he explained his reasoning. “As far as we know, the inhabitants of the Paragon Colony have spent over a century attempting to perfect the human genome, so it is not implausible that they might be disturbed, or perhaps even offended, by the presence of a human/ Vulcan hybrid.” Spock's dispassionate tone suggested that he was not at all personally offended by any hypothetical prejudices on the part of the Paragon colonists. “Until you and Dr. McCoy have determined otherwise, it seems more politic for me to remain aboard the ship at this moment in time.”
“An admirably prudent course of action, Mr. Spock.” As ever, Kirk was unable to find fault with Spock's analysis. “Good to know I'm leaving the ship in such responsible hands.”
“I would be appalled if you had any thoughts to the contrary,” Spock answered. “May you a have successful meeting with the regent and her associates.”
“Will do,” the captain said. He checked the control panel to make sure that the shuttlecraft was sealed and fully pressurized. “Preparing for takeoff. Kirk out.”
“About time,” McCoy grumbled behind him. “Let's get this over with.”
“Why, Bones,” Kirk teased the irascible physician, “I thought you preferred old-fashioned vehicles to transporter beams?”
McCoy snorted disparagingly. “Not when it involves flying into a thunderstorm the size of a continent! If man were meant to travel through that kind of toxic tempest, we'd have evolved on Venus instead.”
Kirk noticed that Lieutenant Lerner was starting to look a bit uneasy. The security officer was relatively new to the Enterprise , having recently transferred from the U. S. S. Forge. “Don't let the doctor's Cassandra act get to you, crewman,” he advised. “His general attitude is only slightly less ominous than his bedside manner.”
“Says the man who can talk a supercomputer into committing suicide,” McCoy retorted, eliciting an amused grin from Kirk.
“Touché, Doctor.” Kirk waited until the shuttlebay was fully depressurized, then watched as the clamshell doors slid open in front of the shuttlecraft, providing access to the airless void outside the Enterprise. He pulled back on the throttle, and the shuttle lifted off from the launchpad, cruising slowly toward the open archway and out into space. Artificial gravity kept the landing party comfortably secured in their seats.
Once clear of the larger spacecraft, Kirk immediately set course for Sycorax. The hostile, cloud-covered planet looked considerably larger and more forbidding from the cockpit of the Columbus than it had from the Enterprise 's more spacious bridge.
At full impulse, it took them less than five minutes to enter the planet's atmosphere. The transition was like going from a clear summer night into the heart of a hurricane. Cyclonic winds buffeted the shuttle, shaking Kirk and his companions in their seats. Lightning flashed all around them, presaging titanic bursts of thunder that could be heard even through the shuttle's insulated bulkheads. Flying droplets of sulfuric acid pelted Columbus 's duranium hull, although the ship's deflectors protected the outer ceramic plating from the acid's corrosive effect. Struggling with the controls, Kirk and Lerner worked in tandem to keep the shuttle on a steady downward trajectory. Even with their forward lights on full power, Kirk and his copilot were unable to see beyond the smoggy yellow haze through which they descended. Kirk had to navigate from instrumentation alone, keeping a watchful eye on the astrogator as he followed a homing signal provided by the colony. A bolt of lightning struck Columbus, rocking the shuttle so hard that McCoy gasped out loud. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he said.
“Only a few more meters,” Kirk promised him. As they neared the surface, the temperature outside the shuttle increased dramatically, boiling away the billowing clouds of acid rain so that the atmosphere gradually cleared, improving visibility. Kirk could now glimpse a cracked, arid landscape through the last retreating wisps of vapor. Vast basaltic plains, occasionally pitted with gigantic craters, stretched for countless kilometers between rocky mountain ranges totally devoid of snow or vegetation. Waning sunlight, filtered through the dense, yellow-white cloud cover, gave the lifeless wasteland a dull beige tint. Spock certainly didn't exaggerate Sycorax's desolate nature, Kirk concluded. Hard to imagine anyone would
want to settle down here for good.
“Atmospheric pressure approaching eight thousand kilopascals,” Lerner reported. McCoy whistled appreciatively; that was enough pressure to crush a humanoid body many times over. “And rising.”
Kirk nodded, not too worried yet. He had plenty of faith in Starfleet engineering. Perspiration glistened upon his brow as some of the blistering heat outside penetrated the shuttle's bulkheads. “
Structural integrity holding?”
