Enemy Unseen

BY

V.e. MITCHELL

POCKET BOOKS New York London

Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and incidents are either the product of the

author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locales

or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET

BOOKS

MEME-MA POCKET BOOKS, a division of

Simon and Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the

Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright (C 1990 by Paramount

Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

[*thorn] Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a

division of Simon and Schuster Inc., under

exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

All rights reserved, including the right

to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form

whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books,

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,

NY 10020

ISBN 0-671-68403-5

First Pocket Books printing October 1990

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

POCKET and colophon are registered

trademarks of Simon and Schuster Inc.

Printed in the U.s.a. to Jon

for believing I could write this-and for reading all its

incarnations more times than he cares to remember

Historian's Note

This adventure takes place shortly after the

events chronicled in Star Trek The Motion

Picture.

Captain's Log, Stardate 8036.2 While

on a routine star charting mission, the

Enterprise has been ordered to report to Starbase

15. When we arrive, we will receive orders for a

short-duration, high-priority mission. We will also

be dropping off First Officer Spock so he can

rendezvous with a transport to Vulcan. He will be

taking a two-week leave to attend the Vulcan

Academy of Science's Invitational Conference on

Extreme-Energy Physics and the Fine-Scale

Structure of the Universe.

Personal Log, Supplemental While I

would not normally envy Mr. Spock a leave on

Vulcan, in this case I suspect he is getting

the better part of the deal. I greatly fear our new

assignment will be a diplomatic one. I also have

grave dots about the temporary First Officer that

Starfleet has promised me. All I have been

told is that this is his final training assignment before

he is assigned as First Officer to the deep-space

exploration vessel USS Challenger, which is to be

commissioned next month.

LIEUTENANT COMMANDER UHURA acknowledged an

incoming call and turned to Kirk. "Captain,

I'm receiving a message from Starbase 15. It's

Admiral Chen." "On screen." Kirk

straightened in his chair. He remembered Chen

from Starfleet Academy, and she

had always been a stickler for appearances. She also

had a reputation for taking pleasure in handing out

unpopular assignments. This time, Kirk was

determined to remain impassive, no matter how

unpleasant the mission. A small-boned woman of

Chinese extraction appeared on the viewscreen.

She began speaking immediately. "Captain Kirk, as

you have no doubt surmised, your ship is being

assigned to transport the Kaldorni delegation

and a Federation negotiating team to the diplomatic

planetoid, La Paz. Detailed information is

being transmitted to you now. Your passengers will be

ready to beam aboard when you arrive. Chen, out." "Still

gives orders like she was on the frontier," the

navigator, Ensign Yeshua ben Josef,

muttered, directing the comment toward his navigation

console as he rechecked the coordinates for the final

approach to Starbase 15. Lieutenant Commander

Sulu glanced away from the helm controls and flashed

ben Josef a wide grin. "It pays. Sometimes you

only have power for two minutes of long-range

transmission. You have to make every word count." Kirk

ignored the exchange. "Mr. ben Josef,

how long till we arrive?" "Fifteen minutes,

sir." Kirk stood. "Mr. Sulu, you have the

conn. Inform me when we arrive. Commander Uhura,

relay Admiral Chen's information to my quarters.

I'd better find out what's so hush-hush before we

get to Starbase 15."

"Jim! Wait!" McCoy was still adjusting the

collar of his dress uniform as he hurried down the

corridor to join the captain. "What's this about a

diplomatic mission, Captain? Tell me it

isn't true." Kirk paused outside the

transporter room. "Sorry about that, Bones.

For the next few days, we're the diplomatic

shuttle service in this quadrant."

"More precisely, Captain, the Enterprise is

one-half of the quadrant's diplomatic shuttle

service." Spock, carrying a small duffel bag

at his side, arrived from the opposite direction.

"The Diplomatic Service's cruiser, Juan

Martinez, is the other half." "And just how do you know

so much about this?" McCoy said, bouncing on his toes.

"You're not even going to be on the ship for the next

two weeks." "That is correct, Doctor.

However, I still read the briefing tapes. I

consider it my duty to keep informed on the ship's

assignments."

"And just what is our assignment?" McCoy

gave Kirk a look that said "Let's see just how

good he is." Hiding a grin, Kirk turned away

from them and entered the transporter room.

"The Enterprise has been assigned

to transport a delegation from the United Worlds of the

Kaldorni Systems to La Paz for negotiations

with their counterparts from the Beystohn Amalgamated

League of Planets. While en route, a

Federation negotiating team will work with the Kaldorni

to establish the protocols for the actual

negotiations." Spock followed Kirk and

McCoy through the door without missing a beat. "Both

the Kaldorni and the Beystohnai have appealed to the

Federation to prevent a war between them over the rights

to settle the planet Yagra IV."

"Never heard of it," McCoy muttered, glaring

over his shoulder at the transporter room door as

it whisked shut behind him. He was already sorry he'd

started the discussion. From Kirk's amused

expression, McCoy suspected the captain was

enjoying his discomfort.

Spock ignored McCoy's

interruption. "Yagra IV is a high-gravity,

tropical world located in the Epsilon Carinae

system. It is approximately halfway between the

Kaldorni and the Beystohn home planets. Neither

group considers Yagra to be an ideal planet.

Its gravity is much higher than the Kaldorni

homeworld, while the climate is uncomfortably

hot and humid for the

people accustomed to the subarctic climate of

Beystohn. However, Yagra IV is one of the

few planets available for colonization that is within

reach of the spaceflight technologies of the

Kaldorni and the Beystohn League." "Was all

that in the briefing tape?" Kirk asked in

surprise. "I did some supplemental research,

Captain. The information is flagged for your attention."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I'll check it as

soon as I can."

"Captain, I have a request to make. In my

spare time, I have been working on the prototype of a

program that is intended to provide logical

advice for those who need it. It is based on an

experimental artificial intelligence system that

promises to revolutionize the way our computer

systems operate. Though the system is far

from complete, it would greatly facilitate the next

set of revisions if someone other than myself tested the

program." "Just what this ship needs." McCoy

rolled his eyes toward the ceilinand. "A

programmed Vulcan-in-a-box. -

"The program is not designed for this ship,"

Spock countered. "The ideal use for such a system

would be to advise personnel on small scout

vessels that do not carry the broad range of

specialists found on the Enterprise. And I

hardly think that the description Vulcan-in-a-box

is appropriate, Doctor. To date, I have

worked on the program for only 17.34 hours. That

is hardly enough time to provide it with the data links

to support a knowledge base equivalent to that possessed

by a very young human. I merely wished to ask the

captain if he would test the program's operation so

that I can make the modifications necessary to optimize

performance."

"Thank you, Spock. I will see what I can

do." Kirk turned to the Transporter Chief.

"Status report, Mr. Rand."

"Starbase reports our passengers are ready

to transport, 4

on your command," Transporter Chief

Janice Rand replied. "Mr. Spock can beam

down when he's ready."

Spock crossed the room and stepped onto the

transporter pad. "With your permission, Captain

Kirk."

"Enjoy your conference, Mr. Spock." Kirk

nodded to Rand. "Energize. And then start bringing

ourguests-aboard."

The familiar whine of the transporter filled the

room. Spock dissolved into shimmering energy and

disappeared. Rand reset the controls and beamed up the

first contingent from the base. Five people materialized.

A tall, heavyset man in his late fifties that

Kirk recognized stepped off the transporter

pad first. Joachim Montoya was dressed

entirely in black, except for the silver Federation

insignia on the left side of his tunic. His dark

eyes and his black hair shot with silver at the

temples emphasized his somber outfit. His gaze

flicked around the room before settling on Kirk.

Montoya extended his hand to the captain. "You must be

Captain Kirk," he said, smiling. "I've

heard a great deal about you. It's a great honor and

privilege to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Commissioner." Kirk's

response was guarded. The heartiness of

Montoya's greeting set his nerves on edge.

"The Enterprise and I are honored to be at your

service."

Montoya's smile never wavered. "Thank you,

Captain. May I present the rest of my party?"

He gestured toward two men and a woman who wore

Federation insignia. "My aides, Kristiann

Norris, Devlin Vreblin, and Paul

Zayle." As Montoya said their names, each nodded

to the captain. Norris was a slight woman of

average height, with medium brown hair, hazel

eyes, and plain features. Vreblin was short and

wiry, with a scar across his cheek and upper lip that

twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer. His dark

hair and eyes appeared to match his dour

expression, and Kirk hoped he would never quarrel

with the man. Zayle was tall, blond, and endowed with enough

good looks to make up for the shortcomings of his

coworkers. Kirk decided Zayle's

qualifications were more in his muscles than in his

brains, but conceded those credentials were impressive.

"And my wife of three months, Cecilia

Simons." Simons, obviously accustomed

to making grand entrances, glided forward and

dropped her traveling cloak. It billowed to the

floor and spread into a puddle of plum and

crimson. Zayle scowled as he retrieved the

discarded garment. Simons was tall and slender, with

cascades of midnight-black hair that tumbled off

her shoulders. Her scarlet dress flickered as she

moved, and her feral sapphire eyes positively

glowed. She flowed across the room and extended her

arms to Kirk.

"But, Yonnie," she purred, "there's no need

to introduce me to Captain Kirk. Jimmy and I

are old friends."

Kirk stiffened as he recognized her.

Cecilia Simons? he thought. Is that what she's

calling herself these days? "It's been a long time . .

. Cecilia." But not nearly long enough, he added

savagely to himself. "I wasn't expecting to see

you."

"But I was expecting to see you." Her voice

throbbed with passion. "I couldn't wait when Yonnie

told me the ship we were traveling on was commanded by my

old friend."

I11 just bet. Kirk bit his tongue to keep from

saying the words aloud. He wondered what she wanted

that was worth such an act. To keep from thinking

about that now, he turned to Montoya. "Commissioner,

I'll have a yeoman show you to your quarters."

Montoya nodded. "Thank you very much, Captain.

My aides and I will wait for the Kaldorni, but my

wife wishes to get settled as soon as she can."

"Of course." Kirk issued the order and as they 6

waited for two crewmen to load the party's

luggage on an antigrav pad, he was aware of

Simons studying him. The calculating expression

on her face increased his apprehension.

As soon as Simons left, Rand transported

the first of the Kaldorni. Four bronze-skinned men

wearing full leather battle armor materialized.

Their lacquered and burnished brass chest plates and

arm pieces gleamed brightly. They carried a

vicious-looking knife in each hand. Kirk sized

up their tall, muscular frames, and thanked his

lucky stars they were from a low-gravity planet. In

a fight, the difference in gravity adaptations would

tip the battle against the Kaldorni.

"Would you mind explaining, Mr. Commissioner?"

Kirk pointed toward the Kaldorni and their drawn

knives. The sight of so much weaponry did nothing

to improve his feelings toward the mission.

"An honor guard, Captain. No

high-ranking Kaldorni travels anywhere without a

suitable escort." Montoya flashed Kirk

another of his wide smiles. "The knives are

purely for ornamental purposes."

Kirk scowled inwardly. The knives looked

extremely functional to him. He wondered what

other details had been omitted from the information Chen

had given him on the Kaldorni. "I hope you're

right," he grumbled under his breath.

The four Kaldorni came down the steps and lined

up facing the transporter pads. "Energize," one

ordered in a deep, strongly accented voice.

Kirk nodded to Rand.

The transporter whined and six Kaldorni

males, dressed in heavy, floor-length cloaks,

materialized. Beneath their cloaks, the diplomats

wore richly decorated robes made of brightly

colored fabrics. The guards clanged their

knives together above their heads, then knelt before the

Kaldorni ambassador. Their weapons sliced

forward in swift arcs and came to rest, crossed, at

the ambassador's feet.

The ambassador was short and heavy, with a round 7

face and full, sensuous lips. His gray eyes

seemed pale and colorless against his dark

skin. With his slightest movement, the ambassador's

ornate jewelry jangled. He gave Kirk the

impression of being someone who relished life

extravagantly.

Kirk spoke first. "I'm Captain James

T. Kirk. Welcome aboard the Enterprise. his

The Kaldorni ambassador nodded curtly and

one of his aides moved to his side.

"Ambassador n'Gelen 1'Stror Klee

accepts your welcome for himself and those who attend

him. I am the ambassador's mouthpiece,

k'Vlay t'Stror, and will speak his thoughts to you."

"The Kaldorni consider it improper for a person

of high rank to speak directly to a person of lower

rank," Montoya explained to Kirk.

"By definition, nonKaldorni are of inferior

rank until their actions prove otherwise."

Kirk scowled and nodded an acknowledgment. Had

Chen sent him anything of importance about these people? A

group of status-conscious diplomats was the last thing

he needed-or wanted-aboard the Enterprise! "The

ambassador requests that all nonessential

personnel please leave the room," t'Stror said.

"He wishes to bring his wives aboard now, and it is

not proper for an outworlder to look upon them."

As if searching for extra people, Kirk looked around

the transporter room. Satisfied that a troop of

Klingons had not beamed in while he was watching the

Kaldorni, Kirk replied, "The only people I

see are senior Federation representatives here

to welcome you. We're hardly "nonessential

personnel."" "It is not proper for an outworlder

to look upon the ambassador's wives," t'Stror

repeated. "You will all leave this room now."

Kirk swallowed a retort. Spinning on his

heel, he led McCoy and the Federation diplomats

from the room.

"This mission is starting to sound like trouble," 8

McCoy said as the door closed behind them. Kirk

gave the doctor a sharp look; McCoy's comment

echoed his own doubts.

"Would you explain this business of armed bodyguards

and not speaking to persons of "inferior rank'?"

Kirk made no attempt to hide his anger from

Montoya.

"It's just their way of doing things, Captain."

Montoya smiled. "Their culture is deeply

rooted in the militaristic traditions of their past.

The Kaldorni are extremely proud of preserving

their customs as they reorganize their

society to conform with the demands of the future. In this,

they are much like the Japanese in the seventeenth

century, if you remember your Earth history. I

think you'll really like them, once you get used to how

they do things."

Kirk's frown was skeptical. "And I have two

weeks to "get used to them," as you put it?"

"I'm certain it won't take that long,

Captain."

A work party appeared with an antigrav pad just as

the door opened. The six Kaldorni women were

bundled in dark cloaks and heavy veils; their

only visible features were their uniformly wide,

pale gray eyes. "Escort the ambassador and

his party to their quarters," Kirk ordered. A

dark-haired woman separated from the work party,

acknowledged the order, and started down the corridor

with the Kaldorni delegation. Kirk turned back

to Montoya. "If you're ready now, I'll have

someone show you to your quarters." He signaled for

another crewman.

"We would be most grateful, Captain."

"Then if you'll excuse me, Commissioner, I have

some business on the bridge."

"Of course, Captain."

By the time he reached the bridge, Kirk had

relaxed considerably, although he was still irritated at

the inadequate background material he had received.

He headed for the communications station. "Uhura, get

me Admiral Chen. I want to speak with her

immediately. I'll be in my quarters."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Uhura's reply

bounced off Kirk's retreating back. As he

entered his cabin, the intercom whistled. He palmed the

switch. "Kirk here." "I have Admiral Chen,

sir."

"Put her on." As Chen's face appeared, her

proud, stubborn bearing reminded Kirk of her

steely determination and indomitable will. Somehow, he

doubted that he would like her answers to his questions.

"Admiral, may I request additional information

on our present assignment?" "What would you like

to know, Captain?"

"The information you sent us completely lacks

pertinent sociological and cultural data on the

Kaldorni. We need more information if we are

to avoid seriously offending these people."

Chen's mouth twitched as if she were suppressing a

scowl. "Commissioner Montoya is perfectly

capable of supplying all the information you

require. However, to make the mission run more

smoothly, we have prepared a supplemental briefing

tape for you. It is being sent over with your Acting

First Officer, and should arrive shortly."

"Thank you, Admiral. By the way, who will be my

First Officer while Spock is on leave?"

Kirk hoped his question sounded casual. So far, his

attempts to find out whom he was getting had met with

no success, and he was beginning to feel extremely

frustrated.

Chen acted as if she had not heard the question.

"Captain, I cannot overemphasize the importance

of your mission. We believe someone is trying

to sabotage the negotiations between the Kaldorni and the

Beystohn League. Also, there may be a spy in the

ambassador's party. You must prevent anything from

disrupting these negotiations. The stability of this

quadrant depends on it."

"Admiral, may I point out that the Enterprise

is an exploratory vessel. We are not

properly equipped for this kind of diplomatic

assignment." "Objection noted." Chen started

to say more, then signaled to Kirk to wait. She

spoke at length with someone off screen. "Make that

confirmed, Captain," she said, turning

back to Kirk. "Base Security has just found a

body. It's Kaldorni, but we don't know yet

if we will be able to identify the individual. So

it's verified-there is a spy aboard your ship

masquerading as a member of Ambassador

Klee's party."

"I see, Admiral." Kirk gritted his

teeth. This mission was sliding down the disposal chute

in a big hurry. "I also want to talk to you about

Commissioner Montoya's wife. On an

assignment this sensitive, I do not feel my

officers should be distracted by having uninvolved

civilian passengers aboard. I request that

Ms. Simons be beamed back to base before we

break orbit."

Chen shook her head. "That's out of the question.

Commissioner Montoya insisted on having her

accompany him. In addition, she has a daughter

serving on the Enterprise. A lieutenant named

Whitehorse. You wouldn't want to deprive your

crewwoman of her mother's company, would you?" "I'm

sure she'd never forgive me." Kirk thought the

sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, but Chen did

not react.

"If that's all, have a good day,

Captain. Chen out."

"Kirk out." He palmed the screen off and

slumped in his chair with a huge sigh of frustration.

"Lovely. Just lovely," he grumbled to himself.

Two weeks of being a shuttle jockey for an

ambassador who refused to speak to him; the

delicate chore of finding a spy and murderer among

said ambassador's staff; and, to top it off, no

escape from Cecilia Simons. McCoy's

prediction of trouble was starting to sound like a forecast for

radiation from a supernova. Kirk flipped on the

intercom; it was time to put out the blast warnings.

"Uhura, inform Geologist Whitehorse that her

mother is on board."

"Yes, sir. And, Captain, the transporter

room reports that the Acting First Officer has just

beamed aboard."

"Very well, Uhura. Have him report to my

quarters at once."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Within minutes, the door buzzer sounded. Kirk

looked up from the reports Spock had flagged for

him. "Come."

The door opened, revealing a short,

wiry man with a shock of bright red hair. The

newcomer paused in the doorway, his green eyes

twinkling like a mischievous leprechaun.

"Patrick!" Kirk bounded to his feet and

rushed to greet his old friend and classmate. Commander

Patrick Eugene Brady, his face split by an

ear-to-ear grin, swept Kirk into a bearhug.

"Patrick, how did you manage it?" Kirk

asked when he had recovered from the surprise. The

last Kirk had heard, Brady had been serving on

a small exploration vessel at the edge of

Federation space. The grapevine had said the

assignment was at least partly punitive-that

Brady's flair for practical jokes, second

at the Academy only to the legendary Finnegan,

had been the reason for his exile. The rumor went

on to say that Brady's scientific genius was all

that had saved his career. Apparently, Starfleet had

been reluctant to lose a man of Brady's

talents, in spite of his disrespect for proper

discipline. Kirk was sure the story had grown m

the telling, but knowing Brady, he suspected it was

based on fact.

Still grinning, Brady dropped into a convenient

chair while Kirk returned to his seat.

He flipped a briefing tape across the desk

to Kirk. "A man's got to learn his job somewhere.

Some of the top brass don't like my methods, but

they've decided I've earned another chance."

Brady shrugged. "They say I need a 12

month's training on a Constitution-class

cruiser before the Challenger's commissioned next

month. "So Captain, I'm here to learn."

"This is a switch-you admitting there's something you

don't already know." Kirk laughed. "You know, I

think I might enjoy teaching you something, for a change."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I do already know

you're expecting trouble on this mission. Want

to tell Uncle Patrick about it?" "How much do you

know?"

"Beyond the basics? I was in Admiral Chen's

office when she found out about the spy. What else I

should know?"

"Commissioner Montoya brought his wife with him.

I am-somewhat-familiar with the woman. She always

brings trouble with her by the cargo pod." "Is this the

person McCoy said gave you such a warm greeting?

She must be some lady."

Kirk snorted. "She's no lady," he shook

his head. "I don't know what she's ap to this

time. That's always the problem; you never know until it's

too late." He picked up the briefing tape.

"I suppose I'd better look at this. As your

first assignment on the Enterprise, arrange a

briefing for all department heads in two hours

to discuss our assignment. In particular, we need

to review the information Starfleet sent us about the

Kaldorni, discuss its impact on ship's

operations, and decide how it will affect the welcoming

dinner this evening. After that's arranged, report

to Sickbay so McCoy can do a physical for your

medical records. I'm sure you didn't let

him do that earlier."

Brady rose. His face was a study of wounded

virtue. "I plead innocent, Captain Kirk.

Do I look like the kind of person who would disobey

regulations and skip my required physicals?"

"Brady." Kirk's voice rose in warning.

"Aye, aye, Captain." Brady managed

to imitate a scared midshipman almost until he

reached the door. 13

Chapter Two

MUCH To KIRK'S SURPRISE, the formal

diplomatic dinner for the Kaldorni went off

well-after the seating arrangements were adjusted

to conform with their standards of propriety. Ambassador

Klee required his own table, since the Kaldorni

refused to accept anyone aboard the Enterprise as

Klee's equal. However, by arranging small tables

around the ambassador and by placing Klee's

spokesman in a central position, the required

social forms were observed while maintaining a

convivial atmosphere. The ship's dietitian and

her staff outdid themselves to create a menu that

fulfilled the requirements of a formal affair while

observing the dietary restrictions for individuals of

three different species and a dozen cultural

backgrounds. In addition, the briefing room had

been redecorated on short notice to resemble the

terrace of a Kaferian villa. Someone had found

several murals that suggested distant mountain scenery.

Sulu had raided Hydroponics for two dozen

ever-flowering nightplum bushes, which were banked against the

walls. The blossoms filled the air with their

sweet, heavy fragrance. Tiny pinlights

decorated the bushes, lighting the room with a dim

golden radiance. Simulated candles, powered

by larger pin- 14

lights, picked out gleaming highlights on the

plates and tableware. The setting seemed

to relax the mixed party of Kaldorni,

diplomats, and ship's officers. Kirk could not

remember when he had been at such a lively and

entertaining formal event. Halfway through dinner, he

even found himself discussing the Kaldorni custom of

avoidance with Ambassador Klee. Most of

Klee's remarks were in Kaldorni and were

translated by his "mouthpiece" t'Stror, but

sometimes the ambassador bypassed his interpreter.

Even then, Kirk noticed, Klee still spoke as

if t'Stror were repeating his words. "Would t'Stror

indicate to Captain Kirk that he has taken an

unnecessarily limited view of our practice of

avoiding direct speech with those of inferior rank.

One must retain the respect of one's inferiors, and

how can one do so if one is too familiar with them?"

"I haven't noticed any lack of respect

among my crew, and by definition, the captain of a

starship is the highest ranking person aboard ....

t'Stror, would you please relay that?"

"But t'Stror will convey to Captain Kirk that he

does not keepeahis crew for life. He is

permitted to dismiss a crew member who is

unnecessarily disre- spectful. When one is

born to a ruling position of one's people, one

has charge of one's people for their entire lives. So

one must demarcate who is leader."

"t'Stror, please tell the ambassador

I'll consider his point, but I prefer to talk with

my people."

Klee's response was in Kaldorni, and

t'Stror had to think before he translated it. "The

ambassador says your system may work for you-though

he seriously doubts it-but we have all the time we

need for discussion on Kaldorn. And if we used

your system, what would happen to all the younger sons of

younger sons, who have no employment? Besides being born

to rule on Kaldorn, one must protect one's

status through useful service. If this person could not

serve

Ambassador Klee and be his humble mouthpiece,

where would he be?" t'Stror paused before adding, "With the

honor comes the responsibility to serve. He is

correct; were I not his mouthpiece, I would be

nothing-lower than the lowest no-caste because I would

lack a means to serve."

"I'll think about what you've said."

Kirk took a mouthful of his dinner and scowled at

the flavor. It tasted like twice-heated,

unflavored soya base. He knew that

Starfleet Medical had recently recommended a

new food base for the synthesizers, lower in fat and

higher in protein than the old base, and that Dr.

McCoy had offered to field-test it on the

Enterprise. Kirk sighed. Every time the food

bases were changed, the dietitian had

to recalculate the flavoring and supplement balances

for each item prepared by the synthesizers.

Obviously, the program for Kirk's veal aristini

would have to be modified again. Kirk glanced across the

room at McCoy, who was engaged in a spirited

debate with Lt. Tenaida, the Deltan Science

Officer-in-training. McCoy appeared oblivious

to the problems the captain was having with the new food

base. Kirk grimaced and took another mouthful of

his dinner. The health of starship crews on long

voyages was a perpetual concern for Starfleet

Medical, and they were constantly modifying their

dietary and exercise recommendations to assist all

personnel in maintaining optimum physical

condition. An occasional "off" meal was small

price to pay for progress, Kirk supposed, but

sometimes he wondered why the new food bases were not

supplied with fully tested recipe databases

instead of just formula guidelines. The ship's

dietitian insisted that it was because each individual

food processing system had a personality

acquired from long-term exposure to the preferences of

its users, but Kirk sometimes wondered if that

wasn't how Starfleet's dietitians assured

themselves of job security.

To take his mind off his dinner, Kirk looked

around the room. Opposite him, Patrick

Brady was listening to Cecilia Simons with an

interest he usually saved for practical jokes or

his next shore leave. Kirk felt a momentary

twinge of jealousy at the sight of someone paying so much

attention to Simons. It was a reflex habit he

had thought was long gone. Of all the women Kirk had

ever known, few had affected him as deeply as

Cecilia Simons-both for good and ill. She

possessed an uncanny, erotic magnetism, an

almost psy- chic awareness of every man's deepest

desires, and her manner promised immeasurable

fulfillment. Half the men in the galaxy would

gladly surrender their souls for a few hours of

Simons' company; a large majority of the other

half, Kirk was sure, already had.

Cecilia Simons liked handsome men, fancy

clothes, expensive jewelry--and anyone

who would provide her with them. If she had

restricted her activities to her personal

entertainment, Kirk would have worried less. However,

Simons reveled in political intrigue, and

Kirk knew her current involvement with Commissioner

Montoya boded ill for the mission. He was confident

some interested faction had purchased Simons'

services, although he wondered who could afford her

price. Even if he knew, Kirk would have trouble

preventing Simons from interfering; she worked

by indirection-a subtle word here, a convenient encounter

there. When everything was analyzed, the evidence showed

only that she was present at key times and places

before a disaster. If a twentyyear string of

coincidences ever became grounds for conviction,

Cecilia Simons would be sentenced to spend the rest

of her life in rehabilitation. Even then, Kirk

was certain she would seduce her way to freedom in

less than six months.