“Yes, sir,” the security officer reported. “Very good, Mr. Lerner. Let me know if there's any change.” Despite his confidence in the shuttle's construction, Kirk knew that the sooner they reached their destination, the better. Peering through the cockpit windshield at the barren terrain below, Kirk spotted something rising in the middle of an empty plain directly ahead of them. Its smooth lines and perfect symmetry clearly advertised its artificial nature. “Look, right ahead. That must be the colony.”
The man-made structure appeared to expand in size as the shuttlecraft descended toward it. The Paragon Colony turned out to be enclosed in a large domed biosphere, approximately fifty kilometers in diameter and apparently built atop an immense crater in the planet's scorched and splintered surface. The dome was a pale translucent green, constructed seamlessly from a substance Kirk couldn't immediately identify. Some variety of transparent aluminum? he speculated. A sparkling, bluish aura hinted at the existence of the forcefield defending the dome from the planet's unforgiving environment.
A tractor beam soon locked on to the shuttle, and Kirk surrendered control of the vessel to operators within the colony. Automated doors opened near the base of the dome, and the tractor beam smoothly guided the shuttle through a dock-sized airlock and into a large interior hangar. Reduced to sight-seeing for the moment, Kirk glanced around the cavernous landing bay, spotting a wide assortment of vehicles parked within the hangar. Ranging from small scout ships to massive cargo haulers, the heavily reinforced transports appeared durable enough to explore and endure the intense heat and pressure outside the dome.
Columbus shuddered momentarily as its stabilizers and landing pads touched down on the floor of the hangar. Behind Kirk, McCoy expelled an audible sigh of relief. “Don't go kissing the ground once you're out of the shuttle, Doctor,” Kirk cautioned him. “You might give our hosts the wrong idea.”
External sensors indicated that it was safe to exit the shuttlecraft, so Kirk unsealed the main doors and stepped out onto the floor outside. Sycorax's gravity, slightly weaker than Earth standard, added a little extra bounce to his step. The air was cool and comfortable compared with the overheated interior of the shuttle. McCoy and Lerner exited Columbus behind him, just in time to greet the delegation sent to meet them.
Masako Clarke led a party of maybe a dozen men and women, who crossed the hangar on their way to the shuttle. Kirk couldn't help noticing that, at first glance, the colonists appeared uniformly trim and attractive; even the older citizens, silver-haired though they might be, looked healthy and fit. Clearly, infirmity, obesity, baldness, even simple homeliness had been purged from the colony's gene pool. Poor Bones, Kirk thought, recalling the doctor's somewhat lived-in features. He must look like Quasimodo to them.
“Welcome to Sycorax, Captain, gentlemen.” Along with the rest of the delegation, Regent Clarke wore a skintight, one-piece bodysuit that could become standard apparel only on a world where everyone had a flawless physique. “Let me introduce you to a few of my senior staff,” she said, gesturing toward the individuals to her immediate left and right, respectively. “This is Aaron Rosenberg, chairman of the Committee for Genetic Development.” The dignitary in question, an athletic-looking older man with short brown hair, bowed politely at Kirk and the others. “And this is Karen Jones, the head of our Engineering and Infrastructure Department.” Another perfect physical specimen, this one with unblemished mahogany skin and an elegantly coifed crown of snowy white hair. “I'm afraid,” the regent continued, “that we've been cut off from the rest of the galaxy so long that we don't actually have any sort of diplomatic corps, but perhaps that's something we can remedy in the weeks to come.”
“You seem to be handling the diplomacy perfectly well all on your own,” Kirk complimented Clarke, then introduced McCoy and Lerner. The good doctor, Kirk was glad to note, offered their hosts nothing but down-home Southern charm and graciousness, despite his personal reservations about the colony and their mission. “You'd never guess that you don't receive visitors every day.”
Clarke accepted Kirk's praise humbly. “In all honestly,” she admitted, “I have had a bit of practice recently.” The welcoming committee behind her began to part down the middle as those at the rear of the party worked their way toward the Starfleet officers. Kirk's eyes widened in amazement and he heard McCoy gasp as well. “What the—?” Lerner blurted involuntarily, his hand instinctively reaching for his phaser.
Three Klingon soldiers, in full uniform, joined the regent at the front of the delegation. The leader of the Klingons, his hands resting arrogantly upon his hips, smiled coldly at Kirk. Gray eyes held a glint of wicked amusement.