The dinner ended early when the Kaldorni

ambassador excused himself to spend the rest of the

evening in his quarters with his wives. Commissioner

Montoya took the opportunity to leave with

Simons,

although to Kirk she appeared reluctant

to retire so early. "The captain knows the lady

Simons?"

Kirk looked around, startled. "Oh-t'Stror.

I thought you left with the ambassador." He took a

deep breath, trying to put aside the disturbing

memo- ries. "I knew her a long time ago.

She hasn't changed much."

"She has been-how do you say it?-most

cooperative in helping me to learn the human

language and customs. I could not serve my

ambassador and my people nearly so well without the

lady's help." The interpreter punctuated his

words with quick, rhythmic gestures that sketched

patterns in the air before him. Kirk watched his

hands, trying to isolate the subliminal cue the

movements suggested. t'Stror's body was shaped like

one of the algae globes in Hydroponics, squat

and shorter than any of the Kaldorni except the

ambassador himself. He moved easily and appeared

to have little difficulty in adjusting to the Enterprise's

gravity field, even though it was much stronger than that

of his home planet.

"Are your quarters satisfactory?" Kirk

asked. "Is the heavier gravity bothering anyone?

I'm sorry we didn't have enough warning

to equip your living quarters with independent gravity

fields."

"We understand the difficulty, Captain, and we

find the accommodations to be most excellent. The

ambassador in particular is pleased with the arrange-

ments provided for himself and his wives. I believe

the lades are finding it troublesome to move with the greater

gravity on Enterprise, but they will learn. Myself,

this is my seventh trip off our planet, and I have

learned to enjoy the change muchly." t'Stror's

smile was guileless and his green-gray eyes beamed

with pleasure. "Now I must excuse myself so that I

may be available if my ambassador needs me."

He bowed his head slightly, while extending and

rotating his left wrist in a gesture of

leave-taking.

Brady joined Kirk as t'Stror moved away.

"You got over your distrust of the Kaldorni in

record time, Captain."

"You know, as much as I hate to admit it,

Montoya was right about them. They really aren't so bad

once you get to know them. That avoidance thing looked like

it was going to be a real headache, but the ambassador

explained how it fits into their society. It isn't

just a matter of status consciousness."

"Tenaida said that some of the North American

Indian tribes used to practice a form of

avoidance between married men and their mothers-in-law, if

that brings it a little closer to home." Brady fell

into step with Kirk, and they left the room.

"Tenaida told you? When did he come up with that,

I wonder? It seems a little out of his field."

"Apparently, he did some supplemental

research after the briefing this afternoon."

"That's interesting." Kirk's features relaxed

into a smile. The young Deltan was turning into a

Science Officer worthy of the confidence Spock

placed in him. Too often, trainees for such

positions took a long time to realize just how broad

their responsibilities were. "And speaking of

Tenaida, where is he? The dinner ended so early,

we could get in a short poker game before bedtime."

Kirk chuckled. "He asked what we humans

saw in the game, so McCoy and I have been teaching

him. Want to join us?" "Sure. But I don't

know where he went. He disappeared as soon as the

ambassador left. Oh, there he is." Brady

pointed down the corridor. The Deltan's slender

form pushed through a cluster of people talking in the

corridor. Tenaida was carrying a tray of

food. "I thought you just finished dinner, Tenaida."

Brady greeted the Deltan scientist with a

sardonic grin as the two senior officers caught

up with him. "If you keep eating like that, the doctor

will put you on a diet."

Tenaida was shorter than Kirk and moved with the

powerful grace of a highly trained athlete. The

corridor's lights gleamed off the olive skin of

his bald head. At Brady's words, he lifted

one thick eyebrow in a gesture copied from

Spock. His dark eyes danced with amusement as he

tilted his head to look at the Acting First Officer.

"I doubt that the doctor will pay much attention to my

food consumption, Commander Brady. My latest

physical was well within the norms for my race and

age."

Kirk scowled. Sometimes Tenaida was a little too

human. If he neglected the minor physical

differences comthe completely hairless skull, the almost

subliminal muskiness of Deltan pheromones, the

too-muscular movements of Tenaida's slender

body-Kirk would swear Tenaida was human. "In

addition," Tenaida continued, "the food is for

Lieutenant Whitehorse. She has been working

since midafternoon on developing a model

to account for the discrepancies in the data we obtained

for the Shansar system. I promised to help her with the

computer simulations when the dinner was over." "I

wouldn't think she'd need help with the computer,"

Brady said. "Her record file says she's

half computer herself!" "She is an extremely able

scientist. However, the Shansar readings are

unusual, and we had completed only the preliminary

scanner runs of that system before the ship was called

to Starbase 15."

"Are you sure it isn't the girl you find

interesting? You're even taking her dinner." Brady

turned to Kirk, his eyes twinkling. "What do you

think, Captain? Doesn't it look like he's gone

soft on her?" "Enough, Mr. Brady." Kirk

knew Brady's teasing was not serious, but he doubted

if Tenaida understood the rules of the

all-too-human ritual. Tonight, the dinner, although

enjoyable, had taxed his own patience for the bantering.

At the moment, he did not

even feel up to pursuing the usual debate on

the definition of preliminary, a term he had found

most scientists used until they had studied a

phenomenon for at least three decades. He

turned to Tenaida. "Good luck with your

simulations. If your results are interesting enough,

perhaps Starfleet will let us make an additional

survey of the Shansar system after we finish this

assignment."

"That would be most satisfactory." Tenaida

nodded farewells to Kirk and Brady, and strode

away, balancing the tray with absent-minded grace.

Kirk suspected that Tenaida's mind was already lost

in the realm of higher mathematics.

"Jim, I know I haven't been on this ship

all that long, but he seems to be spending a lot of

time in the geology lab. I've always wondered about

the Deltans and their celibacy oaths. You don't

think he's making a move on Whitehorse, do

you?"

Kirk shrugged. "Romance isn't against the

regulations. Besides, he probably enjoys speaking

his own language for a change."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Dr. Chapel mentioned it the other day. She said

Whitehorse is the only other person aboard the

ship who speaks Deltan without an atrocious

accent." "Is that so? I suppose it would be hard for

him to always have to speak a foreign language."

Brady ran a hand through his thick, red

hair. "When most of the crew is human, sometimes

it's hard to remember that the others don't share our

common heritage. At least, not from birth."

"And Tenaida speaks English so well, you

don't remember it's not his native language."

Kirk sighed. "Well, it looks like we won't be

playing poker tonight. McCoy prefers to play with a

larger group."

The two officers headed down the corridor and

separated to go to their respective cabins. As his

door closed, Kirk felt a sense of relief

wash over him, as if 21

he had just locked out the day's problems. He

supposed he was being optimistic to think he could

avoid all of them until morning.

The door to the geology lab swished shut behind

Tenaida. The room lights were off, except for a

single spot of brightness over the workstation in the far

corner. He paused while his eyes adjusted. The

lab was a crowded, irregularly shap ed room with

inner and outer walls curved to match the space

available. The room was about seven meters square,

but most of the space was occupied. Storage cabinets

down the lab's center divided the space into two

narrow work areas; loose specimens and

sample crates dotted the floor in random

piles. Four computer stations occupied the forward and

aft walls, and the outside wall was filled with the

daunting array of processing equipment needed

to prepare samples for geochemical analysis.

Janara Whitehorse bent over her computer

console, entering data and running simulations to check

the accuracy of her model. When Tenaida entered,

she looked away from the screen, unwrapped her

legs from the central column of her chair, and

dropped to the floor. She was a small, compact,

olive-skinned woman with dark hair twisted and

piled on top of her head. Her black,

loose-fitting jumpsuit was covered by a

blue-gray overtunic, and her boots leaned against

the far wall. Janara padded across the room, neatly

avoiding the piled specimen containers, and took the

food tray from Tenaida. He watched her carry the

tray back to her station, thinking that her walk reminded

him of the controlled prowling of a halfsized nahgre.

She pushed the tray onto an empty stretch of

counter and levered herself up to sit beside it. Tenaida

joined her, nibbling on a green apple, while she

devoured the rest of the food.

"Thank you, kai, was she said when the last

bite was gone. "I needed a break." She dropped

to the floor

and stretched. Without her boots, the top of her

head was even with Tenaida's shoulder. "Let's see

how the latest simulation came out. I still haven't

been able to write a function that describes the

observed density profiles." "Did you account for the

chemical anomalies in the outer planets?" When

they had discussed the problem yesterday, Janara had just

gotten the results of the second batch of

analyses. The numbers had agreed with earlier

results, ruling out the possibility that there had been

an error in their scanner data.

"That's the problem. It's almost as if I have two

separate solar systems here. If I model the

deviations in the outer system correctly, the mu

factor increases without limit for the inner planets.

And if I limit the term to fit the observed data

for the inner system, I can't get a reasonable fit

for the outer planets. I was just about to scrap the whole

thing and start over. Why don't you look at it first?"

She entered a command and the lines of Vulcan

script began marching across the screen. Janara

had spent almost two weeks programming the human

designed computer to accept the Vulcan

symbology, and afterward Tenaida asked himself why he

had

neglected the project. No one had yet found

a way to program Federation computers to operate with the

intuitive, multiphasic structures common

to Deltan systems. The rigid and logical

structure of the Vulcan system, and its

mathematical precision, allowed for a limited

approximation of the Deltan phase-logics and

aided in the solution of otherwise intractable prob

lems. However, translating a problem into the appro

priate Vulcan constructs often seemed as

difficult as solving it in the imprecise human

system. Tenaida shook his head; the reason he had

not reprogrammed the science banks was that he knew

he would be

reassigned when his training was completed. He had

not felt he should take the liberty of reprogramming

the computers unless he was permanently assigned

the Enterprise, especially when the ship's

Vulcan Science Officer had not already done it.

Tenaida studied Janara's equations, searching for

errors in her model. Finally, he froze the

screen on a set of fourth order

differential equations. "Are these the terms that are

causing the difficulty, kaia?" Janara nodded.

"Depending on the limits I impose on those

equations, I can force any answer I want.

Except the right one."

"I'll examine your equations more carefully and

explore ways of restricting those terms. Would you

reexamine the data for possible modifications in the

equations themselves?" When she nodded again, he scrolled

to the beginning of the file and started working on the first

equation.

"Enter."

The door slid open and McCoy entered. He

held one hand behind his back. Kirk palmed off his

viewscreen.

The doctor crossed the room and held out a

bottle of Saurian brandy. "How about something

to wash away the taste of the diplomatic

courtesies?" "Doctor's orders?" Kirk

grinned and reached for a couple of glasses. McCoy

uncorked the bottle and poured. Picking up his

half-filled glass, Kirk slid downward in his

chair and stretched his legs out, relaxing. The brandy

exploded in his mouth and slipped smoothly down his

throat. As a pleasant warmth spread through

him, Kirk felt the tensions of the day recede. "I

was listening to Commander Brady talking with your friend,

Cecilia Simons, over dinner. She'squite a

lady."

Kirk turned the words over in his mind, trying

to guess what was behind the implied question. "That's one

way of putting it."

"I'd be interested to hear your story. You seemed

upset when she came aboard."

"Upset?" Kirk shook his head. It took more

effort than he expected to keep his tone casual.

"Surprised, maybe. I haven't seen her for a

long time, and I certainly didn't expect her

to beam aboard my ship."

"How long, Jim? Long enough so it won't affect

your judgment? My interest is professionalanything

that affects the captain of this ship is my business."

McCoy smiled to soften his words.

Kirk gulped a mouthful of his drink. "So that's

why you're serving the fancy anesthetic." He

toasted McCoy with his glass. "All right,

Bones, this round is yours.

"Cecilia Simons and I were lovers-I'm

sure you guessed that. It was a long time ago, and I

was young and foolish. So young and foolish I

thought someone who had just been promoted to second

officer of the scout ship Aeolus might have something

to offer a woman who was celebrated as one of the most

beautiful and fascinating females in the galaxy.

"You know, even then, she was known for that .... But what

I wanted and what she was after were two entirely

different things. We were chasing some Aldebaran

pirates, and she came on our ship as a courier.

Only, it turned out that she had-shall we say-an

interest in the Aldebarans, and interfered with the ship's

operations at the wrong time."

Kirk fell silent, reliving that long-ago

night on the Aeolus. It had been early morning,

about 0100 ship's time, and the watch should have been his.

Instead, Kirk was in Sickbay, incapacitated

by stomach cramps and nausea. He and Simons had

spent the evening together, savoring a romantic dinner.

The dessert, served just before Kirk was scheduled to go

on duty, was his special favorite-brandied

chocolate cheesecake topped with Cerian

cherries, whipped cream, and fudge sauce. Before

he had finished his serving, Kirk began vomiting.

Within minutes, he was so sick he had to be carried

to Sickbay. The doctor diagnosed the cause of

his illness as a fast-acting virus

that had somehow gotten into the food synthesizers.

When he recovered, Kirk tried to learn more about the

cause of his illness. He discovered that the virus

resembled ones that had been developed to inject

malignant cells with anticancer drugs, but the

pathologist's report indicated this particular

strain had been modified to deliver a severe,

extremely fast-acting strain of influenza. By the

time Kirk was supposed to be on the bridge, he was

completely incapacitated.

Meanwhile, the bridge was staffed with a skeleton

crew for the night shift. In spite of their orders,

the mission so far had been uneventful, and boredom

was diminishing everyone's alertness. The duty officer,

guessing how Kirk's evening had started, decided not

to disturb him when Kirk failed to appear. He thought

Kirk would be grateful and could return the favor

at a later date. When the sensors picked up the

first anomalous readings, the bridge crew wasted

precious seconds trying to reach Kirk. The young

doctor who was treating him had not thought to notify the

bridge of Kirk's condition until she heard the

duty officer page him. At first, no one on the

bridge could interpret the sensor readings. As they

finally identified an alien vessel off the

ship's starboard side, the intruder opened fire.

By the time the Aeolus responded, her shields were

severely strained. The captain arrived in time

to save his ship, but the intruder escaped.

Kirk sighed, returning to the present. "We

almost lost the ship because of her, Bones. I was the

only officer with previous deep-space experience

assigned to that watch, and somehow Simons knew it.

Later, I found a life support belt hidden in

her luggage. I don't know what her escape

plan was, but she was prepared for the ship's

destruction. "Of course, we couldn't prove it

wasn't coincidence, but such coincidences follow her

like a sehlat after prey." Kirk downed the last of

his brandy. "Does 26

that answer your questions about my sordid past,

Doctor?" McCoy stared into his glass for a long

moment. "I reckon it does. Although I don't

rightly see how Miz Simons could be as

schizophrenic as you describe her."

"Maybe she's just a good actress." Kirk

picked up his empty glass, examining it as if it

held McCoy's answer. "Actually, Bones,

I've been asking myself that one for a long time. If you

figure it out, let me know."

"Certainly." A slow grin spread across the

doctor's face. He climbed to his feet and

reached for the bottle. "That's the right attitude,

Jim. A healthy dose of questioning always keeps things

in perspective."

"Always, Doctor?"

At the door, McCoy paused. "Well, almost

always." He made good his escape before Kirk could

pursue the subject. Kirk st ared at the closed

door, wondering if he really had fooled

McCoy. He doubted that he had the proper

perspective on Cecilia Simons. He

wondered if he ever would. After a moment, he reached

over and flipped on his computer. He had promised

Spock he would test his program; he could hardly

devise a more human test for its logic than

consulting it about Cecilia Simons. It took him

a few moments to locate the file. When he

accessed it, Spock's image filled the screen.

"Captain, since you are viewing this, I will

assume you are about to test my program. It is

designed to function as a decision-making aid, and

to provide information and logical advice to those who

require it. I must emphasize that this version is

extremely preliminary, and that I have not had

time to implement all of the features I wish

to include in the final program. In addition, I have

not yet integrated all of the real-time response

modules into the program design. Therefore, some of the

Enterprise's information systems are not yet

available to the program

because I have not had the time to modify their access

formats to accommodate the new artificial

intelligence system. However, I will be most

appreciative of any comments you wish to make. The

program is activated by the word

"Assistant.""

For a moment after Spock's image faded, Kirk

just stared at the screen. He had not realized how much

he depended on Spock's advice until he

watched the tape. Then he straightened in his chair.

"Assistant, access computer files on our

passenger, Cecilia Simons. Question Does her

presence on this ship endanger our current mission?"

A series of messages flashed across the screen,

telling Kirk which files the computer was accessing.

After a minute or so, the word "Done" appeared.

"No information found to connect Cecilia Simons with

our current mission. Past record indicates a

67.3 percent probability that such a

connection exists but cannot be proven. There is a

97.45 percent chance of her disrupting the ship's

normal operation in some way."

"How will she accomplish this?"

"Insufficient information. Data indicates a

random factor in her behavior and methods that cannot be

predicted by logical means."

"What can I do to prevent this?"

"Your options in this matter are extremely

limited, and all have a high probability of

resulting in unfortunate consequences to you

personally." "What?" Kirk stared at the computer in

disbelief. Controlling Simons would result in

unfortunate consequences for him? Clearly, the

program had more problems than Spock had thought.

"Assistant, please elaborate on your last

statement."

"Option 1 Confine her to her quarters. Option

2 Have a Security guard accompany her at

all times. Option 3 Confine her to the brig.

Option 4 Return her to Starbase 15

by shuttlecraft. With any of these 28

options, unless you have solid proof that she has

done something to justify your suspicions, you will

antagonize her husband. Commissioner

Montoya will complain to his superiors and

to Starfleet. The most probable outcome is that you will

be relieved of command and severely disciplined."

"Wonderful. Just wonderful." Kirk stared at the

computer for a moment, shaking his head. Spock's

program seemed to have included every possibility in that

list. Then a thought occurred to him. "By the way,

Assistant, did you consider murder in your list of

options?"

"I did not." The computer's voice sounded

mildly offended, and Kirk wondered if it was only

his imagination-the program sounded suspiciously like

Spock. "Murder is illegal and no civilized

being would consider it an option. In addition, you would be

sentenced to a thirty-year term in rehabilitation for

your crime."

"I see." Kirk reached over and turned off the

computer, wondering what grade he should give

Spock's program for that test. Probably the

same one I give Sock when I don't like his

advice-" A "for efort, F for pleasing the

captain. He allowed himself a rueful grin,

realizing that difference was exactly why Spock's

abilities complemented his own so well. Any

decision that satisfied them both would be the

best decision possible in a given situation.

The woman rose silently and checked the sleeping

man on the bed. The drug was strong; he would sleep

for several more hours. Satisfied, she slipped from the

room and padded down the deserted corridor to keep

her rendezvous. The alien fascinated her. Though his

passion matched hers in their physical joining, she

remem bered no male who was so indifferent to her

attrac tions outside the sleeping chamber. She

returned to 29

him as a moth to the flame to learn the dangerous

secret of his immunity.

Except for the sounds of fingers coding data into the

computer or the occasional verbal command, the geology

lab had been quiet for hours. Tenaida and

Janara were immersed in the intractable equations and

spared no energy for conversation.

A low moan broke Tenaida's concentration.

Janara was slumped over her console, massaging her

forehead.

"Shan Janara, is something wrong?" When she

failed to answer, he repeated the question with more urgency

in his voice, trying to penetrate the distraction.

She straightened, fingers still rubbing her temples.

Slowly, her eyes focused on Tenaida.

"Something . . . a wild animal, maybe. A

predator, prowling the ship." Her fingers rubbed

harder, as if the pressure would focus the image.

"It wasn't clear enough to isolate."

"How long has it been there?" Tenaida asked.

Janara's telepathic powers were formidable, but

largely untrained. When the Deltan Mentors had

recognized the synergistic potential of her combined

human and Deltan genome, they had monitored

Janara's development carefully. Her powerful

psychic abilities had given her an exceptionally

keen awareness of others' physical and mental

ailments, and she had been marked for possible training

as a healer. That changed when her mother took her and

fled Delta Four just before the girl's seventh

birthday. Janara spent the following years learning

to suppress her abilities enough to function around

nontelepaths, and to control her half-Deltan

physiology sufficiently to keep from disturbing those

around her. The turning point came when the legal

guardianship of the thirteen-year-old girl passed

to her maternal grandparents. Ursula and Tom

Many-Sleeps Whitehorse 30

provided the stability and security missing from the

girl's life since her departure from

Delta.

Tenaida knew that, since joining Starfleet,

Janara had spent most of her leave time among

Deltans, learning more about herself and her unique

gifts. Even so, Tenaida doubted if more than

half a dozen people on the Enterprise suspected her

true heritage. Her long dark hair-whether

engineered at fertilization or implanted after birth,

Tenaida did not know-was an effective

camouflage. No human expected her sober mien

to conceal the strongest telepath born on Delta

Four in the last fifty years. "How long?" she

echoed Tenaida, shaking her head to clear it. "I'm

not sure. It slipped up on me. Several hours,

I think. It's still there, in the back, but not as strong

as that one flash." Janara shrugged. "I guess

it's just someone in a dreadful mood."

She stared at her screen. Tenaida watched her

for a few moments, then returned to his equations.

She would have to solve the problem in her own way. He

was again immersed in high-order differential equations

when she interrupted him.

"Shan Tenaida," she asked, her voice

barely above a whisper, "do you have any boretelin?"

His eyebrow lifted in a questioning gesture.

"Boretelin? My mother sent me a substantial

quantity last month." Tenaida's empathic

rating had been in the lowest percentile-grouping for his

age-mates. As a result, he had been

surprised when he opened the last box of

Delta-produced nutritional supplements his mother

had sent him. In addition to the usual items, he

had found several bottles of the psi-suppressant,

boretelin, a drug developed on Delta Four

to aid untrainable psi-sensitives in blocking the

inputs they could not screen out.

Janara took a deep breath. "Please thank

your mother for me the next time you speak with her."

Tenaida nodded as he understood his mother's reason

for sending the drug. Janara's mental powers 31

combined the normal Deltan ability to receive

images from other minds with a rare and powerful, though

erratic, human ability to sense thoughts or

feelings. At times, Janara needed boretelin

to cope with the mental distress of constant input from

untrained minds. "I'll return with your

medicine." "Thank you, Shan Tenaida." She

lowered her head to the counter, shielding her eyes and

ears with her arms. He left the lab, heading for his

quarters. It took him fifteen minutes

to return with the medicine and Janara wondered why it was

taking him so long. This far into the night shift, the

corridors and turbolifts should be virtually

empty.

Finally, the door opened. Tenaida crossed the

lab and set a small, square bottle on the

counter beside Janara. He noted that she did not

appear to have moved in the time he had been gone.

"Shan Janara," he said. When she did not

respond, he shook her shoulder to get her

attention. She stirred and sat up, looking around the

room as though only partially aware of her

surroundings.

"Shan Janara, snap out of it," he ordered.

Janara rubbed her hand across her eyes, trying

to clear her mind of the impressions that flooded it.

Her hand groped for the bottle and she fumbled two

brown, oval tablets from it. She swallowed the

pills, washing them down with the last mouthful of cold

tea from the cup sitting on the counter by her workstation.

Tenaida watched the tenseness melt out of her slight

frame as the medicine took effect. Janara

picked up the square bottle and turned it over and

over in her hands, rubbing the rough surface with her

fingers. Finally she set it back on the

table. "Normally, I can shut them out. Why is it

I hear them so strongly tonight?"

"Perhaps you require additional training, kaia. was

She sighed. "Perhaps, Shan Tenaida. Perhaps."

She reactivated her computer console and resumed

work on the geochemical data for the individual

planets. At 32

first, her keystrokes were slow and stumbling, but as

Tenaida listened, her speed gradually returned

to normal. With a sense of relief, Tenaida

turned his attention to the equations on his screen.

The woman stole into the deserted briefing room.

Although the room was dark, she ordered the lights down

again when the sensors detected her presence and

increased the illumination. She felt her way to the

table and slid into a chair, pulled out her compact comm

set, and entered a command. The set squirted a

brief pulse containing her message. Moments

later, the red "Receiving" indicator lit up. She

held her breath for the interminable few seconds needed

to receive the high-speed transmission. When the light

went out, she hid the comm set under her clothing and

left the room. Unless the night-shift communications

officer was monitoring the planetary broadcast

frequencies, no one on the Enterprise

should detect the transmission. However, she had no

intention of waiting there to be caught. Later, when she

knew she would not be interrupted, she would decode the

transmission and discover its contents.

The door opened and the slender figure of the

Deltan Science Officer marched onto the

bridge. The night shift bent to their tasks, trying

to appear more diligent than the available work

justified. Although Tenaida was only temporarily

assigned to the Enterprise, Captain Kirk would

listen to his reports of any shortcomings as

carefully as he listened to Spock. The evening shift

bridge crew wanted Tenaida to give Kirk a

flawless report. The Deltan glanced around the

bridge. The command chair was occupied by a black

male of medium build. The navigator was a

slender male with dark, curly hair and pale skin,

and the communications officer was a chunky,

olive-skinned female. Tenaida took his seat

at the science station and activated the 33

sensors. After ten minutes of checking his

displays, he stiffened. He tapped the control

pads, transferring the information to the main screen. A

swirling glow, twisted in angry patterns, filled

the viewscreen. "Lieutenant Jacobs,

my sensors are detecting a previously uncharted

gas cloud. I recommend that we change course

to bypass it."

"Navigation, do you confirm that?"

"Negative. comationo, wait. I'm getting

dopplers on something now. I've never seen readings

like this before."

"Recommend that we change course to the heading the

computer is feeding to navigation," the Deltan said.

Jacobs clenched his suddenly sweaty hand around the

arm of the command chair. In his experience, unexplained

phenomena usually created more prob- lems than

suggested by first impressions. He doublechecked the

readings on the viewscreen. He had only moments

to decide what the Enterprise should do. "Laysa,

where's Captain Kirk?"

The communications officer signaled Kirk's

quarters. After a moment, she said, "He is not

responding to his intercom." She entered another

command. "The circuit appears to be malfunctioning."

Jacobs checked the screen again, estimating how

long until they reached the gas cloud. The distance was

shrinking fast. "Ensign Carly, change course

to Lieutenant Tenaida's heading."

"Aye." The navigator entered the command

into his console. The scene on the viewer slid to one

side as the Enterprise moved off on its new

heading. Tenaida entered a string of commands into his

console. Then he pulled a tape from its slot and

stood. "I have ordered the computer to take additional

readings on that phenomenon. For now, my observations

are complete. I'll report to the captain and tell

him what happened."

"Thank you, sir. Lieutenant Laysa, tell

Engineering 34

to trace the malfunction and reroute Captain

Kirk's communications. Also, have them check the

intercom unit in the captain's quarters as soon as

he comes on duty in the morning."

"Maintenance order logged," she said, her voice

mingling with the sound of the door closing behind Tenaida.

JANARA AND TENAIDA pored over the output

from the latest version of their model. Condensed to a few

lines of mathematical symbols, their night's work

seemed insignificant. They had improved the fit

between theory and observation, but both scientists felt

they were far from solving the problem. "That term still

increases without limit if we use anything

approximating the actual data." Janara taped

the troublesome equation with her forefinger. "I just

don't see what we've missed."

Behind them, the door whisked open. Neither looked

to see who entered. "Copy that file to my work queue

and I'll study the problem later, kaia, was

Tenaida said. "However, I am on duty in

twenty-seven minutes." "Of course," Janara

replied. Tenaida's unspoken message was that he

needed the remaining time before his shift for his personal

needs. When he turned to leave, Cecilia

Simons was standing in the doorway. "Excuse me,

madam." But Simons did not move and Tenaida

had to squeeze around her to get out of the room. As he

passed her, she gave him a look of pure

hatred.

After the door closed behind Tenaida, Simons

sauntered forward. Her face wore an exaggerated

smile.

"Janie, darling, aren't you going to say hello

to your mother?" Janara's back stiffened. She had not

expected Simons to look for her while she was on

duty. After a deep breath, she turned to face the

older woman. "Mother, I had no idea you were on the

ship."

"I left twenty messages in your mail

file. You'd have known if you'd bothered to read

them."

Janara counted slowly to ten in Deltan,

Vulcan, and finally Apache before she replied.

"I've been working on a problem since yesterday

afternoon and haven't had time to check my mail."

"But surely, darling, they must let you sleep

sometime."

"I work the night shift, Mother. I prefer it."

Janara clenched her hands into fists behind her back,

trying to control her impulse to throw something.

"I suppose you also prefer to associate with that

Deltan animal. And encourage him by speaking the

inhuman mumbo jumbo they call a language."

Simons shook her head and rolled her eyes with the

melodramatic exaggeration of a third-rate

actress. "My only daughter. What's the

universe coming to? I tried to bring you up right, but you

reject everything I ever taught you." Janara

ignored her mother's theatrics and replied in a

monotone. "Shan Tenaida is the acting science

officer on this ship, and therefore my superior. I will

speak whatever language I choose. You've told

me often enough your experiences on Delta Four were not

the most exciting of your life, but I don't share

your distaste for the planet. The last time I

visited Delta, Shan Tenaida's parents were

gracious enough to ask me to stay with them." She paused,

remembering the warmth they had shown her and how much she

wished she could have grown up in so loving an

atmosphere. There were still many aspects of the Deltan

half of her heritage that she did not understand, but

Tenaida's siblings and cross-cousins had

been eager to help her. Not for the first time, Janara

found herself wishing she could be part of such a close

family group. With a shake of her head, Janara

pulled herself back to the present. She parted the hair

on the side of her head, revealing the scars from the

implant surgery. The surgeon Simons had

hired to alter her daughter's Deltan appearance

had been neither especially skilled nor especially

careful. "Finally, Mother, you may think you tried

to bring me up properly, but you're the only person

in the galaxy who does. If you had cared for me at

all, you would have left me with my father on Delta."

"How dare you!" Simons hissed. "You

ungrateful monster! If you have any shred of

decency or respect for your mother left, you'll

request an immediate transfer to another ship!" She

paused to regain control of herself. Forcing her most

disarming smile, she continued in a soothing

tone, "I'm only trying to do what's best for you,

darling. Won't you please humor your dear mother in

this?"

"No."

"Jane, I'm warning you-was

"Mother, would you please leave? I'm still on duty

and you're interfering with my work."

"Darling, I'm only trying to protect you from that

Deltan monster. Transfer off this ship."

Janara separated the strands of her dark hair

to emphasize the scars. "In case you've

forgotten, Mother dear, I'm part Deltan, too."

Simons' hiss of indrawn breath told

Janara she had gone too far. Her mother's fist

caught Janara on the side of the face and knocked

her head against the edge of the console. She slumped to the

floor, unconscious. Simons stormed from the

room without looking back.

Kirk was humming a lively tune under his breath

as he strode down the corridor. He knew it was

going to be a good day. The Kaldorni delegation and

Commis-

sioner Montoya's negotiating team had

settled into the briefing room with a minimum of trouble.

To assist them, Kirk had assigned a

yeoman to record the proceedings and retrieve

needed information from the ship's computer. The only

glitch was when the Kaldomi refused to allow a

Universal Translator in the room. Kirk

sympathized with Montoya on that issue, but on the

whole, he was relieved to have fulfilled his

diplomatic responsibilities so easily.

Kirk was feeling thoroughly pleased with himself as he

stepped onto the bridge. Although he was a few

minutes early, the people assigned to the day shift were

already at their stations, gett ing briefed by their counterparts

who were going off duty.

"Status report, Mr. Jacobs?" Kirk

descended the stairs and crossed to the command chair, still

smiling. He looked up at the main viewscreen and

froze. "What's our course?"

Jacobs touched a couple of switches. "Bearing

124 mark 5, at warp factor six-as per

Lieutenant Tenaida's orders, to avoid that

uncharted gas cloud. He reported that you confirmed

the new heading, sir."

A cold finger of uneasiness poked through Kirk's

cheerfulness. "Give me a full report,

Jacobs."

"Lieutenant Tenaida came on the

bridge to check the sensors. After a few minutes,

he began picking up some strange readings. We

changed course to avoid a previously uncharted

gas cloud. Then, when you didn't respond to your

intercom, Lieutenant Tenaida carried a full

report to you. He later relayed your approval for

our current heading and speed."

"When did this happen, Lieutenant?"

"About 0330 hours, sir."

Behind them, the turbolift opened and Tenaida

entered the bridge. Kirk turned, beckoning to the

scientist. "A word with you, Tenaida, if you

please."

Tenaida came down the stairs and stopped beside

Kirk. "Yes, Captain?"

"Why did you tell Lieutenant Jacobs you

had reported the course change to me, when you

hadn't?"

Tenaida's forehead wrinkled with a puzzled frown

at Kirk's tone. "What course change are we

discussing, Captain?"

"Lieutenant Jacobs reports that you changed

the ship's course last night to avoid an uncharted

gas cloud. And that you then reported this to me and got

my approval for the new heading." Repeating

the accusation made Kirk feel as though he were

talking to "a computer with faulty inference

circuits. "I took no such actions." The

Deltan's frown deepened, and his face flushed with

agitation.

"Begging your pardon, sir." Jacobs

straightened to attention. "You came on the bridge

to check your equipment, discovered the gas cloud, and

fed the new course information into my navigation console,

sir."

"That is not possible, Lieutenant Jacobs.

I have not been on the bridge since late yesterday

afternoon."

Kirk studied the two men. Neither appeared to be

lying. He knew Tenaida's agitation was a sure

sign of his veracity and Jacobs" conviction blazed

like a navigation beacon. There was only one way

to settle the problem. Kirk turned to the

communications station. "Commander Uhura, pull the

ship's log for 0330 hours this morning."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Let's take a look at the evidence."

Kirk and Tenaida crossed to the communications

station. Uhura played the tog extract on the

display screen above her console. They

watched the scene, then Kirk reran it. After the

second time, he stepped back, shaking his head. The

images left little room for doubt. "Tenaida, it

looks like you. And it sounds like you. Can you explain?"

"No, Captain. Until twenty-five

minutes ago, I was in the geology lab with

Lieutenant Whitehorse, working on the mass

distribution equations for the Shansar system."

"Will she verify that, Tenaida?"

"Yes."

"Uhura, run an identity check on that log

extract."

"Yes, sir." Uhura activated the

program. A series of graphic displays,

curved lines, and varicolored bars chased each other

across the screen. The final image was a jagged amber

histogram. Uhura tapped it with her finger.

"Inconclusive, sir. The computer says it may

or may not be Lieutenant Tenaida."

"Run it again, Uhura. A dozen times, if you

have to, but get me a definite answer. And find

Lieutenant Whitehorse. I want to speak with

her immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain?" Tenaida's voice sounded

strained and his face was a dull beige from the shock of

seeing the log extract.

"Yes, Tenaida?" Kirk had to struggle

to keep his voice level. Something he did not understand

had happened on his ship, and he did not like the

answers he was getting. He did not know Tenaida

well, but Spock did. And Spock spoke as

highly of Tenaida as Kirk had ever heard the

Vulcan speak of anyone. Kirk trusted

Spock's judgment implicitly, but the

contradictory evidence was beginning to raise doubts

in his mind.

"Do you wish to confine me to my. quarters until this

is resolved?" The Deltan stood rigidly at

attention, as if Tenaida were fighting his own battle

between appearances and reality.

Kirk felt the decision click into focus. He

believed Tenaida when he said he had been in the

geology lab. But if the Deltan were up to something,

Kirk wanted to be able to keep an eye on him.

"No. Carry on with your duties, Tenaida."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Mr. Sulu, change our course back to our

original heading and reduce speed to warp two."

"Aye, aye, Captain." The

helmsman entered the command. The stars slipped across the

viewscreen as the great ship swung to its new

heading.

Kirk dropped into his chair, scowling. The

"top-of the-universe" feeling he had had when he

entered the bridge was gone, leaving him let down and

irritable. He was still trying to account for the computer's

indeterminate answers when Uhura interrupted his

thoughts.

"Captain, Dr. McCoy wishes to see you in

Sickbay. He says it's about your request to see

Lieutenant Whitehorse."

"What does he want, Uhura?"

"He didn't say, sir. Just that he needed

to see you in Sickbay." "Tell him I'm on my

way." Kirk heaved himself out of the command chair. "This

had better be good," he muttered to himself as he left

the bridge.

"All right, Bones. What's this all about?"

Kirk's grim expression told the doctor all

he needed to know about his captain's mood. McCoy

pointed toward the examination room. Kirk walked

to the door and looked over at the figure on the bed,

not believing what he saw. When McCoy entered the

room to check his patient, Kirk followed.

Janara Whitehorse's slight form seemed lost

under the blue thermal blanket that covered her.

Kirk shook his head to dispel the illusion and moved

closer to the diagnostic bed. Janara was

unconscious. The left side of her face was

swollen and a large bruise covered her eye; the

other side of her face was also scraped and

discolored.

"What happened?"

"The lab technician found her when he went on

duty. She's got a mild concussion and assorted

bruises and scrapes. As for what happened,"

McCoy shrugged, "your guess is as good as mine.

I could wake her up and ask, but I'd prefer

to let her come out of it on her own. Her hybrid

physiology responds unpredictably to most of

our drugs."

Kirk gave the patient a long, accusing look

and strode into McCoy's office. For the moment, the

timing of Janara's injury felt like a personal

affront. He needed her testimony to support

Tenaida's story, and this accident could not have happened

at a worse time. "How soon will she regain

consciousness?" McCoy shrugged. "Could be fifteen

minutes. Could be five hours. It's hard

to tell with this type of injury. Is it important,

Jim?" "Perhaps." Kirk glared at the door of the

examination room, willing Janara to waken. When that

produced no results, he reached for the intercom.

"Tenaida here," the Deltan's voice replied from

the speaker. "Tenaida, was Lieutenant

Whitehorse alone when you left her?" "No,

Captain. The commissioner's wife was with her."

"I see." Kirk felt a cold suspicion

starting to grow. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

"The lab technician found her unconscious when

he arrived for his shift. She looks as though someone

tried to put a fist through her cheekbone." Kirk

gave Tenaida a few seconds to respond to the

news, then concluded, "Kirk out."

He sprawled into the chair by McCoy's desk.

"Bones, you tell me. In the middle of the night,

someone who may have been my Acting Science Officer

enters the bridge, detects an uncharted gas

cloud, and alters our course to an arbitrary heading

to avoid it. Tenaida claims he wasn't on the

bridge last night, but the only person who can

verify his story is unconscious when I go to question

her. Should I feel paranoid?" "It sounds like

you've got the grounds for a case. Are you

going to ask Ms. Simons what happened?"

Kirk closed his eyes. Just the thought of confronting

Simons made him feel tired and depressed.

He shook himself to break the mood. "I'll ask, but

I'm not sure it will do any good. She'll just lie,

if it suits her purpose."

"That sounds like you think she's the one who hit

Lieutenant Whitehorse." McCoy kept his

tone neutral.

"It wouldn't be the first time, Bones. As far as her

daughter is concerned-well, Ms. Simons may

tell the truth on some rare occasion, but I haven't

heard of it yet."

"Her daughter? Am I following you, Jim?"

"I think you are. Cecilia Simons, or

Deirdre Connell, or whatever other name she

calls herself, is Janara Whitehorse's mother. And

there isn't a female more unsuited to motherhood in the

entire galaxy!" "If Whitehorse's injuries

are evidence for your conclusion, I'd agree with you.

But what are you going to do about it? And how do you know so

much about the situation?"

"Do about it?" Kirk gave a short laugh.

"First, I'd have to have something more than my suspicions

to go on. As for how I know so much about the

situationremember how she almost caused the destruction

of the Aeolus? Well, our captain had had-shall we

say-previous dealings with Ms. Simons, and he

told me about them to explain why he wasn't going

to put the incident in my record. His story

included how he'd gotten the courts to declare

Simons an unfit guardian for her

thirteen-year-old daughter. Physical abuse

had a lot to do with it."

"But you don't have any hard evidence to back up

your suspicions." "That's right." Kirk gave the

doctor a tight, humorless grin. "But I'll

bet you a bottle of Saurian brandy that Simons

shows up here any minute with a story about Tenaida

knocking her "poor little daughter' around, an d about how

she got lost trying to find someone to help." Kirk

stood, stretching his arms over his head to ease the

tension in his back muscles. "I'm going to get some

coffee. Call me the minute Whitehorse

regains consciousness. And she's not to have any

visitors until after I talk with her." He

smiled to apologize for his next words. "I'm

afraid that's an order, Bones."

As Kirk was leaving Sickbay, Patrick

Brady fell into step beside him. "Why so

worried, Captain? Didn't the little geologist

confirm Tenaida's alibi?" Kirk shook his

head. "McCoy won't say when she'll be able

to talk to us, either."

"And meanwhile, you'll act as though Tenaida's

innocent, in spite of the log extract?" Brady

lifted an eyebrow in a perfect replica of

Spock's favorite gesture.

Kirk shrugged, wondering if Brady had ever

met the Vulcan. "Let's say I'm keeping an

eye on him for the moment. Besides, we couldn't get a

positive identification from that recording. And a man

is presumed innocent until proven guilty."

"I grant you that. But I looked at the

recording, too. I'd say it was as close to proof

as you're likely to get."

"The analysis disputes that. Unless Uhura's

gotten a better determination while I was in

Sickbay."

Brady shook his head. "If anything, her later

results were even worse. She was muttering at the

computer in Swahili when I left. At least, I

guess it was Swahili, though I heard an

occasional "malfunction' or "reprogram.""

"Swahili? That sounds like real trouble. Which

also means that log extract isn't proof. Or

anything close to it. Uhura should have gotten a 99

percent certainty level on her first identity

check. We've got Tenaida's complete files,

and it was a clear recording. Something fishy is going

on." "Why are you so sure your acting science

officer isn't behind it?" Kirk paused for a moment.

"I'm not sure. I don't have enough information to guess

what's going on or who's responsible. At this

point, it could even be one of your practical

jokes." Kirk grinned to show the 45

suggestion was made in jest. "So, until I

get more information, I want to keep all my options

open."

"Then that's why you didn't put Tenaida in the

brig."

"Well, partly. Besides, like I said, I need

evidence. Why don't you help Uhura with that log

extract? If she's swearing at the computer in

Swahili, things are serious. Somebody better

get up there before she decides to reprogram the

computer one circuit at a time."

"Is that "reprogram" as in "disassemble'?"

At Kirk's nod, Brady's eyes widened in

mock fear. "I'm on my way,

Captain. Starfleet's computer systems are

unreliable enough when the Vulcans have been working on

them. I'd hate to see them after they've been worked

on by someone who speaks Swahili with such

viciousness."

"Let me know what you find, Mr. Brady.

And the sooner, the better." "You got it,

Captain." Brady broke into a trot to catch up

with a crewman who was approaching the turbolift.

Kirk watched, shaking his head, then turned in to the

recreation lounge to get his coffee.

Much to Kirk's relief, the rest of the morning

passed without incident. When lunchtime came, he was

more than ready to turn the bridge over to Sulu.

On his way to get lunch, he stopped by Sickbay

to check on Janara, but McCoy reported no

change in his patient's condition. "She's still

unconscious, Jim. What I said before still goes.

I'll give her a stimulant if you absolutely

insist, but-was

"But you'd prefer not to." Kirk sighed. "Let

me know when there's any change, Bones."

Kirk entered the dining area and punched his order

into the food synthesizer. The machine hummed for an

unusually long time as it searched its

instructions. Finally, the door slid open,

delivering a tuna salad 46

labeled with Kirk's name. Frowning, he dropped

the plate onto his tray. The label was the

dietitian's way of telling him that she intended

to see that he followed his prescribed nutritional

schedule.

"You don't look like you care for salads,

Captain." The speaker was Kristiann Norris,

who was removing her lunch from the adjacent dispenser.

Kirk gave her a wry grin. "Well, let's just

say there are other foods I prefer."

"I know what you mean. The worst thing about

traveling on a spaceship is that my diet card

always calls for exactly what I should have." She

laughed. "Who wants to eat only what's good for

them?"

Kirk found himself smiling in response to her

cheerfulness. "You're right, of course."

Kirk pointed to an empty table on the side

wall. Norris nodded, and they worked their way across

the crowded room to reach it. "How are the negotiations

going?" Kirk asked when they were seated. She

answered between mouthfuls of her cheese-andsprout

sandwich. "Don't know. Of course, it's

really too early to say yet, and all we're

supposed to do right now is establish protocols and

agendas for the actual peace talks, but-"She took

a sip of her juice. "Well, you get a feeling

for these things, and this one feels like we're getting

absolutely nowhere. Like trying to pin down a handful

of fog."

Kirk found himself attracted by Norris' friendly,

open manner. He realized his initial evaluation of

her, based on her plainness, had been mistaken.

"May I ask what you do on the negotiating

team?" "A little bit of everything, actually.

Mostly, I work with computers. I try to find the

relevant information in the reports covering the

situation we're working on. Or run simulations

to see how a particular course of action would turn

out. Also, I work with languages and computer

translators." She took another bite of her

sandwich. "It bothers me that the Kaldorni don't

want a Universal Translator 47

in the room. I can't quite explain it, but I get

the feeling we're missing something important about the

whole situation. Maybe the translator would give

us the key.

"Hey, I'm being terribly rude,

jabbering away about my job and not letting you get in a

word edgewise."

Kirk grinned and shook his head. "I asked the

questions, remember? But if you insist, I'll give you

the captain's tour of the Enterprise this evening, so I

can have my turn."

Norris' face lit up with a big smile.

"I'd love it. Are you sure you've got the time?"

"I'll make the time." Kirk started to say more,

but was interrupted by an intercom page. He went to the

panel and pressed the control. "Kirk here."

"Kirk," Uhura's musical voice floated

from the speaker, "Dr. McCoy said you wanted to know

when Lieutenant Whitehorse regained

consciousness." "Tell McCoy I'm on my

way. Kirk out."

He returned to the table, looked at his

half-eaten salad, and drained his coffee cup.

"If you'll excuse me, Ms. Norris, duty

calls."

"Only if you promise to call me Kris,

Captain," she said, giving him another warm

smile. The remark should have sounded flirtatious, but

she made it sound sincerely friendly.

"All right, Kris. Until this evening."

"How do you feel?" McCoy asked his patient.

He checked the diagnostic panel above Janara's

head and saw the readings he had expected. Janara

winced at the sound and raised a hand to probe her

swollen cheek. "Head hurts," she murmured,

exploring the injury with a feather-light touch. "I'm

not surprised. You got a nasty knock there. What

happened?" McCoy looked from the monitor panel

to Janara's face. The hard line of her mouth told

McCoy that she would not surrender her story

willingly. Janara's fingers, still checking her

injuries, circled down to her jawbone. "Ran

into a wall."

"More like pushed, I'd say. Is there a law against

talking to your doctor?" A hint of annoyance

crept into Janara's voice. "Just ran into a

wall." McCoy's exasperation sharpened his tone.

"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I don't mean to go

throwing my weight around, but I need to know who hit

you." "I'm clumsy. I tripped and fell over

some specimens," Janara replied with more spirit.

"I've seen you do vari-grav gymnastics.

Deltans make very poor liars. Almost as bad as

Vulcans."

"So, I'm only half Deltan."

This time McCoy was sure of the twinkle of

amusement in Janara's eyes. Realizing she could

continue the verbal fencing for an hour, McCoy

feigned a show of resignation. "You're right. You

don't have to tell me. But don't you think

Maintenance should replace that section of wall with one

that isn't so mean?"

Janara's mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile.

Finally, unable to control her reaction, she started

giggling. The movement jolted her injuries. She

winced and grabbed for her temples. "Ooooo, I

don't think I want to do that."

"You're going to have a headache for a while, I'm

afraid. So just lie there and be careful."

"Then you certainly don't want to hear about the

wall that hit me, Doctor. It might raise my

blood pressure." Janara's voice was calm,

but her face had gone stiff from her efforts to control

a sudden flare of anger. The heart monitor

pulsed more rapidly.

McCoy made a big show of examining the

diagnostic panel. "Your blood pressure's so

low it barely registers."

"My normal reading."

McCoy gave the controls an unnecessary

adjustment. "Look, Janara, you don't have to tell

me, but if I don't know what happened, I can't

help you prevent it from happening again."

Janara heaved a sigh that seemed to start from the

soles of her feet. She turned her head away,

studying imaginary patterns on the ceiling panels

to keep from meeting the doctor's eyes. McCoy

had quit expecting an answer when Janara finally

spoke. "I had a fight with my mother." She fingered

the bruise on her cheek. "As usual, I lost."

McCoy thought about several responses, but they

all seemed inappropriate. Finally, he just

waited for Janara to continue. Eventually, she did.

"Mother tried to pull a concerned parent act and

Ptell me how bad off I was having a Deltan

as my superior. So I reminded her of some basic

facts she conveniently forgets."

"She hit you because of facts?" McCoy had

to struggle to keep his incredulity from registering in his

voice. "I think I'm missing something here."

"Hardly." Janara's voice was flat.

"There's not much to it. After my mother married my father,

she discovered certain peculiarities of Deltan

culture. Like the fact that Deltans place a

high value on honor, loyalty,

family obligations-respectable things like that.

Expediency is more my mother's style, and she's

addicted to her pleasures .... Anyhow, she got

bored when she found that life on Delta Four

involved more than an endless orgy. Of course, she

couldn't accept the responsibility for having made

the wrong decision when she hooked up with my father, so

she converted her resentment into hatred of anyone who

reminded her of him. Which is to say, all

Deltans. "I reminded her that I was half

Deltan and she hit me." Janara grinned

ruefully. "You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you?"

"You're taking this very calmly." In Janara's

place,

McCoy figured he would have tossed Simons out

an airlock years ago. Janara gave a short,

humorless laugh. "What would you have me do, jump up

and down and throw a temper tantrum? My mother is a

sick, twisted woman, and for that type of person, the

worst reaction is no reaction. Besides, Doctor,

I spent seven years growing up in her sole

custody. You may not believe this, but there just aren't

many ways left for her to hurt me." "I still think

something should be done, if the situation is as bad as you

say."

"Name me something that hasn't been tried,

Doctor." The sudden bitterness in Janara's

voice surprised McCoy almost as much as her

indifference had a moment ago.

"Nice bedside manner you've got there,

Bones." Kirk pushed himself away from the door

frame and moved toward them.

McCoy searched the captain's face for a moment

to gauge his seriousness. "How long have you been

eavesdropping, Jim?"

"Long enough." Kirk's expression was bland and

controlled, giving away no secrets.

"The whole time," Janara said. McCoy looked

from one to the other, suspecting a conspiracy between them.

Kirk shook his head, denying McCoy's

suspicions. "She was having such a good time giving

you the runaround that I didn't want to interrupt. And

since she's obviously recovered enough to answer a

few questions, would you please leave us?"

McCoy scowled, but left. On his way out, he

palmed the door switch and it slid shut behind him.

Kirk paced the confines of the small room, trying

to decide how to ask his questions. Now that the moment of

truth had arrived, he realized he was worried that

Janara's answers might not be the ones he

wanted to hear. He stopped pacing and faced her.

"Lieutenant Tenaida said he was with you in the

geology lab last night. When was he there?"

Janara's right eyebrow lifted in curiosity, but

her answer was as calm as if Kirk questioned her in

Sickbay every other week. "He came after the

diplo- matic dinner was over, around 2100 or

2130. He brought me a tray of food, so you should

be able to get the time from the food synthesizer logs.

We worked on the density distribution equations for the

Shansar system until he left to prepare for his

duty shift."

"Did he check any instrument readings on the

bridge last night?" Kirk turned away from her,

resuming his pacing. Suddenly, he realized how much

he wanted to hear her give him the right answer, the

answer that would confirm his-and Spock'sopinion of

Tenaida.

Janara's other eyebrow lifted in surprise

at the tension in Kirk's voice and at the apparent

irrelevance of the question. "To the best of my knowledge, no."

"Lieutenant Whitehorse, can you account for

Tenaida's actions during the entire third shift?"

Kirk stopped in the middle of the floor, waiting for

her answer.

"Yes, Captain. We were working on the Shansar

model the entire time." "Thank you,

Lieutenant." He turned, slapped the control

to open the door, and strode from the room.

Waving a farewell to McCoy, Kirk headed for

his office. The interview had left him with a vague

sense of dissatisfaction that he could not immediately

identify. Janara had given him the answers he

wanted to hear, but he could not escape the nagging.

feeling that he had asked the wrong questions. He wished

Spock was around to spot the flaws in his

all-too-human logic.

"Is there someone you are expecting to return to this

seat?" Kristiann Norris looked up from the

remains of her sandwich. "No, Speaker

t'Stror," she replied. "Captain Kirk was

sitting there, but he left."

"Would it be annoying to you if I were to join you?"

"Of course not. Be my guest. But aren't you a bit

late in getting lunch?" t'Stror shrugged, a

gesture copied from his human colleagues. "I had

to escort my ambassador to his quarters so he

could spend some time with his ladies before the afternoon sessions

begin. And one must observe the courtesies when one

is with one's master's family."

"Master? I thought he was your employer." She

hesitated for a moment to phrase her question carefully.

"Speaker, would it be impolite to ask exactly

what your relationship is to the ambassador?"

t'Stror stared at his lunch. His tray held a

bowl of unidentifiable green mush and a glass of red

juice. He toyed with his spoon, stirring his soup

without tasting it. Finally he looked up at

Norris. "I cannot explain well. The words I do

not have. He is my employer, yes. But also he is

my master, my overlord. I serve, and he has

absolute power in ordering my behavior." The

short Kaldorni cocked his head to one side. "But

he must have responsibility, too, when he gives

orders, because he has the power. If his judgment is

wrong, he may lose the right to command. Especially

if he repeats a mistake."