“Permit me to introduce our other guests,” Clarke stated amicably. “I believe you already know Captain Koloth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“MY DEAR CAPTAIN KIRK! HOW DELIGHTFUL TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”
Koloth greeted his old adversary with mock hospitality. With his arched black eyebrows, widow's peak, and neatly trimmed goatee, the urbane Klingon commander was arguably even more satanic-looking than Spock. His silver-and-black military uniform glittered beneath the glare of the hangar's overhead lights. Two lieutenants, whom Kirk thought he recognized from that incident at Deep Space Station K-7, flanked Koloth, glaring at the Starfleet officers with unconcealed hatred and contempt.
“Captain?” Lerner asked, his hand on his phaser. He sounded ready to give the Klingons a fight if that's what they wanted. Kirk admired his spirit, but questioned the timing.
“Stand down, Lieutenant,” he instructed, as his brain raced to catch up with this unexpected ( and unwelcome) turn of events. Klingons? On Sycorax? What did this mean? “I must admit,” he said to Koloth, “it's a . . . surprise . . . to see you here as well.”
Masako Clarke stepped between the rival starship captains. Although she maintained a scrupulously neutral demeanor, Kirk could tell that the regent was conscious of the tensions between the two parties. “The Klingon Empire,” she explained, “has also expressed an interest in, well, absorbing our colony into their alliance.”
“I see,” Kirk said skeptically. He was only too aware that, where the Klingons were concerned, “alliance” was merely a euphemism for outandout conquest and tyranny. He suspected that the regent knew this, too. So why invite the Klingons here? he wondered. Unless she had no other choice?
“We feel it is in the best interests of the Paragon Colony to accept the protection of the Klingon Empire,” Koloth stated in a deceptively agreeable manner. Kirk knew better than to take his peaceful pose at face value.
“Protection?” he asked, recognizing a veiled threat when he heard one. “Protection from whom, exactly?”
Koloth flashed Kirk a devilish grin. “The galaxy is full of dangers, as I'm sure I don't need to remind you, Captain.” Lean and lanky by Klingon standards, the enemy commander had always struck Kirk as more of a schemer than a warrior, but Kirk felt certain that Koloth could be lethal if crossed; you couldn't rise to captain in the Klingon military without getting your hands bloody now and then. “I am here to convince the regent that only the Klingon Empire can truly guarantee her colony's safety.”
“Safety, my left foot!” McCoy growled acerbically. “Talk about putting the foxes in charge of the henhouse!”
“That will be all, Doctor,” Kirk said, shushing McCoy's overly candid remarks. He agreed with the sentiments, but now was not the time or the place; Kirk wanted to get a better sense of the situation before proceeding to open confrontation. “
Remember, we're guests here.” The Enterprise 's captain eyed Koloth suspiciously. “So what does your empire get, in exchange for your vaunted ‘protection’?” He gave that last word an unmistakably sarcastic spin. “Sycorax is too out-oftheway to be of strategic value.”
“Ah, but their scientific expertise far exceeds the value of their remote location!” Koloth observed enthusiastically. “Our intelligence informs us that the geneticists bred here are second to none in their knowledge of advanced genetic-engineering techniques.” He looked the regent and her staff over appraisingly, as though registering their obvious physical perfection. “The Empire would welcome adding their technological expertise to our own.”
“I'll bet you would!” McCoy exclaimed, only slightly less acidly than before. “I don't imagine your leaders would have any qualms about applying genetic engineering to your own people.”
One of Koloth's lieutenants, a younger Klingon with a thick head of tangled brown hair, laughed derisively. “Only Earthers would devise a means to create a race of conquerors—then forbid its use!” He sneered at McCoy and the other humans. “Weaklings.”
Koloth made no effort to curb his subordinate's intemperate remarks. He merely gestured toward the young Klingon instead. “You remember my second-in-command, Korax?”
“Yes,” Kirk said dryly. “I believe he once compared me to a Denebian slime devil.” Kirk had not actually been present at the time, but the insult, along with several equally unflattering comparisons, had been dutifully recorded in Scotty's report on the incident, which had provoked a full-fledged brawl between various members of Kirk's and Koloth's crews. Judging from the smirk currently residing on the Klingon's swarthy face, Korax had not repented of his role in that unsanctioned free-for-all, nor of his strenuous efforts to slander Kirk. Remind me to thank Scotty for pounding his face in, the captain thought to himself.
“Ancient history!” Koloth insisted, dismissing the entire episode. “We mustn't bore our hosts with our dusty old war stories. After all, there's important diplomatic business to attend to, is there not?”