"You mean, if he makes a bad decision, he

may lose his job as ambassador?" t'Stror

nodded, a curious bobbing gesture to each side of his

body. "He loses his job of ambassador, his

voice in the affairs of clan Stror, his

honor-name Klee. The honor-name is most

important to us. It is very bad if one proves

to be not responsible in the job one holds.

One could lose wives and land if he is judged

unworthy, because how could any woman bear off- spring

to such a man?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know." As soon as she

said the words, Norris knew she should not have let her

personal feelings register in her voice.

"Offense was not intended. It is that, for us, the

having of wives and the making of heirs are

controlled by the status of a person, and by the ability

to defend against the dangers of our world. If one

loses one's position, he is no longer able

to protect his wives. Then they would wish to be with a

person who can offer them food and clothing and give their

children a place in our society."

"It sounds confusing." That line, at least, seemed

safe. "No, it is simple. Everyone has his

place. When all have places and fit in, everything

works easily. Maybe you don't see the places

where each person fits."

"I guess I don't. Could you explain it

later? It would help me to advise Commissioner

Montoya if I understood you better." She

smiled, hoping to con- vince him that her interest was

sincere. "And I do want to understand." "I would be

most honored to explain in any way I can.

Your people, they do not understand about

The-Way-of-All-Things, and my ambassador cannot

decide correctly when the balance is wrong."

t'Stror lowered his voice. "May I trust you with a

large secret? It is also important for me that

we make a good decision. My ambassador has

promised he will arrange a first wife for me if I

advise him suitably."

"That sounds like a great honor for you," Norris

said evenly. She hoped he could not read her dislike

for the way he discussed women as though they were

property. Still, the Federation team ned this kind of

information on Kaldorni attitudes. So far, they

had volunteered little enough on their culture. She

excused herself and stopped by her room to record some

notes on the conversation before returning to the briefing

room for the afternoon session.

Kirk entered his office and dropped into the chair

behind the large oval desk. He usually preferred

to conduct ship's business in the informal atmosphere

of his quarters, but he felt his next chore should be

performed in a more formal setting. After taking a few

moments to collect his thoughts, he activated the

intercom. "Uhura, locate Cecilia

Simons and send her to my office immediately."

"Aye, aye, Captain." Uhura's voice

carried a perplexed note. "Thank you, Uhura.

Kirk out." He thumbed the intercom off, annoyed

at Uhura's curiosity. Even granted that their

present assignment was not very exciting, the last thing

he needed was to have the crew watching him and their

passengers for any interesting gossip to lighten the

tedium. While he waited for Simons, he

called up the day's reports to review. He

expected she would try to demonstrate her control

of the situation by taking her time to arrive, and his

prediction was correct. When she entered, he waved

toward a chair. "I'll be with you in a moment."

She flowed toward him, her translucent indigo

gown swirling around her body and shimmering

to transparency under the harsh lights. The smell of

her musky perfume permeated the room. She

circled the desk and wrapped her arms around his

neck. Her breasts felt soft and warm where they

pressed against his shoulder. Against his will, Kirk felt

his body responding to the contact. "It's been such a

long time, Jimmy. I can't tell you how glad I

am to see you again."

Her throbbing voice evoked a flood of

dangerous memories, and a surge of desire

swept through his body. Slapping the computer off, he

spun his chair to face her. Startled, she loosened

her grip on his shoulders, and he stood before she could

tighten it again. He backed away to break the contact

and summoned his anger as a shield to protect himself.

"Ms. Simons," he said in as icy a tone as he

could muster, "would you please refrain from such

behavior? I have a serious matter to discuss with you."

"And I'd like to talk about old times, Jimmy."

Her voice was low and sultry. She ran her hand

down the front of her gown, smoothing it against the

curves of

her body. "Surely, you can't have forgotten . .

. everything." "Forgotten?" Kirk swallowed,

feeling hot and tense. The brief moment of contact

had reminded him of the exquisite pleasure she had

once given him-and the price he had almost paid for it.

"No, I remember entirely too well. So

consider this a fair warning-I don't intend to put

up with any of your tricks on my ship."

"But, Jimmy-was Like a viper, she struck,

locking her arms around his neck before he realized her

intentions. She kissed him savagely. The

pheromone- laden musk of her perfume went

to his head like a strong drink. He forced himself

to resist the traitorous response of his body.

Twisting clear of her embrace, he pushed her

away.

"I said I wanted none of your tricks," he

said in a voice that shook with anger and with other emotions

he did not want to acknowledge. "And I meant it!"

"But, Jimmy-was She glided toward him, her

arms reaching out to embrace him again. He grabbed her

wrists and jerked downward. The movement pulled her

off balance and she dropped into his chair.

"There will be no-absolutely no-repeats of that

last performance. If you try, I'll confine you to your

quarters." Kirk took a deep breath to steady his

voice. The thought of how easily he could surrender

to her heightened his anger. He forced his mind back

to business. "Furthermore, I want you to leave your

daughter alone."

"But, Jimmy, you can't believe-was She shifted

position, leaning back and extending her leg

to attract his attention. Her gown pulled tight

across her full, rounded breasts.

Kirk gritted his teeth, resisting the flood of

desire she stimulated. "Lieutenant

Whitehorse told me what happened this

morning. I'm ordering you to stay away from her-unless

you want to spend the rest of the trip in the brig. Do

I make myself clear?"

Simons lowered her head and studied Kirk through

fluttering eyelashes, looking for a clue to the enigma

he presented. This was a different James Kirk from

the brash youth she had known, and Simons was no

longer sure how to manipulate him. So far, his

resistance to her tactics was nothing short of amazing.

By now, he should have been begging for permission to serve

her. "After a blow on the head like that, you could hardly

expect my poor Janie to tell the truth about who

hit her. She's probably scared to death he'll

retaliate."

"I warned you," Kirk repeated. "I do not

intend to put up with any of your tricks. And that

goes double for your anti-Deltan bigotry!

Deltan males may have a reputation for violence

under extreme provocation, but it's not their

exclusive territory. If you know what I

mean."

Simons raised her head and glared at Kirk.

He returned her look without the slightest sign of

yielding. She sighed in defeat. "I understand you,

Captain Kirk."

"In that case, I won't take any more of your

time." Kirk felt the tension drain from his body as the

overwhelming riptide of desire ended as suddenly as

it had begun.

Simons crossed the room. At the door she

paused. "You haven't heard the last of this," she said

in a freezing tone. Before he could answer, she

swept from the room.

Kirk sank into his chair, letting its contours

absorb his weariness. His chronometer told him the

interview had taken only a few minutes, but he

felt as though it had drained him of a day's worth of

energy. He activated the computer screen and

retrieved his reports, but his mind was still on

Simons. The affair with her was far from settled.

He just wished he could anticipate her next

move.

Ambassador n'Gelen I'STROR Klee was

worried. His entire career, and possibly his

family and reputation, was riding on his ability

to conclude an agreement favorable to his people. The

ambassador had spent most of his life serving his

clan and his world, and all his experience had been

required to procure his position in the current

negotiations. Failure on this assignment

would mean the loss of the status he had used to obtain

the appointment. The difficulty was that the Federation

commissioner seemed unwilling, or perhaps incapable, of

understanding even the most basic concepts about

The-Order-of-Things.

He stretched farther out on the bed and allowed his

youngest wife to massage the tense muscles in his

back. In the last few days, she had softened and

ripened. Soon, the family would need to discuss the

best configuration for the child her body was preparing

to initiate.

His third eldest wife fed Klee pieces of

cheese and fruit from the plate she held. The

cheese was synthetic, and he considered rejecting it with

an angry comment about the discord of such constructs.

However, a brief meditation showed him that more disharmony

would be created by such an action, for it would disturb the

serenity of his wives without creating a counterbalancing

harmony. Such an action would be irresponsible.

While he nibbled his food, Klee tried to divine

new ways of explaining That-Which-Is to Commissioner

Montoya and those he represented. To any

Kaldorni, the natural flow of the Universe was as

obvious as the rising of a planet's primary at

dawn. To deny either was to fly m the face of

all logic, and the resulting disharmonies could

destroy not only the individual but also his entire

clan. Commissioner Montoya seemed incapable of

understanding that the natural order of the Universe

dictated the planet Yagra IV should be settled

by the Harmonious Unities of the Kaldorni Way.

Perhaps the fault was his, Klee thought. Maybe

he should have requested to converse with a different

representative of the Federation. Montoya could know

little of harmony when he claimed so discordant a

female as sole wife. Hot-Fire-Woman,

who burned all she touched, must surely have disturbed

the commissioner's harmony, perhaps beyond the point where he

could regain his balance with respect to the Universe.

Her influence was spreading even further, Klee was

sure, for he had noted the times and places of his

mouthpiece t'Stror's language lessons, and

knew that spoken communications must be only a small

part of the curriculum.

When Kirk stepped onto the bridge, he knew

immediately that something was wrong. The star patterns on the

viewscreen had changed, and the ship was traveling at

much too great a speed.

"Sulu, what's our course?"

"One-two-four mark five, at warp

six. As per your orders, sir." There was a note

of surprise in Sulu's voice.

"My orders?" A red haze washed over

Kirk's vision. Someone was interfering with his ship,

issuing counterfeit orders in his name. For a moment,

all he could think of was getting his hands on that person

and throttling him. Kirk took two long, shay

breaths, trying to control his temper. After a few

seconds, his anger faded. "When did I order this

course change, Mr. Sulu?" he asked in a

deceptively quiet voice.

"About an hour ago, sir. Commander Brady

came up here after Commander Uhura gave you Dr.

McCoy's message. He said you'd ordered him

to make the change." "But I went straight

to Sickbay. I haven't seen Mr. Brady

since I ordered him to analyze that log

extract," Kirk said, half to himself. He shivered

with an unwelcome premonition. He stared at the

viewscreen, feeling his anger rekindle. "Get

Commander Brady up here at once."

Brady entered the bridge and automatically

looked at the screen. He frowned and moved

to Kirk's side. "It seems we have a serious

problem, Captain." Kirk snorted.

"You have a gift for understatement. Right now, I think

I'd even be glad if you told me it was one of your

practical jokes. However, I suppose you're

going to tell me you didn't order this course

change?" "I've been in my quarters, working on the

tapes of the first course change. I haven't been

on the bridge."

"And everyone here is convinced it was you?" Kirk

looked around the bridge. Uhura, Sulu, and ben

Josef nodded. "Uhura, play back the log

recording of that. I want to see it for myself."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk watched Brady enter the bridge. He

requested a status report and ordered the course

change. Then Brady left the bridge. If

seeing was believing, the fourth time through the scene should have

convinced both Kirk and Brady. The person giving

the orders looked and sounded exactly like the first

officer. But Brady kept shaking his head. "I

never left my quarters. I know I wasn't on the

bridge."

BRADY SHOOK HIS HEAD, obviously still

trying to break the sense of unreality that gripped him

as he watched himself ordering the course change.

Kirk studied his friend's face as the scene

repeated on the monitor. After a few moments, he

was convinced that Brady's astonishment was genuine.

Therefore-to borrow Spock's favorite

phrase-logic dictated that, unless Brady had

become a much better actor since his days at the

Academy, the course changes were not an

elaborate practical joke he was playing on his

old friend. "Uhura, run an identity check on that

recording."

The computer took a long moment to answer the

communications officer's query. Kirk was almost ready

to send for Maintenance by the time Uhura looked up from

her board. "Indeterminate, Sir." She tapped

the amber histogram on her screen. "Shall I run

it again?" "No." Kirk released a breath he had

not realized he was holding. Brady's expression

reflected the same shock and angry puzzlement

Tenaida had shown watching the r ecording of "his"

actions earlier. Kirk took another look at

Uhura's screen and realized what had been bothering

him all morning. Having two different

impersonations within twelve

hours-of both the ship's first officer and of its

science officer-was disturbing. Even more troublesome was

the accuracy of the impersonations. When the

computer tried to identify the individuals in the log

extracts, it had compared the recordings with the ship's

master files on Brady and Tenaida. Many things

could cause the computer to report an anomalously

low correlation between a single recording and a person's

master file damage to the vocal cords might

distort voice patterns, physical injury or the

passage of many years would alter the physical

characteristics, and various other factors could distort

physiological parameters. But Kirk could think

of no way an impostor could make a recording that

came this close to reproducing the data stored in

another person's file. Starfleet Security would

want an answer to this problem, but it would take them

three weeks to get an expert to the Enterprise.

And Spock would be away on leave for another two

weeks. Meanwhile, something strange was happening on

his ship, and he wanted to know what. When he broke

it down into those terms, Kirk's decision was

obvious. His only difficulty was that the people best able

to solve the mystery were the ones accused

by circumstantial evidence of committing the offense.

"Give Brady and Tenaida copies of both

log extracts. And get the records officer on

it, too," Kirk told Uhura.

"Hopefully, the three of them can figure out what's

going on. Also, notify Security Chief

Chekov, so he can take appropriate action."

Whatever that is, Kirk added to himself. "Right away,

Captain." Uhura copied the log extracts

onto a tape and gave it to Brady. The first

officer crossed over to Tenaida's station. They

talked for several minutes before the records officer,

Marg Layton, notified them she was free to work

on the problem with them.

Kirk took his place in the command chair. His

mind twisted around the problem of the course changes,

trying to figure out how they could have occurred. The

answers that fit his meager facts displeased him. One

possibility was that Brady and Tenaida had been

under mental control when the course changes were made.

Coercion might produce the discrepancies in the

identity checks, but the captain wanted to believe

Brady when he said he had been in his quarters all

morning. Kirk and Brady had been friends for

twenty-five years, and Kirk knew when Brady

was pulling his leg. Brady's reaction had convinced

Kirk that he had not made the course change, even

under duress. Also, since Whitehorse had

corroborated Tenaida's alibi,

Kirk assumed the Deltan had not ordered any

course changes, either. The other possibility was

even worse. If Brady and Tenaida were not

responsible, someone else aboard the Enterprise

was-someone who could make himself look enough like the ship's

first officer and its science officer, and who could sound enough

like them, to fool almost anyone. In fact, I would have

sworn it was Patrick, Kirk thought. He shuddered

at the possibilities opened up by having doubles for

both Brady and Tenaida aboard the ship.

"Captain?" Brady's voice interrupted his

thoughts. "Yes?"

"Are you going to change course?"

Startled, Kirk checked the screen. He had

been concentrating so hard on the problem of who had

ordered the course change that he had not yet

corrected the actual mischief, even though he had

been staring at the viewscreen. "By all means.

Mr. Sulu, return us to our original heading and

reduce speed to warp factor two. Again."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Ben Josef entered the course change into his

navigation computer to calculate the coordinates.

After a

few moments, he passed the new heading

to Sulu, and the helmsman brought the ship around to its

assigned course.

Watching the stars drift across the viewscreen

suggested sbmething else to Kirk. "Mr. ben

Josef, those course changes didn't put us near

any habitable star systems. When you get a

minute, would you correlate the headings and see where

they were taking us? Give your results to Commander

Brady or Lieutenant Tenaida."

"Aye, sir."

"Commander Sulu and Ensign ben Josef. One more

thing." Kirk paused for emphasis so everyone would

know how serious the order was. "Until we get

to the bottom of this, you are to make no course

changes unless both Commander Brady and I order

itsimultaneously. Is that understood?" "Yes,

Captain."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The navigator and the helmsman exchanged

relieved glances. Kirk could not blame them.

Having all

ode iven b the two senior officers was the only

r rs " hey recautloncd take to keep the

mysterious

P intruder from issuing still more troublesome

direc tives. And even that measure could be

circumvented by someone with sufficient determination.

Kirk gri maced. It had started out to be such a

lovely day.

Cecilia Simons was frustrated and bored.

Her role as Joachim Montoya's pretty

laygirl wife was becoming tiresome, and, to compete

her dissatisfaction, anyone she wanted to talk

to was occupied and unwilling to interrupt his work

to entertain her. She had even gone to Sickbay on

the pretext of visiting her daughter, but McCoy

had refused to let her see Jane. Not that she had

any real interest in the girl. Simons had always

made an extravagant show of being a good mother, but

five minutes with her half-Deltan daughter was

all it ever took to drive the best intentions from her

head. When Jane-Anne was a child, her 64

silent, sober mien and precocious intelligence

had been a constant irritation to her mother, and Simons

could not remember ever being free of the conviction that her

daughter was reading her mind. The child's hysterical

protests that she would never willingly eavesdrop on

another person's thoughts had failed to convince

Simons that the mental voyeurism was accidental;

she was certain Jane could have avoided using

her powers if she had wanted to. Simons was also

sure that her husband's family had encouraged

Jane to spy on her mother because they thought Simons was

not a suitable consort for her husband.

As an adult, Jane-Anne managed to be an

even greater aggravation than she had as a child.

Simons felt her daughter's use of her

Deltan calling name was intended as a direct

insult, and she redoubled her efforts to initiate

Jane into the joys of being a human female. In

response, Jane-Anne retreated even farther

into the Vulcan-like discipline that most Deltan

sensitives observed when constantly surrounded

by humans. The campaign had resulted in several

confrontations such as this morning's, and Simons

blamed them on Enterprise's Deltan science

officer who, she was sure, was trying to seduce her

daughter into returning to Delta Four.

Simons poured her family woes

into t'Stror's ear when she found him finishing a late

lunch. The rotund Kaldorni listened

sympathetically as he shoveled down his soup.

"I don't understand it," she concluded her tale.

"She's always been fascinated by Deltan mindreading

tricks and the Deltans" alleged

ability to empathize with others. It's just a circus

act, of course, but she must think this Tenaida can

teach her something about that. I suppose it was

inevitable, considering he's the first Deltan she's

ever been around." "This mind reading of the Deltans-is

it something of importance to them?" t'Stror asked.

Simons dismissed the idea with a contemptuous 65

wave of her hand. "Who knows what's important

to a Deltan? They spend a lot of time on it, but

they also worry about so many other trivial matters."

"That is not to the Deltan mind an exclusive

habit. Does the mind reading concern them because there are

many that possess this trick?" Simons scowled.

"How should I know about Deltans? All the ones I

knew could do it. I wish Janie would stay away from

them. Such tricks could be dangerous."

A calculating expression crossed t'Stror's

face. He scraped the last spoonful of green

mush from his bowl. "The lady Simons should not worry

herself so much about her daughter. It grieves this humble

person to say so, but this child can have no honor left if

she must disobey so lovely a mother. In our world, such

an offspring is rejected from the protection of the

clan."

"That's not usually the way we humans do

it."

t'Stror shoved his chair back and stood. "I

am expected to attend my ambassador now for the

continuation of our work aboard this vessel." He bowed

slightly, extending and rotating his wrist in the

Kaldorni gesture of leave-taking.

Simons stared at his back as he waddled out the

door. What was she going to do with the rest of the afternoon?

Kirk had destroyed the possibility of any

casual dalliance she might have initiated by filing

pictures and capsule biographies of the ship's

passengers on the bulletin boards and the ship's

news circuit. Much to Simons' disgust, her

file listed her as Montoya's wife of three

months, which resulted in respectful treatment from every

crewman. If there was anyone on the ship who had not

seen the damaging biography, he was so buried in his

work that Simons would be unable to find him. After wandering

the ship's corridors for the better part of an hour,

Simons discovered the library lounge. Her

boredom evaporated. Access to a computer 66

terminal that could not be traced to her was almost as

educational as spending the afternoon with a crewman.

Simons entered the unoccupied room and chose the

console farthest from the door. She activated

it, using an access code she should not have known.

Three hours later, Simons logged off the

computer and left the still-deserted lounge. @ddity the time

Montoya finished with his day's work, she was

lang uishing in their quarters, claiming to be bored

to tears with the Enterprise's selection of erotic

entertainment tapes.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Tenaida?"

"I have just finished checking Mr. ben Josef's

results. His projections show the intruder's

course changes would have taken us into an uninhabited

region of space."

"Would you check those calculations again and also search

for the closest planets?"

"Yes, Captain." Kirk knew the Deltan

could make the computer perform as if it were an extension

of himself; Spock was the only person the captain

knew whose skills exceeded Tenaida's. Kirk

envied the ability, knowing that his own considerable skills

with the computer were eclipsed by the Deltan's, and would

never approach the Vulcan's.

A yeoman appeared at the captain's side.

He took the noteboard she handed him, scanned the

fuel consumption report, keyed his

initials onto the form, and gave the board back

to her. She handed him another datapad. He glanced

at it and nodded. "That will be all, Yeoman."

The second board summarized crew

activities for the past week-merit notices,

reprimands, project summaries, and other

miscellaneous matters. Last were the requests that

required Kirk's attention. The 67

final item was a transfer application from

Janara Whitehorse. Kirk scowled. The

request made no sense. He bounced to his feet

and strode for the door. "Mr. Sulu, you have the

conn. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my

quarters." Kirk called up the complete file on

his console. Whitehorse's formal request gave

no more information than the summary had, but on the

recording, her movements were stiff and her speech

seemed unusually stilted. The recording showed no more

personality than did the featureless beige

background behind Whitehorse. Frowning, Kirk

keyed on the intercom. "Uhura here."

"Uhura, find Janara Whitehorse. I

want to see her at once."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Thank you. Kirk out." He turned

off the intercom and sat back in his chair. After this

morning, he could see why Whitehorse might want

a transfer, but the first place she could leave the ship

was at Starbase 15, when the Enterprise returned

there to pick up Spock. Considering that most of

Whitehorse's problems were caused by her mother,

Kirk felt he should talk with Whitehorse before he

approved her request. The door buzzer

interrupted his thoughts.

"Come."

The small half-Deltan woman crossed the

room with an effortless stride and stopped in front of

Kirk's worktable. "You asked to see me,

Captain?" "I'd like to discuss your transfer

request."

She blinked in surprise. "I did not request

a transfer."

"I have it right here."

"I made no such request."

"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I have here a

transfer request from someone who looks and sounds like

you. Do you doubt my word?" "I merely state a

fact I have not asked for a transfer.

Furthermore, it would be futile to request a

transfer 68

merely to escape my mother. I could not leave the

ship before this mission is finished."

Exasperated, Kirk played the message.

Whitehorse watched it with detached interest. About

halfway through the recording, Kirk glanced from the

screen to her impassive face. Puzzled, he

looked back at the screen, then froze the image.

The face on the monitor was as skinned and bruised

as the woman facing Kirk, but where Whitehorse's

left eye was swollen nearly shut, the image on

the screen showed a blackened right eye. "My

apologies for disturbing you, Lieutenant," Kirk

said when he recovered from the surprise. "That was all

I wanted."

She turned and left the room. Kirk studied his

screen a little longer, then dropped a tape in the

slot and copied the message. Brady, Tenaida,

and Layton could examine another mysterious

recording while they were analyzing the extracts from the

ship's log.

Janara Whitehorse stared at her computer

screen, trying to make sense of the paragraph she had

read five times. Her head ached abominably, in

spite of the painkillers Dr. McCoy had given

her-and the medication interfered with her concentration.

She shuddered as a crewman, still upset from a fight

with his lover, passed her door. When she tried

to push away his images of anger, her mind was slow

to respond, as if her brain had been packed with

cotton. McCoy had said she should rest, but if she

tried to sleep with her mental barriers down, she

knew the random thoughts of other crew members would

induce nightmares of monumental proportions.

She picked up the bottle of boretelin and

turned it over in her hands, feeling the rough, knobby

texture of the glass. The drug offered a

temporary escape from unwanted telepathic

intrusions, but it was not the answer to her problem.

Tenaida was right; she should seek additional

training-on Delta Four or, perhaps, 69

even on Vulcan. However, the requirements of

her job left few opportunities to take the

extended leaves she needed to pursue her study of the

Deltan mental sciences or the Vulcan

disciplines for mind control. There had to be an

answer to the problem, but today it seemed more elusive

than usual. Her computer screen went blank, and

she realized how long she had been staring at it. She

rubbed her forehead, trying to clear away the fog.

Her mind was too sluggish to work on

technical material, but perhaps she could review the

beginner's vari-grav gymnastics routine that she had

promised to teach Uhura.

Vari-grav gymnastics was a Deltan

elaboration on the human sport of gymnastics.

Moves from similar activities originating on a

dozen Federation worlds had been synthesized into a

coherent whole, with challenge added by performing in a

changing gravity field. Vari-grav gymnastics

was an ideal form of exercise for spaceship crews

because it provided maximum physical conditioning for the

space and equipment used. Beginning routines were

uncomplicated, with moderate shifts in gravity and

clear-cut musical cues, but advanced routines

became extremely complex and forced the performer

to rely on subtle clues to signal the changes.

For Uhura, Janara had chosen a simple

routine called "Birds in Flight." The gymnast

worked between two sets of uneven parallel bars; with the

gravity drops, the performer soared upward as if she

were a bird, using her momentum to carry her from one

set of bars to the other. "Birds in Flight" was a

good beginners' routine because it used a few basic

moves to excellent advantage and gave the student

an immediate sense of accomplishment. Also, it

was easy to modify as the gymnast's skills

increased.

After forty-five minutes, Janara decided her

coding was correct and stored the program. She

crossed the room and stretched out on the bed, allowing

her mind to replay the routine over and over. She was

following the swoops and dives of her mental

gymnast when she drifted to sleep.

Brady, Tenaida, and Layton entered the

bridge and crossed to the captain's chair.

Layton, a tall, angular woman in her

midfifties, stopped half a step ahead of the other

two. "Captain, we have finished analyzing the

computer log extracts."

Kirk searched Layton's face for clues.

Her expression was neutral, but behind her, both

Brady and Tenaida appeared tense. "All right,

Commander. What have you got?"

"I think we should discuss it in a more private

location."

"Very well." Kirk bounced to his feet and

headed for the door. "Mr. ben Josef, you have the

conn. Layton, Brady, Tenaida, come with

me." "Aye, aye, sir." Ben Josef

signaled his backup and took the command chair as the

senior officers left the bridge.

Kirk controlled his impatience until they were

seated around the computer console in his quarters. "All

right. Let's have it."

Layton dropped a tape into the input slot and

stepped back, gesturing for Tenaida to explain the

analysis. Kirk moved his chair closer to the

screen. The image of Brady ordering the course

change appeared. Tenaida cut to another block of

data; the image shrank to half-size and a group of

crimson and scarlet sine curves filled the top

of the screen. "This," Tenaida pointed at the

overlapping curves, "is the identity pattern the

computer generated from the recording." He entered a

command and the computer superimposed a group of blue

sine curves over the red curves. "The blue shows

the identity pattern stored in the computer's memory

for Commander Patrick Brady."

Kirk studied the two templates. Large

sections of pattern were identical, indicating how

closely the

double resembled Brady, but other parts of the

composite degenerated into a random assortment of

lines.

"There is an 81.7 percent correspondence between

the two arrays." Tenaida's voice was flat,

almost a monotone, as he recited his statistics.

Brady propped his chin on his hand and stared at the

screen with a look of intense concentration, as if he

could force the answers from the data by sheer force of will.

"As we all know, 80 percent is too high for the

resemblance to be chance or a good makeup job. But

it's too low a correlation for me to have made that

recording."

"That's correct. Given normal

circumstances."

Kirk brushed his hair off his forehead. The

temperature in the room seemed to have jumped

upward. "All right, Tenaida," he said. "What

does it do with your double?"

Tenaida called up similar information for the log

extract that showed him recommending the course

change. The random, nonoverlapping areas were more

pronounced and appeared more chaotic to Kirk. "The

match isn't as good," Kirk concluded after studying

the orange and green curves on the screen for a

moment.

"Seventy-three-point-five percent. However,

we found an interesting correlation when we

combine the two files." Tenaida ordered the computer

to merge the two sets of composite identity

patterns. "I see what you mean." After Kirk's

mind work ed its way beyond his initial impression of

technicolor spaghetti, he saw a chilling

pattern in the data. The parts of the curves that

matched neither Brady's nor Tenaida's

identification patterns were nearly identical.

"Could the same person be responsible for both

course changes?"

Although he maintained an outward calm,

Brady's fingers tapped a complex rhythm on the

table. Tenaida stared at the screen, refusing

to look toward the 72

captain. Kirk realized he had just put his finger

on the problem. Lieutenant Tenaida responded,

"There is a 96.4 percent correlation in the parts that

don't match either Commander Brady's or my

personnel records. However, the computer needs a

larger data sample to determine with certainty that

both recordings were made b the same person."

Insufficient data. Kirk cringed, realizing how

much risk to his ship might be involved in

collecting sufficient data. "What about

Lieutenant Whitehorse's transfer

request? We know she didn't record that." Under

the table, Kirk clenched his hand into a fist, struggling

to control his impatience. Tenaida always presented his

data in a detailed, logical sequence, building

an incontrovertible chain of evidence to support his

conclusions. That slow approach was fine for abstract

scientific results, but just now, when the safety of

his ship was involved, Kirk found it difficult

to endure.

Tenaida displayed the composite identity

profile made from the recording and from

Whitehorse's personnel file. Miniature

reflections of the screen shone in the Deltan's dark

eyes. "Eighty-nine-pointsix percent overlap."

"How does that match up with the overall composite?"

Kirk leaned closer to the screen to get a better

view.

Tenaida combined the Brady/tenaidastintruder

profile with the image of Whitehorse and her double.

The divergent sections merged with the composite intruder

profile.

"Analysis, Tenaida?" Kirk straightened,

feeling his tension wind tighter as he waited for the

answer.

"Still insufficient data to reach a

positive conclusion about the impostor. However, this

lowers the probability to 1.7 percent that the

correlations are caused by chance."

"In other words," Brady said, "the data

isn't good

enough to meet your professional standards, but if the

captain insisted, you'd say those recordings were made

by the same person."

Tenaida weighed the statement to make sure he

would not get trapped by a hidden flaw in Brady's

reasoning. "Correct."

"Would you speculate about this individual?"

Kirk asked. Tenaida stared across the room,

frowning slightly as he considered the confidence

limits he could place on conclusions drawn from such

a small sample. "You realize, of course, that

I don't have enough information to give you an unassailable

answer."

When he heard that, Kirk felt himself relax.

In spite of Spock's lessons on never

revealing conclusions until they were proven facts, the

Deltan had convinced himself to share his conjectures.

"Of course, Tenaida. If we had the facts,

we wouldn't need speculations."

The tension in Tenaida's shoulders

eased. "Very well. Commander Layton, Commander

Brady, and I discussed the possibility of the

recordings being made by someone skilled in

biocosmetics and image projection. Commander

Layton believes this adequately explains why

we can appear to be in two places

simultaneously. However, I must point out the

extreme difficulty in bringing the necessary

biofabricator aboard undetected, and of tapping

into our restricted databases to obtain the

high-quality voice patterns required for the

vocal enhancer.

"Given these difficulties, I believe the

evidence suggests that we are dealing with someone who can

control the minds of others so completely that they are not

even aware of what is happening. The person

behaves so close to normal that it is virtually

impossible to distinguish the individual who is being

controlled from that person acting on his or her own. The

major weakness in the intruder's system is that the

person's identity pattern while under the intruder's

control corresponds in significant

percentage to the intruder's identity pattern."

"Is that possible?" Kirk murmured, trying

to accept the Deltan's conclusion. "And

doesn't Lieutenant Whitehorse's recording

contradict your idea?" "My hypothesis does

seem improbable." Tenaida frowned. "However,

I see no other way to explain how these recordings

can come so close to our identity patterns without

achieving complete correspondence. As for

Lieutenant Whitehorse's recording, I

believe the image reversal occurred when the

message was being transmitted. The recording was

made against a neutral background, which eliminates

the visual clues that would identify the error. Our

analysis revealed no other way to explain the

discrepancy." Kirk nodded. He had been thinking

along the same lines, but hearing Tenaida's

deductions reassured him that there was no major

flaw in his reasoning. "Any ideas on motive?"

"None, Captain. Inadequate information."

"There's one thing we'd better not overlook."

Brady's tone was grim. "Unauthorized course

changes, for whatever reason, are not friendly acts."

"Agreed." Frustrated, Tenaida shuffled his

computer tapes. "However, that does not tell us what

the person's motives are."

"I suppose you're right, Tenaida." Kirk

drew a deep breath, feeling the weight

of the negative conclusions. "So where should we look for

our intruder?"

"There are several possibilities."

"Rank them by probability."

"Given that the trouble started after we left

Starbase 15, it seems likely the intruder is

among the Kaldorni diplomats or the Federation

negotiating team."

"Admiral Chen can send us the records for

Montoya's party, so in theory we could identify this

person if he is with the Federation team. I'm willing

to bet that the intruder is hiding among the

Kaldorni,

probably disguised as the person Admiral

Chen's security personnel found on Starbase

15," Kirk said.

"That is a distinct possibility. We'll have

Admiral Chen send us the identity files for the

Federation negotiators and the Kaldorni

diplomats, of course, but someone could have altered those

records or transmit the wrong data. We will have

no way of knowing if the information we receive has been

corrupted." Brady leaned back in his chair,

frowning. He drummed his fingers against his leg, a

random motion that matched the skittering of his

thoughts.

"Let's also examine the alternatives,"

Tenaida said. "If the intruder is in the

commissioner's party, he might have spent many years

establishing his cover. In that case, you would also need

to consider members of the ship's crew as possible

suspects."

"However, we do have the files for everyone assigned

to the Enterprise, and we can be confident of the integrity

of those files." Brady leaned forward and tapped the

screen to emphasize his point. "The computer can

search those records for anything that matches our

piece of the intruder's pattern." Kirk looked from

one to the other, caught up by their rigid logic. In

spite of the disparity in their backgrounds, Tenaida and

Brady gave Kirk the feeling that he was listening

to one person talking in stereo. As Tenaida

talked, Kirk could see Brady taking the

Deltan's conclusions and relating them to the ship's

operations. Kirk found himself envying the lucky

captain that had either Brady or Tenaida

permanently assigned to his command. With that thought, he

brought himself back to the problem at hand. "Check our

records if you want, though I doubt it'll do

any good. Call it a hunch, but I

don't think the intruder is one of our people."

Kirk looked at the screen again and shrugged,

deprecating his reasoning even as he presented it.

"If it is, why would he wait until now to start

messing with the ship's operations? . . . No, I'm

betting this 76

person-whoever he is-came aboard with our

passengers, probably with the Kaldorni. But who

is he? And why does he want the course changed?

How are we going to catch him before he does something

else? And, for that matter, where does Lieutenant

Whitehorse fit into this? Requesting a transfer for

her is hardly what I would call disrupting

important ship's business. So why take the

risk?"

Brady shook his head. "Captain, by the time you

read the message, the intruder had released

Lieutenant Whitehorse and was far from the terminal

where the recording was made."

"True."

"And we don't know the answers for your other

questions-yet." "Somehow, I knew you were going to say

that." Kirk leaned back in his chair, feeling a

weariness born of frustration settle over him. If

he had something concrete to go on, some solid

information that would let him catch the intruder, he would have

been ready for action. But the waiting, the efforts

to accumulate enough information to guide his actions, really

drained his energy. "Well, at least we know where

to start. Tenaida, did you recheck where the course

changes were taking us?"

"Yes. The projected destination is in an

uninhabited region of space." "What planets

are closest to that heading?"

"I had the computer compile a list. The nearest

habitable planet has a 52.7 percent

probability of being the intended destination."

"Fifty-two percent? That's not very good." Kirk

rubbed his forehead. Such a low probability demanded

an explanation.

Tenaida shrugged. "I have too little information

to answer your questions properly, Captain. I

regret that I can do no better at this time." "I

understand, Tenaida. You may return to your

duties."

"Thank you, Captain. I will let you know if I

can extract any more information from these recordings." The

Deltan collected the data cassettes and left

the room.

"Well, Mr. Brady? What

next?"

The acting first officer propped his chin in his fist.

"I recommend we choose passwords so we can

catch the intruder if he tries to masquerade as a

command officer again."

Kirk nodded. They discussed what the intruder

might do next and tried to cover each contingency.

Finally, realizing how long they had been talking,

Kirk said, "Do you want to make sure our friend

hasn't done something else while we've been

busy?"

"An excellent idea, Captain. I'll be

on the bridge if you need me." Brady bounced

to his feet and strode from the room.

Kirk turned to Layton. "You've been

amazingly quiet through all this, Commander. What are

your thoughts?"

Layton slid into the chair Brady had just

vacated. "It was obvious you assigned me to watch

those two. In case."

Kirk nodded. "A commanding officer has to consider

every possibility." "Agreed." Layton paused,

considering. "I watched them run the analysis, and

I checked the tapes. Everything there tests out fine.

And both Brady and Tenaida seem like

themselves, as near as I can tell. Dr. McCoy would

be better able to answer that one, of course."

"Of course." Kirk gave Layton a long,

penetrating look. "So what's bothering you, Marg?

I can tell there's something here you don't like."

Layton shrugged. "I don't like their mind control

hypothesis. Neither of them recalls any mental

lapse where the incidents could have occurred. That bothers

me. Someone would have needed to exert a consider- 78

able effort to implant false memories to cover

his manipulations. Both Brady and Tenaida were

working when the ship's log says they made these course

changes. From the activity records on their computer

terminals, the intruder had to have worked very, very quickly."

Layton paused, breathing deeply. Kirk felt

a finger of worry tickle at the back of his brain.

In all the old mystery novels he had ever read,

the suspects always had alibis-and the alibis were always

worthless when examined carefully. were Tenaida's and

Brady's alibis equally worthless?

After a moment, Layton continued. "The

hypothesis they presented could have happened,

Captain, but I still have my doubts. I just can't

make myself believe it. Unfortunately, I

don't like my ideas much better.

"Tenaida mentioned his reservations about the use of

sophisticated bioenhancements. However, I still think

someone with good equipment and enough time could produce the

biocosmetic appliances to impersonate Brady

and Tenaida. I've even heard that Intelligence

has developed vocal enhancers that allow for very

accurate sound duplication. I'd prefer to think that

is what's happening, even though I dislike the thought

of the technology being in the wrong hands."

"I see." Kirk closed his eyes for a moment,

trying to balance Layton's opinion against everything

else he had heard. Any way he looked at it,

something was wrong on his ship, and he had no solid

explanation for what had occurred. All he could do

now was hope he could find an answer before something

serious happened. "Thank you for sharing your opinions,

Commander. I'll certainly keep them in mind. And for the

moment, would you keep a discreet eye on both

Brady and Tenaida? Until we get some solid

evidence, I can't honestly say either of them is

proven innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"Understood, Captain."

"Is there anything else I've missed?" 79

"Not that I can see, Captain. I'll let you

know if I come up with anything." "Thanks,

Commander." After Layton left, Kirk stared at his

computer screen, wishing Spock and his logic were

available to help solve the mystery. Cer- tainly,

Spock was much more suited to the role of Mycroft

Holmes. The thought of Holmes reminded Kirk of

some questions raised by the previous discussion.

"Assistant, digest discussion of past hour.

What other possibilities could explain this

intruder's ability to impersonate command officers?"

"There are approximately 374 hypotheses that

could, under the right circumstances, explain all the

information to date. Shall I list them all?" "No, just

the most probable ones."

"The intruder could be one of the Fendarwi of Zeta

Pictoris IV, who are never seen unless

surrounded by a mental glamour that shows them to others

exactly as they wish to be seen. The intruder could be

using a holographic projector to create the

image he wants you to see. The intruder may

possess the ability to rearrange his body at will.

The intruder may be similar to the Mellitus of

Alpha Majoris I, differing in that it

solidifies when it is ready for action. The

intruder may be-was

"Enough. I was hoping you would suggest some

viable possibilities." "Given the information

available, all hypotheses are equally viable at this

time."

"What about biocosmetics? What information can you

locate on that?" "Biocosmetics is an

expensive and delicate process that requires a

biogen incubator with a dedicated computer. Each

appliance is grown from organic materials according to a

programmed template. In theory, it is possible

to recreate any person for whom sufficient information

exists to build a suitable template.

Enhancements such as advanced speech synthesizers will

allow duplication of vocal characteristics within the range

of normal human hearing. Also, memory chips can

be programmed to remind the person of appropriate

behaviors and mannerisms. The major

disadvantage to use of biocosmetics is that the

disguises are not reusable; when removed from contact with

human flesh, the appliances disintegrate within

minutes. Also, private possession of this

equipment is against Federation law."

"I see. Nowhere near impossible. Just

extremely inconvenient to use." "That is what the

available information would suggest."

"Can you make a logical evaluation of

Lieutenant Tenaida's and Commander Brady's

alibis?"

"Logic dictates that an alibi is of no

value unless an impartial witness was watching the

person every minute of the period in question. If this is not

the case, the alibi can only be used in general

terms to assign probability of suspicion.

Judged by this criterion, 95.34 percent of all

alibis are of no value in exonerating the

accused."

"I'm not interested in most cases. I asked for

your evaluation of this specific case."

"There is a 95.34 percent probability that

each of the alibis is valueless." "Assistant,

I want a logical assessment of the problem, not a

list of statistics."

"My logical assessment of the problem is that there

is a 95.34 percent probability that either or both

Lieutenant Tenaida and Commander Brady omitted

pertinent facts from their alibis."

Now we're getting somewhere, Kirk thought. "What

might these pertinent facts be?"

After a noticeable pause, the computer

responded, "I am unable to access that data at this

time."

With a sigh, Kirk flipped off the switch and

stood. It 81

was high time he made an appearance on the

bridge to make sure nothing untoward had happened

in his

absence. And, when his duty shift ended in half

an hour, he was looking forward to spending a relaxing

evening showing Kris Norris around the ship. He

hoped his mind would solve the mystery, if he

relegated the problem to his subconscious for a few

hours.

Kituc's Pr.arrs for his evening lasted until

dinner time. He spent an extra half hour in the

gym, practicing unarmed combat maneuvers under

plus-normal gravity until his muscles

rebelled. By the time he was ready for dinner, most of the

day shift had finished eating. He glanced around the

room, but saw neither Brady nor Tenaida.

As the synthesizer delivered his meal, he felt a

twinge of uneasiness. He needed to mull over the

day's events, and something warned him he would not get the

quiet he wanted here. The premonition seemed

silly, but he considered taking his dinner and eating in

his quarters. Laughing at himself for the irrational

impulse, he chose a table away from the

main group of diners. He did not really want

to eat in solitary confinement, and no one would

interrupt his thinking, since his crew would not disturb

him without cause.

"Do you mind if we join you?" Commissioner

Montoya's voice intruded on Kirk's thoughts.

"Not at all." Kirk looked up to see

Montoya and Simons standing across the table from him.

He forced a smile. Polite conversation with

Montoya did not fit his mood, and after this afternoon,

he didn't want to

talk to Cecilia Simons again for any reason.

Nevertheless, the couple took the chairs opposite

him.

Simons favored him with a smile calculated

to blister the paint off the walls. "Where have you been

keeping yourself, Jimmy? I was so looking forward

to talking over old times with you."

Kirk felt the smile freeze on his face.

Simons' words made it clear that she intended

to ignore her failure that afternoon, and that she would keep

after him until she got what she wanted. "A

captain's duties keep him busy most of the time.

There's more to running a ship this size than meets the

eye." "Surely your crew can run the

ship without you watching them every minute, Jimmy."

Her voice, low and throaty, played his nerves

like guitar strings. Her musky perfume evoked a

torrent of long-buried memories and feelings.

All of a sudden, the room felt very warm. He had

to struggle to keep his response neutral. "There

are certain decisions the captain must make."

"Well, I suppose you do have to watch some of your

officers more carefully than others."

Knowing what she was implying, Kirk felt her

words chill him like a bucket of ice water. "Ms.

Simons," he said in a frigid tone, "all my

officers are extremely competent, and I have

absolute confidence in their abilities." "But,

Jimmy, you know-was

Hoping to sidetrack the discussion, Kirk turned

to Montoya. "Commissioner, if I may change the

subject, how are the negotiations coming?" Montoya

smiled. "It's too early to tell, of cour se, but

I think we're doing quite well. There are

substantial differences between the parties in this dispute,

but we are making progress in outlining the areas of

difficulty and establishing the protocols for the formal

discussions."

"One of your aides said she was bothered

because you weren't using the Universal Translator."

Montoya raised an eyebrow in surprise, as

if questioning how Kirk had managed to become

acquainted with his staff so soon. "Ms. Norris

depends on her equipment more than necessary.

Ambassador Klee doesn't speak our

language fluently, but he has a fair grasp

of what is said. And t'Stror is invaluable. I

don't know where he learned English, but he must have

had an excellent tutor."

Simons ducked her head and developed an

intense interest in rearranging the food on her

plate. Kirk watched her obliquely, trying

to guess what she was hiding. She seemed

uncharacteristically relieved when McCoy entered the

room.

"Will you excuse me?" Simons asked. "I

want to talk to the doctor about my dear little

Janie's condition."

Kirk watched her retreat. She seemed very

anxious to escape from the table. "She's really

upset about her daughter," Montoya said, his

expression softening as he watched Simons cross

the room. He turned back to Kirk. "Have you found

out what happened? Ceci told me the

girl had an argument with your science officer."

Kirk studied Montoya's face, trying

to judge how he would react to the truth. The man

seemed reasonable and intelligent on most issues,

but from what Kirk had seen, Montoya's love for

his wife blinded him to her faults. Under the

circumstances, discretion seemed the wisest course.

"According to Lieutenant Whitehorse, she ran into a

wall."

"That sounds like she's protecting someone."

"Probably. But prying information out of stubborn

Deltans isn't exactly my specialty. The

only thing worse is trying to get something out of a

Vulcan." A puzzled frown crossed

Montoya's face. "Deltan? I thought we were

talking about Cecilia's daughter. Where do

Deltans come into that?" "Lieutenant

Whitehorse's father was a Deltan."

"Deltan? Are you sure? Cecilia never

mentioned

the girl's father, but I can't believe-I mean, the

way she feels about Deltans-I don't mean

to sound unduly skeptical, Captain, but are we

talking about the same person?"

"We are." Kirk ran a hand through his

hair. "I didn't realize she hadn't told

you."

"She hasn't, and that possibility never occurred

to me. Cecilia has always been quite irrational on the

sub tilde ect of Deltans."

Kirk smiled at the aptness of the description.

"I gathered she found her association with

Whitehorse's father somewhat-confining-and developed her

dislike of Deltans from that. His

"That explains a great deal. Thank you for telling

me. Captain. It's been difficult trying

to cope with her prejudices, but at least now I

see where they come from."

"I'm glad to be of assistance."

"Captain?" Montoya a took a deep

breath, then

plunged ahead, "May I ask you a personal

question?" "That depends on how personal it is."

"I was wondering how well you knew my wife."

Kirk took a mouthful of vegetables and chewed

slowly, stalling for time. He suspected that the full

truth was the last thing he should tell Montoya. "Not

that well, I suppose. She calls me her

"old friend," but I knew her for only a short

time, and that was over fifteen years ago. I

hope you don't think I would use the acquaintance

to intrude on your marriage." "Not at all,

Captain. It's just that you appear to have made a lasting

impression on her."

"She made one on me, too, Commissioner, but

it's not something I want to talk about." He was almost

relieved to see Simons returning from her discussion

with McCoy. She dropped into her chair, a disgusted

expression on her face.

"Dr. McCoy has completely forbidden me

to see Janie. Me! Her mother!" Kirk struggled

to hide his amusement at Simons' feigned

display. If he had not known better, she might

have convinced him her feelings were real. "The

doctor's orders were fairly inclusive, Ms.

Simons. He let Lieutenant Whitehorse out

of Sickbay on the understanding that she would spend the

next few days resting. With no visitors

allowed."

"But her mother isn't a visitor. She's

family." Montoya straightened in his chair,

ready to challenge anyone who would deny Simons

what she wanted. "The distinction is meaningless in this

context, Commissioner. Dr. McCoy

felt Lieutenant Whitehorse shouldn't do anything

for a day or so. She had a nasty bump on the head

and needs time to recuperate." As he paused,

Kirk felt inspiration strike. "Think of it this

way, Commissioner. If you had a bad hangover,

how many people would you want to deal with?" After a moment's

thought, Montoya relaxed and a smile spread across

his face. "Your point is well taken,

Captain." He turned to Simons. "Cecilia,

love, perhaps the doctor should have been more

diplomatic, but I think you should do as he asked.

It sounds like your daughter needs her rest."

Simons heaved a theatrical sigh. "If you're

sure that would be best, Yonnie. It's just that I

haven't seen Janie in so long-was Montoya

squeezed her hand. "I think you should listen to her

doctor. If it's only for a couple of days,

you'll still have plenty of time to visit." "I guess

you're right." Simons' voice was pitched to convey the

proper degree of resignation. "It just seems so

unfair."

Kirk glanced at his chronometer and was relieved

to note it was almost time to meet Kris Norris.

He forced his best diplomat's smile. "I hate

to leave such charming company, but I have an

appointment. If you'll excuse me." He rose,

picking up his tray to return it to the cleaning station.

"It's been our pleasure, Captain." The smile

that accompanied Montoya's words made Kirk

realize 87

that the commissioner's professional charm was beginning

to grate on his nerves. "I hope we'll have a

chance to talk again later."

"Perhaps." Kirk left them, trying to forget the

sight of Simons' molten farewell smile. It

promised many things, but he preferred not to explore

any of those possibilities.

"He didn't even offer to give us a tour of the

ship." Simons let her annoyance show in the

petulant tone of her voice. She had hoped to have

another chance to bring Kirk under her influence. "I'm

sure Captain Kirk's duties don't allow

him to be a tour guide for every diplomat that

travels on his ship." Montoya gave her hand a

reassuring pat. "Part of a captain's job is

to be a good host. Besides, he and I are old friends,

and he ought to be more pleased to see me." She ignored

Montoya's attempt to mollify her. From her

perspective, the day was going from bad to worse.

Unless she found a way soon to weaken

Kirk's control, her freedom to act on board the

Enterprise would be severely limited. The thought

left her in no mood for her husband's lesson m

diplomatic interpersonal relations. Montoya

looked at Simons in surprise. He had not

seen this sulky aspect of her personality before. A

cold shiver took him as he realized he had

contravened her expressed wishes more often in the past

two days than in the rest of the six months he had

known her. The implications of the thought disturbed him.

"Would you like to walk with me for a while?" he asked.

"I'm not as familiar with the Enterprise as Captain

Kirk, but I've been ignoring you too much this

trip, and I'd like to make up for my bad

manners."

She sighed and gave him a lost, helpless look.

"I suppose. It's just that I feel completely

useless when you're working. And Jimmy acts like I

had the plague."

"People change." Montoya tried to put as much

reassurance in his voice as he could muster. "A

captain's responsibilities must alter the way

he looks at the universe. The old friend you

remember may not exist any more."

Simons' use of the diminutive "Jimmy" seemed

incongruous when Montoya compared it with his own

perceptions of Captain Kirk. He was beginning

to wonder if the "old friend" had ever existed outside

his wife's imagination.

"Do you really think he's just too busy to spend

time with me?" "I don't know. You'd have to ask him.

But Captain Kirk's duties dictate many of his

actions ...." Montoya gave her an

affectionate smile. "Now, shall we take that walk,

or are you going to spend the evening feeling

neglected?" "If you're sure I won't be any

bother. . ."

He clasped both her hands in his. "This

assignment is extremely important, and it's

going to take a lot of my time. I'm sorry it

has to be that way, and I know it's terribly boring

for you-especially when you can't spend the time visiting with

your daughter like you'd hoped." He gave her a

lopsided grin. "But if I can't spend an evening

with my wife, there's something very wrong with the mission."

Simons allowed his pleading to soften her mood.

"All right, I accept. I shouldn't have let my

frustrations get the better of me."

Relief softened the tense lines around

Montoya's mouth. "That's better. And I

promise, I'll make it up to you for this trip as

soon as I can." She rewarded him with a warm hug

and a quick, passionate kiss. "Apologies

accepted, Mister Commissioner. I promise,

I'll try to be a good girl." He rose and

offered his arm to her. "Then shall we tour the ship,

Madame Commissioner?"

"I haven't heard a better offer all day."

She gave him a smile of rainbows and starflowers as

she linked arms with him.

Kirk met Kristiann Norris in the

corridor outside her quarters. She was leaning

against the wall, watching the comings and goings of the crew with

evident interest.

"Jim, I hope you don't mind me spying on

your crew." She accompanied her words with a grin.

"It's much more interesting than the walls of my

cabin." "No, I don't mind-as long as they

don't." Kirk felt an answering grin spread

across his own face. "But I expected you to be resting

after a hard day's labors at the conference table."

She wrinkled her nose when he said the word resting.

"My brain may have been working all day, but my

body was just sitting in a chair. Do you

suppose I could talk to the recreation officer about a

temporary locker assignment for the gym?"

"I think we could include that on our agenda. Shall

we start with the bridge?"

Although he made no effort to hurry, Kirk

finished the tour in an hour. Long experience had

taught him that most visitors liked to look at the

engineering section from the doorway, but did not

appreciate it if he took them inside and allowed

Scotty to explain the intricacies of the warp

drive engines or the structure of the dilithium

crystals and their role in power generation. For that

matter, Kirk himself was sometimes lost when his chief

engineer became involved with the details of his

favorite subject. Kirk was pleased when

Norris showed an aboveaverage interest in the

traditionally boring parts of the ship, but he did not

tax her patience with a complete tour of the support

services. Instead, he showed her the library

lounges, the gymnasium, and the swimming pool, and

they strolled through the botany section and the

hydroponics lab.

"Many of the crew come here when they want to relax."

He waved his hand at the plants surrounding them.

"It makes them feel more like they were on a

planet."

Norris looked at the vines spilling off their

trellises. "It would have to be a jungle planet.

I've never seen so much vegetation concentrated in one

place in my life."

Kirk laughed. "I know what you mean. I was

born in Iowa, and the plants there grow outward across

the land, not upward on top of each other. Still, we

haven't quite got enough space on the Enterprise for

cornfields. We have to fit the plants into the

smallest space we can."

"I see." They reached the end of the hydroponics

section. Kirk opened the door for Norris and

guided her to the turbolift. "Deck Eleven,"

Kirk ordered, giving Norris a warm smile.

"I saved my favorite part until last." The

forward observation lounge on Deck Eleven was

called the Captain's Lounge by the crew of the

Enterprise because it was Kirk's favorite location

for stargazing. It was the smallest of the ship's

observation lounges, so Kirk felt less as though

he were intruding on the off equals duty

activities of his crew than if he went to one of the

bigger lounges. They stepped out of the turbolift and

Norris froze, her eyes widening at the

panorama presented by the viewports. Kirk

stopped beside her, enjoying her awe-struck expression

as she absorbed the scene-the jewel-like stars showcased

against the black of space. With the ship on warp

drive, the view "through" the ports was actually a

holographic projection of what the

normal-space view would be. However, the computer

took the information for the projection from the main sensors,

and more than once, the realism of the scene had fooled

Kirk into momentarily thinking the ship had dropped out

of warp drive.

Kirk pointed out a half dozen major star

systems, then allowed Norris to enjoy the

spectacle without commentary. When her senses could

absorb no more of the view, she removed her nose from

the viewport and sat beside him.

"It's gorgeous." She sighed, overwhelmed by the

magnificence of the scene. Kirk felt the

peacefulness of the starscape soothe away the day's

worries. "Whenever I wonder why I'm in

Starfleet, I come up here."

Norris gazed dreamily toward the viewports.

"Mmmmm, this is enough to make me want to enlist.

Where's the dotted line for my signature?"

"Talk to the recruiter at your nearest

Starbase. He'll be glad to give you all the

details."

She laughed. "I'll just bet. Including how many

years it would take to work my way up to anything higher

than yeoman."

"Well, you weren't really expecting to get command

on your first ship, were you?" Kirk settled back in

his chair, enjoying Norris' companionship and the

feeling that he did not have to work to impress her.

"No, of course not." She was still watching the

starfield. "Actually, I think I have the job I

want for now. It's just that the stars are so gorgeous-was

Kirk's reply was covered by the opening of the

turbolift door. Footsteps crossed the

lounge, and two people approached their seats. Much

to Kirk's annoyance, it was Montoya and

Simons.

"Jimmy," Simons purred, "we've been

looking all over for you. A crewman said you were

giving a tour, and we wanted so much to join you."

Kirk rose, feeling his body stiffen as

Simons' words reminded him of all the day's

problems. "I didn't know you wanted to see the

ship. I would have arranged for a guide."

"But the captain's tour would have been so

much more interesting. And you couldn't possibly be having

a private party with little Krissy Norris.

She's hardly your type." Simons' tone

implied that she knew exactly the kind of woman

Kirk wanted.

"If you'll excuse me, Captain, I'll

return to my quarters." Norris stood, shoved

past Montoya, and rushed from the lounge.

"As a matter of fact, it was a private

party." Icicles dripped from Kirk's words.

Simons stepped in front of Kirk, blocking

his attempt to follow Norris, and hung her head

in mock contrition. "Please don't be mad at

me, Jimmy. I didn't mean to upset you."

Kirk heaved an exasperated sigh. He wanted

nothing more than to be rid of Simons, but the

available methods for removing her from the ship were

likely to have unfortunate repercussions.

"Permitting" her to take a space walk without a

life support belt contravened both the spirit and the letter

of his orders. Oh, well, he told himself, it's a

pleasant fantasy. And imagining potential

violence made it easier for him to hold his temper in

check.

"Captain." Montoya's voice

disrupted Kirk's reverie. "I have seen enough of the ship

for one evening. If you wish, I'll convey your

apologies to my aide for the interruption."

"I'd be most grateful, Commissioner."

Montoya turned to his wife. "Cecilia,

are you coming with me?" "If you don't mind,

Yonnie, I'd like to stay and look at the stars for a

few minutes."

"As you wish, my dear." Montoya gave her a

quick kiss and nodded a farewell to Kirk.

The moment the turbolift doors closed behind

Montoya, Simons flowed into Kirk's arms.

Pressing her body against his, she covered his face

with pas- sionate kisses. "My darling," she

whispered, nibbling his ear, "you don't know how hard it

is for me to control myself."

What she really wanted to control, Kirk thought

sourly, was him. Nevertheless, her scent and the heat of

her body against his were beginning to have an effect. Before

her charms could melt his resolve, he grabbed her

arms and pushed her away. "This is another time and

another place, Deirdre." He emphasized the

name to remind her of the negative side of

their former relationship. "Whatever was between us in the

past is dead and over. And I want no more

attempts to revive it."

She returned to him, slipping her arms around his

neck. "Are you sure that's what you really want?"

Kirk's anger flared. He pushed her away

again. "If you recall, I warned you that I wouldn't

tolerate any of your tricks on my ship.

Especially not that one. Did I not make myself

clear?"

"Oh, Jimmy." Tears gathered in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to make you mad at me. I

only thought-was

"Did I make myself clear?" he repeated.

Her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Very

clear, Captain."

"That's better." Kirk straightened his uniform.

"Now, before you start rehearsing a major case of

wounded pride, let me remind you that you are

traveling on my ship with your husband-and I can't

afford to offend him." Simons gave him a look that

said she pitied his innocence. "Marriage contracts

are made to be broken. Besides, Joachim doesn't

know everything." "You can think that, but I'm still not willing

to be a party to your adulteries."

"Jimmy, you have such a restricted view of

things." She examined his body knowingly, and a

sultry smile spread over her face. Kirk

scowled. "I warned you. And I'm getting tired of

repeating myself. If you don't stop this, I'll have you

confined to your quarters for the rest of the trip."

"Well, if you insist on being boring . . ."

She turned her back on him. Strolling to the

wall, she leaned against the viewport and stared out at

the stars. Her black hair blended into the darkness before

her. Kirk studied her, deciding her surrender would

last long enough for him to ask a few questions. "Satisfy

my curiosity-just between old friends. Why did you marry

Montoya? And how long do you intend to stay with him?"

She propped her chin on her arms and stared at the

starscape. Her voice sounded as cold and empty as

intergalactic space. "I married him because he had

money and wanted to spend it on me. And he was the

most interesting man around at the time." She gave a

short, tired laugh. "That wasn't saying much,

I'm afraid. As for how long I stay with him . .

. He insisted on a perpetual contract, but that

doesn't mean anything. When I find someone I like

better, I'll leave him."

"You mean, someone who has more money to spend on

you?" He knew that was only a small part of the story

but he did not expect she would tell him

anything approaching the full truth.

Simons stepped away from the viewport. The

light fell across her face, emphasizing her heavy

makeup. She gave Kirk a smile that told him

she was not fooled by his question. "As husbands go,

Joachim is a decent enough sort. But I like

excitement, and he doesn't supply very much."

Kirk recognized her performance for the work of art it

was. "I'd think at your age, you might be a bit

more interested in security. Your look s aren't going

to last forever." In this light, her makeup did little

to hide her years. Crow's-feet were beginning to web

her eyes, and the lines around her mouth were deeply

etched.

"My age? Just how old do you think I am?"

Kirk felt a brief flash of pity for her

effort to hide behind the illusion of youth. He shook his

head and said in a gentle voice, "Remember, you have

a daughter on my ship. I have access to her

personnel records." "Oh." She turned away

from him. "I should have known my daughter was behind all

this."

"I'm not sure what you mean by "all this," and

I don't think I want to know." Her words

rekindled Kirk's anger, and he had

to struggle to keep his voice level. "But your

daughter has nothing to do with what we've talked about

this evening."

He brushed past her, headed for the turbolift.

Halfway across the room, he looked back. She

was slumped against the wall, looking small and

lonely. He almost relented, but knew it would be a

monumental mistake. "Remember what I told

you-behave yourself or I'll confine you to your quarters."

She did not move, but he heard her muffled reply

anyway. "Understood, Captain."

He entered the turbolift. The solitude of his

quarters promised a welcome escape from his

tiresome passengers.

Kirk looked up from his reading when the door

buzzer signaled. "Come." McCoy entered. He

crossed the room and set a bottle of Saurian

brandy before Kirk. "If I'm not interrupting

anything, Jim, I thought I'd come pay off the

bet."

Kirk turned off the viewer. "I was just

relaxing. Now, what's with the bottle?" He took

two glasses from the cabinet and put them next to the

brandy. McCoy perched on the table, opened the

bottle and poured two drinks. "You bet

me a bottle of Saurian brandy that Cecilia

Simons would show up in Sickbay, claiming

Tenaida beat up Janara Whitehorse. Well,

she did, and you predicted almost to the word what she was

going to say."

Kirk sipped his drink and studied McCoy over

the rim of his glass. "That seems to bother you,

Bones."

McCoy frowned. "It's not that. It's just that, when

she was telling it her way, she believed it so

strongly that I could almost see it happening. That

doesn't make any sense."

Kirk nodded in agreement. "There's a lot here

that doesn't make any sense." "Oh?"

"Actually, I had a fascinating conversation with her

this evening-after I threatened to confine her to her

quarters." Kirk described the encounter in the

observation lounge. "How long do you think she'll

pay attention to your warning?" "For a while." Kirk

snorted. "Until she can figure out a way

to circumvent the intent, anyway. I'm getting

tired of her throwing herself at me every time I turn

around."

"I'm disillusioned." McCoy's eyes twinkled

with mischief, and his voice slipped into a

Southern drawl. "I thought you liked being assaulted

by beautiful women."

Kirk saluted the doctor with his glass.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Bones. And

my eye perceives very little beauty in that woman.

What's your opinion of her?"

McCoy swirled the brandy in his glass, watching

the eddy patterns in the liquid. Like his thoughts about

Simons, the fluid circled back to where it had

started. "She seems very disturbed. She's

extremely neurotic, possibly even

psychotic. Granted I haven't run any

medical tests on her to back up that

diagnosis-nor am I likely to get the chance to do

it-but I don't know what else to call it. She

sees the world exactly as she wishes it to be, and she

ignores everything that contradicts her view of things.

The thing is, she's so good at it that everyone around her

ends up believing it her way." "That's crazy."

"Maybe." McCoy took a swallow of his

drink. "But you've seen what happens to the people around

her. The men in particular. How do you explain

Montoya heading back to his quarters so Simons

can make an uninterrupted pass at you?"

"I was wondering about that one, myself. In the

meantime, what should I do about her?"

"I'll let you know if I think of anything."

McCoy drained his glass and set it on the table.

"If that's all, Jim, I think I'm ready

to turn in. It's getting late."

Kirk swallowed the last of his drink. "I think

you're right, Bones. It has been a long day."

After McCoy left, Kirk cleaned the

glasses and put the brandy away. Any other

chores, he decided, could wait until morning.

He went to bed, but sleep eluded him. The day's

events circled through his mind, and they did not inspire

relaxation.

"That didn't take long." Montoya was

surprised that his wife had returned to their quarters

so soon. He laid aside Norris" notes

on her noontime conversation with t'Stror. He had

been studying them for insights into Kaldorni

psychology.

"The captain had work to do, and I didn't feel

like stargazing alone." Simons sat beside him,

wrapped her arms around his neck, and nibbled

suggestively at his ear. "Of course, there are other

things we could do." "There are indeed." He took her

in his arms, grateful for the chance to show her that

he could put her needs before his work. "But why this sudden

interest? Fifteen minutes ago you were intent on

renewing your friendship with the captain."

"I finally realized what an awful bore he's

become. He even threatened to confine me to quarters

unless I behaved myself. So-"she blew softly in his

ear, "comI decided to behave myself."

"I approve wholeheartedly." Desire for her

flooded him, erasing all other thoughts. He cleared

his work off the bed, scattering notes and computer

tapes in his haste. She pulled him down beside her,

and they made love. It was only much later that he

remembered her words and wondered what Kirk had

meant when he ordered Cecilia to "behave" herself

and why Kirk would consider confining her to her quarters.

A nondescript ensign wearing an engineering

uniform strolled the corridors as if looking for an

acquaintance. He never spoke, but after several

hours,

he had covered every corridor on the Enterprise.

He memorized the locations of major departments,

ship's services, and escape routes. Finally, he

returned to the quarters assigned to his alter ego.

By the time the other's visitor appeared, the

nondescript crewman no longer

existed.

THE NEGOTIATIONS hit a snag late in the

third afternoon when Ambassador Klee's youngest

wife became ill. After giving lengthy instructions

to t'Stror and his other aides, Klee left. Almost

immediately, problems developed.

Montoya asked why Klee had not requested that

a doctor examine his wife and then gone to her when the

afternoon's session was over. t'Stror's face took

on an expression of blank incomprehension. He

cocked his head to the side and blinked his green-gray

eyes, as if asking Montoya to explain his

absurd question. "But the commissioner must understand it would be

the greatest insult for the ambassador not to attend upon

the lady himself. To send a person of lesser rank

than she-it would destroy the harmony of all of the

ambassador's wives. Surely the commissioner must

see this." Montoya's brow wrinkled with the effort of

trying to link the disparate concepts in t'Stror's

statement. "I'll accept your word for it, Speaker

t'Stror. However, I do not completely understand what

you mean by "harmony." Could I ask you

to explain it?" t'Stror tilted his head farther to the

side, studying Montoya as if he were a child who was

slow to learn his lessons. The Harmony

of the Universe was the

cornerstone of Kaldorni philosophy, but all

nonKaldorni seemed baffled by the concept.

"Explanation is not an imposition. But it is a

difficult idea to explicate-your language has

not the words for me to express myself." "We understand how

troublesome it is for you." Montoya gave the

Kaldorni a reassuring smile. "However, it would

help us if you'd try, within the limits imposed by the

inadequacies of our language."

"As long as the commissioner comprehends that the

terminology must be imprecise." t'Stror laid

his hands on the oblong table, fingers spread

to indicate speech in the declamatory mode. His

dark skin blended with the simulated wood tones of the

table.

"Of course. We appreciate your effort."

Without taking his eyes off t'Stror, Montoya

gestured to Yeoman Menon, who was operating the

recording equipment in the room's far corner. He

wanted to be sure she got multiple recordings

of this speech.

t'Stror launched into an involuted explanation

of the Kaldomi ideals of Harmony, Duty,

Respect, and Honor. As he listened,

Montoya realized the problem lay not in understanding the

individual concepts, but in untangling the

interrelationships and in defining the degree to which they

permeated the Kaldorm world view and determined

individual actions. Halfway through the discussion, the

commissioner glanced at Kristiann Norris. Her

expression-lips compressed in a straight line and

one eyebrow slightly raised-told Montoya she

thought t'Stror was omitting something from his explanation.

Montoya made a note to ask her later;

Norris" instincts on such matters were generally

accurate.

t'Stror finished his lecture. In turn, he

looked at each of the Federation team, daring them to question his

explanation. When no one accepted his challenge, he

brought up a new subject. "My ambassador

has requested me to ask why the commissioner insists the

rules we discuss for the meetings with the Beystohnai

must be so discordant. Surely it must be seen that

the harmony of the attendants is dissolved when equal

association for all negotiators is demanded."

Montoya straightened in his chair, sensing this was the

key issue in the discussions. "We of the Federation

feel that the-harmony-is destroyed if all

parties in a dispute do not have equal say in

resolving their differences." A beatific smile

spread across t'Stror's features. "Then my

instructions make it clear to me that I should terminate

this session. There can be no accordant determination from

a deliberation where the Harmonies of the Universe are

disrupted by the discordant fraternization with greatly

inferior persons." He stood, enjoying his moment of

power as the rest of the Kaldorni delegation massed

behind him. In a group, they walked out of the room.

Montoya watched the Kaldorni exit in

stunned silence. Vreblin and Zayle stared at the

far wall to avoid meeting the commissioner's eyes.

As the door closed, Norris murmured,

"Manifest Destiny."

"What?" Montoya was caught off-guard by the

seeming irrelevance of her comment.

"Their concept of Harmony. t'Stror didn't

put it in quite those words, but it resembles a human

concept called Manifest Destiny. It gives the

Kaldorni the perfect out. If our suggestions

prevent them from moving into the Yagran system or

obligate them to serious negotiations to limit their

expansion-they claim the proposal disrupts their

Harmony, and they can't discuss it any

further."

Montoya chewed on his lower lip. "Are you

sure about this?" Norris doodled a few lines on

her noteboard. "No. I don't have anything

to back it up except a feeling. But it fits the

facts we have so far." "Pretty skimpy

facts," muttered Vreblin.

"I agree. But they haven't been especially

generous in giving us useful information, either." Norris

held 102

up her hand to silence Vreblin's protest.

"Yes, I know they've talked a lot. But they

haven't included much solid data in what they've

said. I keep wondering if something is being lost in the

translation. I wish I had my Universal

Translator in here!"

"You always want your gadgets around," Zayle

said. Norris shrugged off the comment. Zayle disliked

the Universal Translator because he was unable

to master the complexities of its control language.

"Machines have their problems, of course, but they

don't deliberately misconstrue what is said."

Montoya gestured for silence. "Kris, do you

think t'Stror is intentionally mistranslating what

the ambassador says?"

"I don't know. t'Stror translates when the

ambassador can't express the concepts he wants

to discuss, and Ambassador Klee's English is

better in some areas than in others." She paused,

looking for a way to summarize her concern. "It

feels as though the emphasis is changed in the

translation-that maybe Ambassador Klee is

stressing one thing and t'Stror tells us he's more

worried about something else."

Montoya thought for a moment, remembering a

frustrating hour the previous morning when neither side

had been able to understand what the other was trying to say.

"Your instincts are often right, Kris. While the

negotiations are suspended, why don't you analyze

the transcripts for evidence to back up your

theory?" He turned to Yeoman Menon, who was still

behind the portable recording station. "Could Ms.

Norris get a copy of the sessions to date?"

Menon tapped her fingers against the side of the console.

"I'll need authorizations from both you and Captain

Kirk to release the transcripts. Once I have

those, I can get you a copy within half an hour."

"Good enough. I'll sign the authorization form now."

Menon entered a code into her console. The workstation

beeped twice and she handed Montoya a

datapad. Montoya scrawled his signature

across the pad while still talking to his aides.

"Kris has her assignment. The rest of us will get

some coffee and look for other ideas."

The three men left while Menon was shutting down

the recording equipment. Norris picked up her

noteboard. "If you don't mind, I'll tag

along so I can get those transcripts as soon as

they're ready."

"That will be fine." Menon picked up the signed

authorization form and led the way out of the briefing

room.

Kristiann Norris and Sushila Menon met

Captain Kirk in his quarters fifteen minutes

later. After listening to Norris' explanation,

Kirk signed the authorization without comment. He sent

Menon to copy the transcripts, but asked

Norris to stay.

"Planning to use the Universal Translator

on the recordings?" he asked, afraid she would not

talk to him after the way Simons had interrupted them

in the observation lounge.

"Not at the moment." A rueful smile played

across her face. "Commissioner Montoya

told the Kaldorni we wouldn't use the

translator on the recordings. However, there are

other ways to determine whether the translations we're

getting are accurate. It's slow, but I'll

probably start with a word frequency analysis.

If analogous words don't match up in different

parts of the discussion, I'll know something funny is

going on." She nibbled on the end of her stylus.

"I'll probably try analyzing facial

expressions, too, but that's trickier because

everybody's hiding something there."

Kirk chuckled. "Poker face."

Norris frowned, trying to place the reference.

"Oh. Yes." Her expression cleared. "And

gestures and facial expressions vary so much from

culture to culture . . ."

"Well, good luck. If you need help with the

ship's 104

computer, ask Lieutenant Tenaida. If my

science officer has some specialized programs

tucked away somewhere, Tenaida will know where they are."

"Thank you, Captain. I'll keep that in mind."

She turned to leave, but Kirk's voice stopped

her.

"Kris, I'd like to apologize for what

happened the other night. I hadn't intended to meet

those particular people."

She faced him again. "It's all right, Jim. I

assumed you wanted to renew your old friendship."

Kirk gave a short, humorless laugh. "No,

that's one old friendship I'd just as soon forget.

However, she's here, and I can't do anything about it-but

I should have apologized sooner for allowing the

interruption." "Actually, the apology should have come from

her. She's the one who was rude." Norris' eyes

flashed with anger and, in spite of herself, she let it

show in her voice.

"You don't like her very much." Kirk realized how

much of an understatement that was as soon as he'd said the

words. He decided that Norris' dislike for

Simons increased his respect for her.

"Why should I? She makes a complete fool of

Joachim, and he's the only one who doesn't see

it."

"She's made fools of a lot of men. Most

get their eyes opened eventually." Norris

frowned. "Eventually is pretty indefinite. And

usually too late." "I suppose," Kirk

responded evenly and then grinned. "Not to change the

subject, but would you like to wander through the

recreation deck for a while this evening? To make up for

my slow apology?" "I should spend most of the evening

working on the transcripts, but I'll need a break

sometime." Norris ruffled her hand through her short

hair. "Yes, a walk would be delightful. Will you

promise there won't be any interruptions?"

Kirk gave a chuckle. "That's a promise a

captain 105

can rarely keep. But I'll do everything that's

humanly possible." "Fair enough."

The door buzzer sounded. "Come," Kirk said.

Menon entered with the copy of the negotiation

transcripts. Norris took the tape. "I

think it's time for me to go to work. I'll see you

later, then." The door closed behind her.

It was black, an immense catlike being with

fifteencentimeter, saber-shaped canines thrusting

down from its upper jaw. Its topaz eyes glowed

with a savage hunger, a ferocious joy of killing.

It was hunting, searching its murky jungle

habitat for a particular quarry.

She clung to the tree branch high above the

jungle floor, terrifed the giant cat would scent

her. Its huge, ravenous form glided between the tree

trunks. Directly below her, it paused

and sniffed the air. Looking up, it stared at the

tree limb where she clung.

The cat sprang, an impossible leap that brought

it nearer, and nearer, and. . .

Janara cried out and woke. She was drenched in

sweat, and her heart was racing. Pulling the blanket

around her shoulders, she sat up. The familiar

furnishings of her quarters coalesced from the shadows,

but the image of the attacking cat still remained, as sharp

as if it were in the room. She slowed her breathing and

struggled to empty her mind of all thought. The cat

wavered, unable to focus on the nothingness. With a final

yowl of frustration, it vanished.

Janara reached for the pill bottle. Her hands

shook as she removed the top, dumped out a couple

of brown tablets, and gulped them down. Her

attacker was still searching for her, trying to reestablish

contact. She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it

slow and even, and on blanking her mind to the

telepathic intrusion. Slowly, as the boretelin

took 106

effect, the image of the sable cat faded from her

awareness. Half an hour later, she recalled her

consciousness and took stock of herself. She felt

tired and shaky, emotionally drained from

combating the psychic assault, and physically run

down from her previous injuries. Fingering her

bruised cheek, she felt that it was sore and

swollen, and the scraped skin was heavily scabbed.

Janara had considered using a healer's trance to mend

the damage, but, in the end, had confined her efforts to the

most serious injury-the part of her skull that had

struck the console. The superficial cuts and

bruises were healing nicely, even without the

accelerated cell growth that the trance produced.

However, it would be several more days before her face

returned to normal. Thinking of her mother, she was

grateful to McCoy's no visitors orders, which

had delayed the inevitable confrontation with her.

The walls of the room closed in on her, mocking

her with her mother's voice. Janara gritted her

teeth, fighting the illusion. If she stayed in her

quarters much longer, the confinement and the worry over

Simons' next move would be as taxing as the

activities McCoy had ordered her to avoid.

She looked at her chronomete r and was surprised

to see it was an hour into the evening shift. Uhura would

be working out in the gym now. Janara rolled from the bed

and padded to the wardrobe. After pawing through the jumble of

clothes, she found a chocolate wraparound

skirt and a light brown leotard that matched her

skin. She squirmed into the clothes and smoothed her

hair into place. McCoy would object to her doing

any gymnastics so soon after her injury, but

supervising Uhura's lesson would get her out of

her quarters for an hour.

She dropped a tape into the computer and recorded

Uhura's routine. Before turning off the machine, she

checked her message file. A brief note from

Tenaida 107

suggested modifications on the Shansar equations.

Uhura said she would be in the gym at the scheduled time

for a workout, and she invited Janara to come for a visit.

The rest of the messages were from her mother. Their tone

ranged from apologetic to threatening, from conciliatory

to enraged. Taken as a whole, they reflected

poorly on Simons' mental stability. Janara

knew her mother should be committed for intensive therapy,

but she had few illusions about Simons' willingness

to undergo treatment.

Janara transferred Tenaida's message to the

bottom of her Shansar calculations and erased the

rest of the file. Turning off the computer, she put the

tape in her pocket and headed for the gymnasium.

Kirk took the long route to Engineering,

his personal method of inspecting his ship. The

captain's meandering course through the upper decks

took an extra fifteen minutes, but gave him a

more accurate feel for what was happening on the ship

than a week's worth of status reports. He was

approaching the end of his inspection, on the port

side of Deck Seven, when he saw a man leaving

the briefing room. He froze, startled to see

someone wearing a captain's uniform. The spy!

Kirk broke into a run, but the noise alerted the

impostor, and he raced for the turbolift. Kirk

increased his speed, but was easily outdistanced. The

intruder seemed to move as if accustomed to a much

higher gravity. Kirk skidded to a stop at an

intercom panel. He called Security, but even

as he spoke, Kirk realized the effort was

futile. By the time the Enterprise's security people

could respond, the intruder would have more than enough time

to remove his disguise and dispose of the incriminating

uniform. Still breathing heavily from the run, a very

frustrated Captain Kirk continued toward

Engineering. It 108

was bad enough having a spy on the ship, but when the

intruder escaped him so easily, it added grave

insult to the injury.

"Damn!!" Kirk balled one hand into a fist and

smashed it into the other. "Damn this entire mission

to Teller's deepest Hell!!" Neither the gesture

nor the swearing helped his mood.

Cecilia Simons picked at her dinner,

trying to hide her frustration and her boredom.

Montoya was working, and she was wondering how to spend

her evening when t'Stror entered the room. He got

his food from the dispenser and brought his tray to her table.

"Is it permitted that I join the madame

commissioner?" he asked. "Of course! I was trying

to figure out what to do with myself. Joachim is off

somewhere talking with his aides, and no one seems to care

about me." "The lady should not be so unhappy because her

foolish husband ignores his duties to her. But should

I ask if it is permitted that I speak with you? The

Commissioner Montoya may be most unhappy because of

my actions of this afternoon."

"He didn't say. He doesn't control me,

anyhow, but he'd probably like me to spy on you for

him." Simons gave him a wicked smile. "And,

of course, you'll tell me all your secret

plans."

"I have no hidden schemes. My ambassador

commanded that I was to promote understanding. But the

Commissioner Montoya wished not to understand, so I had

no choice but to order our leaving." Between sentences,

t'Stror gulped large bites of his food.

Simons waved away his explanation. "That's

all right. I'm not interested in my husband's

cloak-anddagger games. I'm much more concerned about my

daughter telling me that she's been going off

to Delta Four to learn their mental spying tricks.

I can't imagine who could have gotten her interested in

that superstition again."

"I do not think I understand."

"Me, either. But I'm told she's been going

to Delta when she has time off instead of visiting

me. What else could she want there?" Simons

took a mouthful of her dinner while she calculated

the effect of her words on t'Stror. Would he

extrapolate the Deltan danger to mean Tenaida

and convince his ambassador to insist that Kirk banish

the scientist from the ship? After a moment, she shifted

her expression to one of concerned sympathy. "Why should

Yonnie be unhappy with you for following orders?"

"One doesn't know. But I have been told there is

an ancient human myth about a king who beheaded the

carrier of unliked news. It might be that the

commissioner would express similar

displeasure if he did not concur with the instructions of

my ambassador."

"Maybe." Simons had trouble visualizing

Montoya becoming angry under such circumstances.

"If so, he didn't tell me. He was more

worried about the reasons behind your orders. Also, he

didn't understand why the ambassador left in the

middle of the afternoon."

"The youngest wife of my ambassador was feeling

unwell, and it is proper that he should be with her. He

is most worried because another is now sick. May

I tell you a thing that you should not tell around the ship?"

"Your secret is safe with me."

"I think my ambassador's wives ate something

that is causing this illness. I do not know this to be a

certain fact, but I think the one who prescribed the

making of our foods may have written a wrong

ingredient into the directions."

"Is it serious? Who programmed the

synthesizers?" "One cannot know yet if it is

serious. One wonders, since it is this person's

belief that the Deltan scientist programmed the

machines." Simons suppressed a grin.

t'Stror had taken the bait. Now, if only he

could convince Ambassador Klee that

Tenaida had willfully misprogrammed the food

synthesizers! At the ambassador's insistence,

Kirk would have to confine Tenaida to the brig, and she

would be free of the Deltan's unwelcome presence.

t'Stror swallowed the last of his dinner. "But I

must attend my ambassador to see if he has

need for me to do anything. I hope that we may

arrange a language lesson for the usual time."

Simons gave him a brilliant smile. "A

language lesson is a fabulous idea. I'll

certainly be there."

"Until when I expect you." The short

Kaldorni stood and bowed. As he left the room,

he was calculating how much longer he could use

Simons. Soon, he knew, the dangers of

associating with her would outweigh the benefits of the

information she provided.

Uhura was doing warm-up exercises when Janara

got to the gym. She looked up from her leg

stretches. "I was afraid you weren't coming."

Janara started checking the control unit for the

gravity generators. "Dr. McCoy won't let

me do any work until tomorrow, so I've been climbing

the walls from sheer boredom. But he forgot to put

teaching gymnastics on the list of forbidden

activities, so I figured my sanity required

that I help you with your routine."

Uhura laughed. "I don't think the doctor will

agree with your logic, but what he doesn't know

can't upset him."

"It's an easy routine. I can sit by the control

console and tell you everything you need to know."

"Good! Those exercises you gave me are tricky

enough. I don't want to grab onto something I

can't handle."

"Actually, the routines are easier than the

exercises because they're more structured."

"Does that mean more like dancing?"

"That's what most people say. The routines are

choreographed to fit the music, so dancing is

probably

the best comparison." Janara dropped the tape

into the machine and activated the animation display.

"Come watch what you'll be doing."

The screen showed two sets of uneven parallel

bars. The outline of a female figure was shown in the

third position. When the music started, the animated

gymnast swung herself into a handstand on the lower bar.

From there, she worked a series of spins and transfers

between the lower and upper bars. Numbers in the

screen's lower corner counted the elapsed time and

displayed the timing and magnitude of the gravity

shifts. Most were small, but they were timed to add to the

momentum of the gymnast's spins. The routine became

more complex, adding twists and handstands to the basic

pattern. As the music swelled to a crescendo, the

figure whirled through a triplet of rapid spins and

released the upper bar. The gravity dropped to half

its previous intensity. She executed a double

somersault while her body arced toward the second

set of bars. The animated gymnast caught the bar

and swung around it. Carefully timed increases in the

gravity subtracted from her body's momentum. After

another series of twists and handstands, the music

returned to its main theme, and the gymnast started the

routine over. Janara stopped the computer. "That's

it. There are some variations later so you won't get

bored, but once you master the first section, you've got

it." Uhura slipped a net over her dark hair.

"Some of those moves look familiar."

"Suspiciously like the exercises you've been working

on, I'll bet." Janara shifted the tape from the

animator to the control unit. "That wouldn't have

anything to do with the fact that you taught me the

exercises, would it?"

"Trade secret." Janara gave the equipment

a final check. "You teach a few exercises, then

put them in a routine. It makes the student think

learning is easy." 112

"I should have guessed. Just like music lessons.

Or studying a new language."

"Sa me principle. If you're ready, we can

start. I'll prompt you, and we'll drill the first

half minute of the routine until you get it."

"Sounds good." Uhura took the center position

near the lower bar of the left-hand set. She flexed

her knees, ready for the first move, and Janara started

the music.

Uhura was a quick learner. Twenty minutes

later, Janara added to what Uhura was practicing.

Her second time through the initial minute, the

gravity generators on the far wall cut on

sharply for two seconds. The unexpected lateral

acceleration jerked Uhura's body out of position on

the upper bar. Before she could recover, a 250

percent increase from the floor generators slammed

her across the lower bar. Stunned, Uhura slipped

toward the floor. Janara slapped the override

panel, lowering the gravity in the workout area

to one-tenth of ship's normal. Even so,

Uhura cried out as she hit the floor. Janara

punched the emergency button to summon a medical

team. The response indicator lit. Janara

locked in the override signal and went to Uhura.

"What happened?" Uhura whispered. Her face

had an ugly grayish tinge from shock.

"Don't talk now." Janara passed her hand

over Uhura's torso, about six centimeters above

the skin. "You've got five broken ribs. I

don't know what's wrong with the machine. But I will

find out, if I have to take it apart circuit

by circuit."

Uhura closed her eyes. Her breathing was

rapid and shallow. Janara frowned, worry gnawing

at her as she watched the other woman. Every breath

pushed against the broken ribs, and only luck had

saved Uhura from a punctured lung. Janara

probed the injury again, trying to evaluate the

danger. Her training in the healer's art was limited,

and she hesitated to

practice her erratic skills where her senses

could not evaluate her work. Much to her relief, the

medical team arrived before she was forced to a decision.

McCoy entered at a run. He passed his already

activated tricorder over Uhura's

body. "Broken ribs and shock. Immobilize

her, and get her to Sickbay immediately." Lowering the

tricorder, he turned to Janara. "What

happened?" "The controller jumped the gravity. She

hit the bar at about two-and-a-half go's."

McCoy glanced at the bars. "She's lucky it

wasn't her head."

"Yes."

With a force bar immobilizing her torso, the

medics moved Uhura to the stretcher. McCoy

started to say something to Janara, but changed his mind and

followed the stretcher from the room. Janara pulled the

access cover from the gravity control unit and began

running the diagnostic programs.

Captain Kirk and Kristiann Norris

strolled casually through the hydroponics lab. The

exuberant foliage and the dim lights that signaled

nighttime for the plants made it seem as though they had

been transported to a jungle planet. The air

was scented with the sweet fragrance of miraberry

blossoms. Norris took a deep breath,

letting the romantic illusion dispel some of the day's

tension. She had been telling Kirk about her

attempts to unravel the Kaldorni linguistics

without using the Universal Translator.

The intercom whistled for the captain. Kirk,

irritated at having the peaceful interlude

interrupted, pushed his way through the tangled vines

to reach the intercom panel. An impatient scowl

darkened his face as he listened to the message, but

puzzlement had replaced annoyance by the time he

rejoined Norris.

He gave her a rueful grin. "I seem

to remember saying that a captain can never promise

an evening without interruptions. I'm sorry, but

duty calls."

Norris glanced at her chronometer. "I should

be getting back to work, anyway. Is anything wrong

with the ship?"

"No. Someone was injured in the gym an hour

ago, and her coach wants to discuss the accident with

me." His mouth twisted into a perplexed frown. "I

don't know what I can do about it, but she insisted on

speaking with me." "Well, I enjoyed the walk and the

break in my work. I'm sorry you have to go so soon."

"A commanding officer's work is never done." Kirk

smiled an apology. "Maybe we can finish our

walk some other time." He left Norris at the

door and hurried to the gym.

When Kirk entered the room, Janara's

head and upper torso were buried in the control console

for the gymnastics gravity generators. She wriggled

out when she heard his footsteps. Kirk wondered how

her normally impassive face could appear so

grim. She straightened, waiting for him to reach her.

"All right. What's this all about?"

She gave him a terse account of the accident and of

her attempts to locate the problem. She had found

no program errors on the tape and no

mechanical failures in the control unit.

"All right. You've told me what didn't

cause the accident. Now would you mind telling me

what did?" A small voice in the back of

Kirk's head warned, You're not going to like it,

James T. Kirk.

Janara displayed a block of program code

on the screen. Kirk studied the lines. He

rarely worked with the programming system used

by vari-grav controllers, but he recognized a timer

series and a subroutine call keyed to the timer reading.

"Does that do what I think it does?"

Janara nodded. "After fifteen minutes of

running time, it searches for a handstand sequence in the

routine. That triggers the override program, which

throws out some large and unexpected changes

in the

gravity values. It's an extremely

dangerous piece of work."

"Who's responsible for this?"

She scrolled to the beginning of the file. Kirk

turned cold as he read the passcode. Shaking,

he reached for a chair and dropped into it. "That's

impossible," he said, staring at the cipher he knew

almost as well as his own. The spy had switched

tactics; from unscheduled course changes, he had

graduated to attempted murder using Tenaida's

identification code. Janara recorded the

program and gave the tape to Kirk. She put a

second copy into her pocket along with the cassette

of Uhura's routine. Kirk turned the tape over

in his hands, staring at it as if it were about

to metamorphose into a poisonous snake. He would

have been less upset if the spy had used Kirk's

own cipher. At least, then, he would have known the

programming he was looking at was impossible.

Finally, he forced himself from the chair. Halfway to the

intercom, it whistled, paging him. "Kirk here."

"Captain, our course headings are being overridden

by someone in Auxiliary Control. We can't change

them back from here."

"Have Scott, Brady, and a Security team

meet me there on the double. Kirk out." He left

the gym at a dead run.

Kirk slammed into the door of Auxiliary

Control. The recoil threw him into Security

Chief Pavel Chekov, and the collision knocked

both men off their feet. By the time they had recovered,

the rest of the Security team had arrived. Scotty

pushed his way forward to the door's control panel.

He triggered the scanner that should have opened the door

for the captain, but nothing happened. The override

sequence for the lock also did not work. Scott shook

his head. "It's controlled from the inside. I can't

open it from here."

Chekov pointed to two of his men. "Pfeiffer,

Johnstone, please escort Mr. Scott through the

air ducts. And keep watch for the intruder. He

may try to escape by going out that way."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Scott beckoned to the guards, and they headed for the

maintenance hatch. The ventilation system would give the

three men a back door into Auxiliary Control.

Kirk hoped they would catch the intruder before he

escaped. After what felt like five hours

to Kirk-but was only that many

minutes-Scott opened the door. "He was gone before

we got here," the chief engineer said. Kirk stepped

inside. Johnstone was scanning the room with his

tricorder, searching for clues. He paused when the

captain joined him. "Pfeiffer is checking the air

ducts. The intruder might still be in there." "Good

thought." Privately, Kirk figured the intruder

would have no more trouble escaping than he had had getting

in undetected. The spy's timing and his knowledge of the

ship's schedule were too good for the captain's peace of

mind. Kirk turned to Chekov. "Get some extra

men and check the surrounding corridors.

"Brady, will you help me deactivate our

friend's overrides?" "Right away, Captain," said

both officers in unison. Kirk went to the control

console. A few moments' work recovered the

intruder's program from the navigation bank. He

read the altered course information in amazement. "Warp

factor six, at bearing 124 mark 5. Our friend

is certainly persistent."

"I'm not sure if that's good or bad," Brady

said, reading the, screen over the captain's shoulder.

Kirk frowned. "How much trouble will it be

to bypass this until we can trace all the

subroutines?"

Brady called up the specifications for the

affected systems on the adjoining console. Scott

leaned over his shoulder, following the schematics as

Brady 117

accessed them. The spy's program had overridden

the primary control functions, but it had ignored

all the backup provisions. "It won't be too

difficult, Captain," Scott said. "The

intruder isn't familiar with the design of the

system."

"At least that's one thing he's not an expert on.

Mr. Scott, would you and Mr. Brady isolate

what he's taken over and make sure he hasn't

planted any booby traps in the system?

Notify me when we can correct our heading."

"Aye, Captain."

Kirk went to the intercom. "Bridge, Kirk

here. Would you find Lieutenant Tenaida and have him

report to my quarters at once?" "Yes,

Captain."

Halfway through the door, Kirk stopped and

turned toward his security chief. "Mr. Chekov,

until we catch the saboteur, I want a guard

posted here at all times."

"Yes, sir."

Tenaida was waiting when Kirk reached his

quarters. They entered, and Kirk handed Tenaida the

copy of t he program from the vari-grav control unit.

"I want your reaction to that." He dropped into his

chair, watching Tenaida through narrowed eyes.

The slender Deltan slipped the tape into the

computer. As he read, Tenaida's face flushed with

agitation. He ran through the program a second

time. "It's crude, but effective. Very

effective."

"Would you mind explaining?"

"This program is compiled from pieces of other

programs. Whoever assembled it didn't need to know

how to program the vari-grav computer. He just

spliced together assorted parts of van-grav routines

already stored in the ship's computer."

"Why is your identification code on the

program?" "It must have been removed from one of my

files and linked to the program." "That doesn't

answer my question. How did someone get your code?"

"My cipher is on many files in the computer's

memory. The intruder might have randomly selected

a file with my code on it, or he could have searched

for a common identifier. There are illegal

programs that can retrieve both the

public and the private portions of a passcode. The

alternative is that someone has penetrated the

computer's master file of code listings." "I

don't like that last option. Would you get together with

Commander Layton and make sure it can't happen-just

in case?"

"Of course."

Kirk straightened, feeling the knots of

worryinduced tension dissolve. Relief washed through

him. Kirk, the person, had never doubted

Tenaida's innocence; beyond his own judgment of the young

Deltan was Spock's high rating of Tenaida's

character and abilities. In addition, Kirk could not

believe anyone would be stupid enough to put his own

passcode on a program intended as a murder

weapon.

However, Kirk, the commanding officer, could not afford

to assume anyone was innocent, and he had needed

to watch Tenaida's reactions to know that the Deltan

was not withholding information. Even so, he decided to have

Layton keep a closer watch on Tenaida.

There was still a chance the intruder was using some form of mind

control on Tenaida. If that was the case, Kirk

hoped that Layton would find evidence soon

to support the theory. "This must be more of our

visitor's handiwork. And we had another example

a few minutes ago." He told Tenaida about the

latest course change. "Mr. Brady and Mr.

Scott are working on the problem now. I'd like you

to help, in case there are any booby traps

waiting for us when we change our course."

"Of course, Captain." Tenaida started for the

door. "And, Tenaida, let me know what you find

as soon as possible."

"I will, sir."

After Tenaida left, Kirk got himself a cup

of coffee and sat quietly, thinking. He was sure

there was a clue somewhere that he had missed.

Three hours later, Tenaida finished checking the

computer system. After recording the intruder's

program for further analysis, he erased it from the

computer's memory. With the system cleared, Scott

reactivated the bypassed circuits. Brady

ran the diagnostics program on the navigation

units a last time, then left to complete the ship's

course corrections from the bridge. Tenaida

called Kirk's quarters. Several seconds

passed before a sleepy voice answered.

"I am sorry to disturb you at this hour,

Captain, but I have the report on the

intruder's course-changing program."

"Come up immediately."

By the time Tenaida reached the captain's quarters,

Kirk had struggled into a rumpled uniform and combed his

hair into a semblance of neatness. Never- theless, he

still looked half asleep.

"What have you got?"

Tenaida gave him the program to read. Kirk

dropped the tape into the computer and scanned through the

file. "Just like the other one?" he asked finally.

"Similar. The program was assembled from

pieces of the ship's standard operating routines. The

person had to interpret what each program module

did, but he did not have to be able to write the code.

Once I determined that, I had no trouble

deactivating the program without setting off the

booby traps. However, it took some time to be

sure I had not missed any subroutines before I

purged the program."

"You got it all?"

"Yes."

"Good. Our next step is to catch the intruder.

Do you have any ideas for doing that?"

Tenaida frowned, his eyebrows forming a dark line

across his face. As yet, he had seen no

clear pattern to the spy's behavior. "I have no

practical suggestions at the moment."

"I keep thinking I'm missing something terribly

obvious." Kirk sighed, feeling a weariness that had

nothing to do with the late hour. He had never been good

at waiting, had always preferred action. This

inactivity-this vigil for a hostile intruder to become

overconfident and make a careless mistake-was

testing his patience to the limit. "If you come up with

any ideas, let me know."

"Of course, Captain." Tenaida pulled the

tape from the computer. He wanted to study the

program for any clues that might help identify

the spy.

Kristiann Norris looked away from her

computer screen. It was almost two in the morning. Her

stomach growled. She stood, stretching her cramped

back muscles. That much hard work deserves a

reward, she thought. She put the computer on standby and

left the room.

The corridor was dimly lit, simulating a

planet's night. The reduced illumination cast

intriguing light and shadow patterns on the walls and

left many of the doors in patches of darkness.

In the recreation lounge, she paused before

the selector panel, debating with herself. Finally,

she entered the override code Captain Kirk had

shown her and ordered a large fudge sundae with all

the trimmings. When the panel opened, Norris stared

at the result-the sundae was positively huge!

A couple of such concoctions a month would add padding

to anyone's waistline. Grinning to herself, Norris

picked up the tray. Several people were on the other

side of the room, and

Norris felt a twinge of guilt over such an

extravagant indulgence. She would feel less

self-conscious eating in a more private location.

She was halfway to her cabin when she heard a door

open. A familiar figure slipped out of a room

ahead of her. Norris stepped into the shadows, hoping

Simons would not see her. The other woman seemed

more concerned with acting like she belonged outside the

Kaldorni's quarters at two in the morning than

she was with looking for observers.

Norris did not move until Simons was out of

sight. She checked which cabin Simons had come from,

then hurried to her own quarters. While she was eating

her sundae, her mind was trying to answer the question

what was Simons doing in t'Stror's cabin at

two in the morning?

KIRK'S MIND DRIFTED as Tenaida

explained to Brady and Security Chief Chekov

how he had analyzed the spy's computer programs.

Kirk still felt he was miss- ing an obvious

clue, but he could not isolate it. A change in

Tenaida's voice brought Kirk's attention back

to the discussion. "After comparing the two programs I was

given last night, I have concluded that they were

assembled by different people."

Kirk had not expected that. "Explain," he

ordered. "The programming styles differ

considerably. Whoever constructed the course change

program was much less familiar with the workings of our

computer system."

"Does this mean we have a second spy aboard?"

"I don't know. The spy could have brought both

programs aboard with him. Most of those code

blocks are standard throughout the Federation. The pro-

grams themselves need not have been assembled on the

Enterprise-only the passcodes are unique to this

ship."

"That figures. Have you determined where those course

changes would take us yet?"

"No. The vectors are still too random. The

proba- 123

bility is only 62.9 percent that the closest

planet to the projected intersection point is the

intended destination. However, I found something disturbing,

given the ship's present assignment."

"Which is-?"

"When I added the vector from last night's

course change, the planet Yagra IV was fifth

on the list of probable destinations."

"It was?" Kirk asked, not liking the cold

premonition Tenaida's words invoked. When he

looked at Brady and Chekov, he realized they were

sharing the bad feeling. "Disturbing is an

understatement."

The intercom sounded and the captain reached for the control

switch. "Kirk here."

"Dr. McCoy wants to see you in Sickbay

when you're free. He also asked for Lieutenant

Tenaida, if he's available," Communications

Specialist Palmer's voice said.

"Did he say why?"

"No, sir, he didn't."

"All right, Ensign. Tell him we'll be there

shortly. Kirk out." Kirk turned to his

security chief. "What's your report on

protecting the ship's vital areas, Mr.

Chekov?"

"I have people stationed at all the key stationsEngineering,

Auxiliary Control, the central computer area, and

Environmental Services-everything. Also, I have men

roving all the corridors. Everyone in Security

has been warned to expect double shifts until we

settle this." The sound of Chekov's voice, more

heavily accented than usual, seemed to hang in the

air even after he had finished speaking.

"That sounds good to me. Mr. Brady, is there

anything else we should do?" Brady shook his head.

"As much as it pains me to say it, Captain, I

can't think of anything more. I'll let you know if I

do."

"In that case, I'll see what McCoy

wants." Kirk stood and led the other three men from

the room.

Joachim Montoya paged through Kris

Norris' report a second time. "Those numbers

pretty well prove someone's been lying to us.

What does the translation say?"

Norris ruffled her short brown hair,

wondering if she should admit she had already

translated the recordings. Montoya's question

implied that he as- sumed she had. "I

got some pretty interesting results from the

transcripts. Unfortunately, my equipment

seems to be going sour, but the sense of the discussions

is clear."

"Let's have it."

Norris slid another tape into her computer.

Although she could have used the Enterprise's system,

Norris preferred her own equipment, since it

already had the software she needed for her work. "I

copied the most interesting parts, but we can go over

everything, if you wish."

Montoya shook his head. "I'd like to see what

Ambassador Klee told Speaker t'Stror before

he left the other afternoon."

"I figured that." The screen filled with the

images of the Kaldorni ambassador and his

assistant. Norris switched the audio output

through the Universal Translator. An apparent

malfunction was giving t'Stror a low, guttural,

but definitely feminine, voice. Ambassador

Klee's voice was unaffected. Montoya

concentrated on the computer's translation of their words.

"Can they not be made to understand the importance of

preserving the Harmony of the Universe?" Klee

asked. "In so many ways, I have

difficulty in comprehending how they can act when they

seem so far from the Center of Balance. Tell me,

my Speaker, should we have asked to converse with a different

representative, one who is not so contaminated

by the Hot-Fire-Woman? I do not know how

to communicate my thoughts to this

Black-Silver-Man." Montoya pushed the

Stop button. "Hot-FireWoman?

Black-Silver-Man?" "Proper names, I

think. The translator had fits over them. My

guess is "Black-Silver-Man' is you, because

of your clothes. But I don't know what the other name

means."

Montoya reactivated the computer.

"My ambassador has great patience,"

t'Stror said. "The Federation commissioner is like a child

who must be shown the Ways of Harmony. But like a child,

often he does not want what is right and so must be

punished in order that he will learn."

The ambassador raised his right shoulder in

negation. "One may punish one's own children to guide

them in the paths of Correctness. But it is not

permitted to discipline the dependents of another being.

This creates more Disharmony than the original actions

of the child."

"My ambassador is wise in all things. I

request that I may be punished for my discordant

suggestions."

"If one learns from a mistake, discipline is

not necessary. Correction is needful only when the

offense is repeated."

"Your forbearance does you honor, my

ambassador."

A Kaldorni entered the room. Klee listened

to his message, then turned back to t'Stror.

"There is illness among my wives. They request

that I attend the youngest and lend her strength to combat the

disunity. It is necessary for me to perform the purification

rituals so that she may be receptive to the

medicines. I desire that you remain here and instruct

the Federation commissioner in the ways of That-Which-Is.

We cannot continue with these discussions until understanding

exists between our two peoples." "I hear your

wishes, my ambassador, and will 126

comply." t'Stror bowed his head and extended his

wrist. The farewell gesture was made to Klee's

back as the ambassador hurried from the room,

flanked by his honor guard.

Montoya stared at the screen, chewing on his lower

lip. "There's a significant difference

between that conversation and what t'Stror claimed his

instructions were. Are you sure the malfunction

didn't change the translation?"

"I don't think so. The problem appears

to affect only the voice assignment circuits.

However, when I was getting the transcripts,

Captain Kirk said his science officer might have some

specialized analysis programs. I thought

I'd check that out."

"The Deltan? I don't know. Most of

Starfleet's high-level analysis programs

are Vulcan. But if he has something useful, see

if it will help." "I'll check it out right away."

"All right, Christine. What's the emergency?"

McCoy was still tugging his blue tunic into place as

he entered Sickbay.

Dr. Christine Chapel pointed toward

McCoy's office. "I'm not sure, but I

didn't think you should keep him waiting."

A short, wide figure in nondescript

brown robes sat with his back to the door. The

Kaldorni turned when McCoy entered the room.

"Ambassador Klee," he said with surprise.

"This is an honor. How may I help you?"

Klee inclined his head in an off-center

nod. "The doctor McCoy is too kind to one

who is humbled to beg as the lowest no-caste. There

is illness among my wives, and I have not the

skills to perform the rituals correctly and

remove the disharmony so that they may be healed. It

is felt by my wives that the discord would be less for

me to beg you to attempt your methods of healing than

that my failure should cause the death of my mates."

McCoy tried to interpret Klee's actions in

terms of his culture. By abandoning his jewelry and

talking to McCoy and Chapel, Klee

demonstrated the status he had lost when he failed

to cure his wives by traditional Kaldorni

methods. McCoy reached for his tricorder. "Mr.

Ambassador, is it all right to examine your

wives now?"

"If there were any objection, I would not be here,

honored doctor." "My mistake. Would you

escort me to your quarters?" The Kaldorni were one

deck up from Sickbay. Klee was silent while

he led McCoy to the quarters. They entered the

rooms, and for a moment McCoy thought the environmental

controls had malfunctioned. The temperature was

almost as hot as the ship's sauna. "That pointy-eared

Vulcan would enjoy this," he muttered

to himself.

Five women were in the sleeping area, with three of

them trying to assist the two on the beds. McCoy

heard someone vomiting in the bathroom. McCoy

activated the tricorder. When the women moved

away from the beds, the shimmering of their colorful,

full gowns resembled the rainbow flash of

butterfly wings. Even in their quarters, the women

wore veils. The woman on the nearest bed was

curled into a tight ball around the cramping pains in

her stomach. Her forehead was filmed with perspiration,

but her body shivered violently under the blankets that

covered her. McCoy passed his tricorder over the

woman and frowned at the readings. He repeated the

scan and then tried a different woman. His frown

deepened when he got similar readings on the

second patient. "Mr. Ambassador, I need

to move your wives to Sickbay so I can treat them

properly."

The Kaldorni argued briefly in their own

language.

When Klee turned back to McCoy, he had

shrunk several inches into himself. "It is the wish of

my wives that we do whatever you believe is necessary.

The one among them who is most skilled in

the medical arts was the first to become ill."

McCoy went to the intercom and called for help

to move the patients. As their co-wives helped them

onto the stretchers, Klee asked McCoy,

"What is it you fear may be the cause of this

discordant event?" "I need to run some tests, but

I think they ate some contaminated food. It would be

best if your people don't eat anything until I

check it out." "All our food since we arrived

has come from the preparation facilities of this ship.

We have not noticed anything discordant."

"I'll have the dietitian check the synthesizer

program again. Perhaps one of our standard food bases

contains a trace element your race is unusually

sensitive to." McCoy tried to put more

reassurance in his tone than he felt. It was not

likely that Jenavi Leftwell had made such a

mistake. "One of my aides is skilled in the

nutritional requirements of our people. I will

require that he advise you on the appropriateness

of the ingredients for your synthesizer."

"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. That would be a

great help. If you'll excuse me, I'll go

treat your wives." When Klee nodded, McCoy

followed the stretchers from the room.

The diagnostic equipment in Sickbay confirmed

McCoy's fears. Several trace minerals

highly toxic to Kaldorni metabolism were

present in the women's bodies. Even worse,

most of the standard antidotes were almost as deadly.

McCoy finally found a scavenger to remove the

toxins from the Kaldorni's systems, but it worked much

slower than he liked. He ordered the lab

to prepare the counteragent, sent for Captain Kirk,

and then bounced between his patients,

checking their monitors and life support

equipment, until the medicine was delivered. He was

injecting the third woman when Kirk and Tenaida

arrived. McCoy pointed to his office, followed

the others inside, and threw himself into his chair.

"What is it, Bones?"

"I've got three of the Kaldorni

ambassador's wives in intensive care. Food

contamination."

"Poison?" Kirk asked. "How?"

"The ambassador said everything they've eaten

came from the ship's synthesizers."

Tenaida's forehead wrinkled. "I assisted

Lieutenant Leftwell with the Kaldorni's diet

program. We checked it several times

to exclude all deleterious materials from the

ingredients list."

"One of the ambassador's aides is helping

Jenavi look for anything that might have been missed,"

McCoy said.

Kirk shot a worried look at the Deltan.

"Tenaida, would you help them? If anyone on this

ship can translate glitchy computer code, it's

you." Tenaida rose. "Will you excuse me,

Doctor?"

"Good luck, Tenaida." McCoy looked over

at Kirk, seeing the grim set of his mouth. "You

don't think this is accidental, Jim."

"Do you?"

McCoy hesitated. "It could be. The

program might have called for the wrong base."

"But you don't think so, either."

The captain's uneasiness solidified the ugly

suspicions McCoy had been suppressing since

he had seen the first readings on the Kaldorni

women. Finally, he acknowledged his concern. "No.

I don't think it's an accident." "Unless

Tenaida can prove otherwise, I'd say our friend

has struck again. You'd better examine all the

Kaldorni to make sure they're not

affected." "Right away, Captain."

While McCoy checked hi s patients in

Intensive Care, Kirk was planning what to say

to Ambassador Klee. He needed to convince him

he would suffer no further loss of status if he

allowed McCoy to examine the entire Kaldorni

delegation.

"Well, Tenaida, what's the story?" Kirk,

leaning over the Deltan's shoulder, watched the lines

of code march across the monitor. Tenaida and

Leftwell had been working on the Kaldorni's

nutrition schedule for over an hour. "The food

synthesizers were reprogrammed. Someone inserted

subroutines that add trace amounts of toxins to the

formulas for certain foods. When those foods are

chosen, the subroutines are activated."

"I see. How did this happen?"

Tenaida called up a block of code. His

cipher headed the listing. Kirk scowled, even though

the spy's choice had a feeling of inevitability

about it. "I expected that. What else can you say

about the thing?" Tenaida leaned back in his chair and

steepled his fingers to cover the lower half of his face.

"I believe the person who did this also wrote the

program for the vari-grav control unit.

There are similarities in the coding style, and both

programs indicate a disregard for the lives of other

sentient beings."

"What about the course change program? Was it

written by the same person?" "I would say not. Of

course, three programs are not a large enough

sample to support a definitive judgment."

"I hope you don't get a large enough sample.

Can you do something to keep our friend-or frsout of the

computer?"

"I'll work on it. The problem is to restrict

unauthorized access to the computer without interfering with the

ship's operations. Also, we don't know where

these ciphers were obtained. The spy could have cracked

the ship's data banks, but other possibilities

exist."

"It would take a sophisticated

codekey-breaking program to get that information from our

computer."

Tenaida added nothing, waiting for Kirk to make

the obvious inferences about the situation.

"The other possibility is even worse.

Anyone with Starfleet's overrides to our computer

system has access to a lot of privileged

material." "Agreed." Tenaida turned

off the console and rose. "With your permission, I'll

be in my quarters working on a way to prevent further

unauthorized computer use."

"Of course, Lieutenant. Get Commander

Layton to run your clearances for the command areas."

They stepped into the corridor and almost collided with

Kristiann Norris. "There you are, Jim.

I've been looking all over for you." She looked

from Kirk to Tenaida, trying to decide to whom she

should make her request. "I wanted to see if I

could ask Shan Tenaida to borrow his analysis

programs. My computer system has developed a

glitch and I need to double-check its translations."

"Tenaida is busy right now." Kirk glanced

at the Deltan and received a confirming nod. It was

symbolic of his day so far that Norris would come

to collect on his offer just after he had given the

Deltan a critical assignment. "I'm

afraid he has a project that can't wait."

Tenaida took a step forward and faced Kirk.

"If it's acceptable, there is another person who

could assist. Lieutenant Janara Whitehorse

has considerable training with the Vulcan analysis

programs that Ms. Norris will need, and she is more

familiar with the linguistic applications of the

programs than I am."

"Could she do it?" Kirk tried to remember what

project Janara was working on, and whether McCoy

had certified her fit for duty yet. If

Janara could work on the translation problem, he would

be able to keep his promise to Norris. "You will have

to ask her," Tenaida said. "I do not know the

outcome of her last talk with Dr. McCoy."

"I'll see if she feels like tackling the

problem," Kirk said. "That is, if it's all right

with you, Kris."

"I don't know." Norris ruffled the back of

her short brown hair. "What are her

qualifications?"

Kirk smiled. "She knows as much about Vulcan

programming methods as Tenaida."

Tenaida lifted his eyebrow in imitation of

Spock's favorite gesture. "Indeed, she may

know more. She studied at the Vulcan Academy of

Sciences for three semesters."

Kirk gave Norris a how-can-we-argue-with-that

look. "Lieutenant Whitehorse also speaks

twenty or thirty languages. And she's good at

keeping her mouth shut."

"She sounds ideal. If she'll do the job, I

have no objections." Kirk went to the intercom

to locate Janara.

Cecilia Simons waited for the communications

officer to appear in the recreation room for lunch.

Palmer's noon relief was young and impressionable;

Simons knew she would have no trouble holding his

attention while Montoya's dispatches were being

transmitted. When Palmer sat down, Simons

headed for the bridge.

She checked the duty personnel when she entered.

Neither Kirk nor his first officer were present, but she

recognized the navigator and the communications

trainee. She went up to the officer in the command chair

and gave her a small, bewildered smile.

"Excuse me. My husband, Commissioner

Montoya, asked me to bring his dispatches up here and

see that they were sent out. Whom should I talk to about

that?"

"Ensign Peretz will help you." The short,

stocky woman pointed to the Communications station. Her

expression said, as clearly as if she had

spoken, what she thought of unescorted civilians

on the bridge.

"Thank you very much," Simons said in a

small, meek voice. She glided across the room

and gave the young trainee a smile calculated

to melt three-meter armor plate. "Are you the

communications officer?" "Uh, yes, uh, I mean,

no, I mean, uh, yes, I'm the officer on

duty," he stammered, flustered at being the focus of

her interest. "Could you send my husband's dispatches

for me?" She held out a data cassette. "I

promised to do it first thing this morning, and he's going

to be so upset that I didn't get it done until

now."

Peretz glanced at his activity board. "I can

send it right away." He dropped the tape into a

slot, scanned the authorization codes, and pushed the

transmit switch.

"You must have such an exciting job." Simons'

voice was low and breathy. Peretz twisted in his

chair to see her better. "It's not really, when you do

it all the time. But it's an important job, because

every message to or from the ship passes through this station."

He gave her a shy smile. "I think

communications is the most important job on the

Enterprise, because we keep people in touch with each

other."

"You must know everything that happens on the

entire ship. That makes you the most important

person on it, and that has to be exciting." Over his

shoulder, Simons watched the codes flicker across

the readout panel. "I guess it does seem

exciting-if you look at it that way." The computer

beeped to signal the transmission was complete.

Peretz removed the tape and handed it to Simons with a

diffident smile. "I hope your husband isn't

too upset. In the future, I'd be honored

to send more dispatches for him." Simons rewarded him

with another sultry smile. "If I tell him how

efficient you were, Lieutenant, perhaps

he'll forgive my carelessness." She glided out the

door before Peretz could stammer a response to his

sudden, unofficial promotion.

Kris Norris was not sure what she expected

when Kirk told her another person on the

Enterprise knew as much as Tenaida about Vulcan

programming, but the small, silent woman Kirk

introduced was not it. Janara listened to Norris'

description of her problem, asked a few probing

questions, and began calling programs from the main computer

banks.

Norris watched with something approaching awe as

Janara alternated between running

specialized diagnostic routines through the portable

unit and extracting data for the ship's computer

to analyze. Although she knew the reputations of some

of the Federation's best computer people, Norris had never

watched a first-class operator at work.

After an hour, Janara recorded her results

and switched off the computer. She gave the tape

to Norris. "The Enterprise's computer pulled some

additional information from the transcripts that confirms

your translation to 95 percent. There's nothing wrong

with your machine."

"What? It gave one of Ambassador

Klee's aides a female voice. That can't be

right."

"The diagnostic programs show your equipment

is within specifications. I couldn't find any

programming errors."

"Then why does it give Speaker t'Stror a

female voice?" "I would suggest you ask Speaker

t'Stror."

"Ask-?" Norris' voice rose in shock.

Given the Kaldorni reticence about discussing most

aspects of their culture and physiology,

Norris could imagine t'Stror's reaction if she

asked for a direct explanation of the

anomaly. "Are you serious? Do you know how touchy the

Kaldorni are when we ask about their private

lives?"

Janara shrugged. "The problem is not in your

equipment. Therefore, I cannot explain the female

voice. If you wish to know about Speaker t'Stror,

the logical course of action is to ask the object

of your curiosity. "However, if you do not believe

he will respond favorably to your queries, then I

must assume the riddle will remain unsolved."

Janara swept a loose strand of hair off her

forehead and tucked it behind her ear. For a moment, the

sharp, pale lines of the implant scars were

uncovered. Norris stared at the lock of dark

hair that covered the telltale scars. Suddenly,

her mind identified the almost subliminal musky

scent that had been bothering her for the last hour.

"You're Deltan," she said in surprise,

forgetting her previous train of thought.

Janara's mouth twisted into a humorless smile.

"That's hardly a secret." "But your name is of

Earth origin."

"Many people have names that originated on Earth,"

Janara said evenly. "But Deltans don't

adopt human names. I mean, do they?"

Most Deltans us ed one-word names that, Norris

had been told, were equivalent to human nick-

names. Deltan calling names were often taken from common

plants or animals, since their formal names were

too long and complex for most outsiders to remember

or pronounce. Norris noticed the tension in

Janara's posture. "I'm sorry. I didn't

mean to pry. Please, forget I mentioned it."

Janara took two deep, slow breaths. "If

I said my family history was somewhat varied, would

you leave it at that?"

"Of course. I didn't mean to move in where I

don't belong," Kris added quickly. "You said your

analysis programs found additional information in the

transcripts. Do you suppose I could add those

programs to my system?"

The tension left Janara's posture. She

doodled a pattern on the table top with her finger,

using the lines to tally her programs. Finally, she

shook her head "I could copy a couple of them for

you. However, most of them are coded in Vulcan

symbology, and your unit doesn't have the capacity

to run them with the conversion program. I might be able

to design a program package for a larger machine,

but I'd need authorization-was She stiffened

suddenly and screamed in agony, clamping her hands

around her skull. As Norris watched in

bewilderment, Janara stumbled to the intercom and groped

for the control pad.

"Bridge. Palmer here."

"Red alert, code Alpha-One.

Emergency-in Auxiliary Control," Janara

gasped. "Armed security team. And medics."

Then she fainted.

"Well, Marg, what do you think now?" Kirk

leaned back in his chair and studied the face of his

longtime friend. Layton had never been pretty, but

her strength of character attracted attention in situations

where physical beauty would have been overlooked.

Now, in the privacy of Kirk's quarters, the

records officer's face showed the strain of the last

few days. She must be pulling double shifts trying

to keep her eye on everything, Kirk thought with a

surge of gratitude. A commanding officer could not

ask for a more loyal or dedicated officer than Marg

Layton. "Have you seen anything that would rule out any

of our suspects?"

Layton toyed with her coffee cup, watching the

bitter liquid swirl around the sides. "Nothing,

Captain. Less than nothing. What I

have seen makes things even more confusing." She gulped

down her coffee and refilled the cup from the carafe

on the worktable. "All those programs with

Tenaida's code

on them. Every time I look at one of them, I know

he's guilty. Then I look again, and it's

obvious that's exactly what I'm supposed

to think. "No person in his right mind would cobble up

such a program, and then sign his name to it. So if

Tenaida did do it, then the mind control theory is

the only possible explanation. But watching him, I

haven't seen any evidence for that, either. I'd think

he'd at least show occasional mental lapses or

momentary confusion. But I've seen nothing like that. And the

same thing with Brady-I can't find anything that would

suggest the intruder has had any mental contact

whatsoever with him."

Kirk nodded. "I've tried to keep them working with

other people as much as possible since-well, since this

started happening. And nobody else has reported

anything unusual, either."

"I've been checking the computer's work logs as you

suggested, to see if someone is stealing data from our

system to run a biofabricator. None of the crew

has suddenly increased computer usage, but

some of our guests have been fairly busy, for whatever

that's worth." Layton shrugged. "I don't have

anything for comparisons, so I don't know what is

appropriate for them. It could just mean they need the

computer time to do their jobs properly." "Has the

commissioner's wife done much with the computer?" Kirk

had to fight to keep his tone casual.

Layton thought for a moment. "Actually, no. The

only files she appears to have accessed were some

entertainment tapes."

"Damn! I was hoping she'd do something I could

trace back to her." "Then you still consider her a

suspect?"

The intercom whistled, interrupting Kirk "s

reply. He thumbed on the viewer. "Captain,

Alpha-One priority emergency in Auxiliary

Control." "On my way." Kirk raced from the

room.

Kirk arrived at Auxiliary Control just behind the

security reinforcements that Chekov had ordered. When

he saw the phaser rifles the men carried, a touch

of fear crawled down his back. He entered the room

and immediately wished he had stayed outside.

The remains of the guard who had been posted in the

room were spread across the control consoles,

and blood splattered the surrounding floor for a

ten-meter radius. Ensign Yendes's torso had

been slashed-as if by long, sharp knives-and his

throat ripped out. Kirk had dealt with death many

times in the past, but this was far more gruesome than he was

accustomed to seeing. He left quickly, and bumped

into McCoy as the doctor arrived. "Bones, can you

tell me when he died?" Kirk jerked his thumb

toward the corpse. "And also anything about the-weapon-that

did it?" McCoy looked over Kirk's shoulder

and his expression turned grim. He gulped,

nodded, and made his way to the body. Kirk walked

down the corridor a few steps and leaned against the

wall, trying to keep out of the way. Opposite him,

two crewmen were examining the floor with tricorders,

looking for any traces of blood that the murderer

might have tracked from the room. After several

minutes, McCoy joined Kirk. "He's been

dead only a few minutes, Jim. I'm

surprised Security didn't catch the killer in

the act." "That short a time?"

"Yes. How did Chekov get here so fast?"

"Someone called in an Alpha-One, but the

intercom was dead when Palmer switched back for

details. She's looking for the caller now.

What can you tell me about the killer?"

"I'll do a complete autopsy when Security

gets through recording the mess, but as a first guess,

I haven't a clue. I'm just an old country

doctor, Jim." McCoy shook his head in

bewilderment. "Those cuts are deep and clean, almost

like they'd been made with

an old-time surgeon's scalpel. But at the

same time, they're all parallel, like claw marks

from a giant cat. Though anything with claws long enough

to do that much damage would have to be one hellaciously

big monster." "I'll buy the hellacious,

Bones, but if that kind of a beast was on this ship,

we'd know it. You're going to have to tell us what the

killer really used."

"Yes, Captain." McCoy leaned against the

wall, looking grim and, for a moment, old. It had

been a long time since he had seen a man so

spread out by a murderer.

Tenaida's voice, low and questioning, came from down

the corridor. Janara Whitehorse answered him

at length and in Deltan. Kirk looked toward

them. Janara's movements were unsteady, and at first

Kirk thought Tenaida had an arm around her waist.

The captain blinked, and when he reopened his

eyes, he decided the illusion had been created

by his angle of view. Given the standard Deltan

oath of celibacy, he did not think Tenaida would

have allowed himself to become involved with Janara in the

short time they had known each other. And given

Janara's background, he thought she'd be

reluctant to trust anyone.

Janara saw the crowd in the corridor. Her

knees buckled and she slid to the floor. "They

weren't in time, were they?"

Tenaida met Kirk's questioning look. "Shan

Janara received mental images of a predatory

animal attacking the crewman in Auxiliary

Control. She insisted on reporting to you."

"You put in the Alpha-One?" Kirk asked.

Janara nodded. She slumped against the wall,

pressing her hands against her forehead. Alarmed,

McCoy passed his tricorder over the small

half-Deltan. "Blasted machine," the doctor

muttered. "Readings don't show anything wrong.

Lieutenant Whitehorse-Janara, can you hear

me?" Janara nodded again.

"What's wrong?"

"The-the body." Her whisper was hoarse. After

several seconds, she added something in a

Deltan dialect that had an unusual rhythm

to its sentences. Tenaida translated. "She says

she feels the reactions of everyone who has seen the

body. That they are too strong to block out."

Kirk looked from Janara to McCoy. "Get

her out of here, Bones. You can't do anything in there,

anyway."

McCoy helped Janara to her feet. Janara

swayed, too disoriented to keep her balance.

McCoy had to support her as they started for the

turbolift. "She's a strong telepath?" Kirk

asked. A glimmer of an idea was forming m the

back of his mind.

"Her talents are formidable, but she is largely

self-trained. Her gifts are more of a liability

than an asset."

Kirk stared at the Deltan, wondering if

Tenaida had guessed his thoughts. Before he could

pursue the matter, the intercom whistled. He reached

for the pad.

"Kirk here."

"Captain, the ship has just altered course

to 124 mark 5. And our speed is increasing to warp

eight."

"Source of change?"

"The ship's navigational controls are being

overridden from Auxiliary Control."

"All right. I'll handle it from here. Kirk out."

Angrily, he slammed his fist against the switch in

frustration.

The security team was still recording the scene in

Auxiliary Control and examining the surrounding area

for clues. Even if he had wanted to face the

mess, Kirk knew he could not risk disturbing the

evidence. Canceling the intruder's course change would

have to wait until Security finished their work.

"How soon will you be through?" Kirk asked

Chekov. "It will take us about fifteen minutes

to finish our work, Captain."

"Make it less. The spy reprogrammed the

ship's course again, and I need Brady and

Tenaida in there to undo his handiwork."

Chekov checked with his men. "They can get in here in

five minutes, if they don't mind working here before

we finish our investigation and clean all the blood

off the equipm ent."

Tenaida glanced inside the room, but his face

showed no reaction to the body. "I'll do my best not

to interfere with your work, Lieutenant." Chekov went

back inside Auxiliary Control.

Relieved to turn his back on the gruesome scene,

Kirk went to the intercom to call Brady to help

Tenaida remove the intruder's latest program

from the computer system.

As the turbolift door opened on Deck

Seven and the doctor stepped out, Janara pulled

away from McCoy's supporting arm. "I don't

need to go with you to Sickbay, Doctor. I'll go

to my quarters now."

"You're coming to Sickbay for an examination. You

almost collapsed back there, and I want to know why."

"I told you why, Doctor. Now if you don't

mind-was She stepped backward into the car, but

McCoy, anticipating her escape attempt,

stood in the door to keep it from closing.

"I most certainly do mind. I am the doctor

here, and I'll decide what you are fit to do."

Janara squared her shoulders in rigid defiance.

Before she could reply, Christine Chapel came out

of the research lab. McCoy beckoned to her.

"Lieutenant Whitehorse won't let me

examine her. How do you convince Deltans to follow

their doctor's orders?"

"Generally, Deltans don't ignore their

doctors unless they have a very keen internal

awareness." Chapel gave Janara a questioning look.

"Are you sure you're not physically injured?"

Janara gathered her strength for a reply. "I am

suffering from what is called lyr'yial. It's a

form of psychic overload, most often found among

healers who have overworked their mental powers. The stan-

dard cure is rest and meditation."

McCoy looked unconvinced. "You're not a

doctor and you can't be certain of your diagnosis.

I had to practically carry you into the elevator, and

I want to know that you aren't seriously ill. I've

never seen anything like this in all the time I've been

practicing medicine."

Chapel looked from the doctor to the small,

stubborn Deltan in the turbolift. "Well,

Doctor, if you insist, I'll sedate her, and

we can drag her into Sickbay. But I'm not sure

it will give you the answers you want. Why don't you

just require a checkup before her next duty

shift?" McCoy scowled at Janara. The small

Deltan returned the look with the patience of someone

who knew she could outwait her opponent. Finally

McCoy stepped clear of the door. "Until you

get a thorough physical, I'm logging you as

medically unfit for duty."

"Understood." Janara's voice carried an

unmistakable note of triumph. The elevator

door closed before McCoy could say anything more.

"Did you have to contradict me in front of her?"

McCoy made no effort to keep the anger out of his

voice.

"I'm sorry, Doctor." Chapel looked

neither apologetic nor particularly worried about

McCoy's temper. "You asked for my help."

Chapel's calmness was not improving his mood

any. Sometimes he wondered if he should quit

Starfleet permanently and go into veterinary medicine.

At least his patients wouldn't be able to argue with him

about proper treatment.

Chapel continued in a mild tone. "Would you like the

latest report on the Kaldorni's condition?"

"Let's have it," he said, glad for the change of

subject.

"The women in Intensive Care are stable. The

scavengers are working against the toxins, but haven't

produced major improvements yet. The lab

says they'll have a true antidote ready m

another hour. "One of the ambassador's aides just

came in with a mild case, and the lab tests show

small amounts of toxic metal complexes

in all the Kaldorni's bodies. We've started

them on the scavengers to neutralize the poisons."

"I leave you here while I handle an emergency, and

when I come back, all my problems are solved."

McCoy gave Chapel an affectionate smile.

He was lucky to have her. Her experience was greater

than many planet-bound physicians McCoy

knew, and he wondered how long it would be before she would

accept a transfer to head up her own medical

department. He glanced at his chronometer. "The

medical emergency is over, and you're not supposed

to be on duty until later. If you have something you'd

like to do ." Chapel shook her head. "I'd rather try

to help the lab finish the antidote. I haven't

had a chance to work on this type of problem since I

left Nylara." "As you wish." McCoy scowled.

"I'd prefer that to preparing for this autopsy. That

killer, whatever it was, left a gruesome mess."

With that protest made, the doctor headed for the

operating room-turnedmorgue to check his equipment.

He wanted to finish this particular autopsy as fast

as he could.

Kirk dropped into his chair and waited for the rest

of the somber group to find places around his cabin.

Brady and Tenaida took the chairs by the

worktable, while McCoy sat on the bed next

to Layton. Chekov stood by the door, poised as

if to respond to any threat. Kirk studied their

faces while they settled in. Both Brady and

Tenaida looked the way Kirk felt mentally

exhausted from trying to outthink the spy,

nervous from wondering where the intruder would strike

next, and weighted by revulsion at the gruesome

murder of the security guard. Anger was McCoy's

dominant reaction. His job was to fight death, and the

killer had given him no chance. Chekov appeared

unaffected, but Kirk knew only strict

discipline and the desire to live up to the

responsibilities of his new position kept the

security chief from looking as disturbed as the rest of the

group.

"All right, people. We need answers. Chekov,

what's your report?" "We have found almost nothing so

far, Captain. The intruder walked through the door as

if it were standing open, attacked Ensign Yendes,

reprogrammed the computer, and then walked out again.

Yendes did not fire his phaser or call for

assistance. It is as if he did not think he was in

any danger. "We have followed the killer's trail

as far as the turbolift on that level.

He took the turbolift to Deck Six, where he

got out near the recreation lounge. No one there saw

anything unusual, and we have not been able to trace him

after that."

"A pretty cool customer," Brady said.

Kirk nodded. "He isn't worried about being

noticed."

"May I suggest something, Captain?"

"What, Tenaida?"

"I could program the intercoms in the turbolift

to record the voice patterns of everyone who uses

them. Also, we could tie scanners into the intercoms

to monitor personnel movements."

Kirk scowled. Spying on his crew went against the

grain, but until they identified the intruder,

recording every movement and searching the records for

anomalies seemed their best hope of catching the

spy. "All right, Tenaida. I don't like the

idea, but I don't have a better one. When this

briefing is over, get together 145

with Commander Scott and tell him what you've got

in mind. But monitor only the heavy traffic

areas.

"By the way, why did the scanner in Auxiliary

Control let the spy get past it?"

"You're not going to like it, Captain," Brady

said. "I already don't like it. Why don't you tell

me what it is that I don't like?"

Brady and Tenaida looked at each other,

trying to decide who should answer the question. Finally

Brady spoke. "When he entered and when he left,

the scanner identified the person as Captain

James T. Kirk."

"Oh." For a moment, Kirk saw the room through a

red haze. He took two deep, slow breaths

to calm himself. When he could speak without swearing, he

said, "While you're fixing scanners, Tenaida,

fix that one, too! Mind-control theory or not, I

wasn't in Auxiliary Control. And no impostor

should be able to create a disguise that will pass a

maximum security check. So find out how the

intruder managed to trick that scanner!" "Yes,

Captain."

Layton straightened abruptly. "That's it! The

spy has finally made a mistake!" A brief

grin of triumph crossed her face. "This time, when

the intruder used the captain's identity, we know

exactly where Captain Kirk was. He was with

me, in this room, discussing our problem. This

eliminates the mind-control hypothesis because

Captain Kirk couldn't have been in Auxiliary

Control at the same time."

Brady heaved a sigh of relief. "That means

none of us is a suspect anymore." "Or at

least it substantially reduces the probability that

any of us is guilty." Tenaida also sounded

relieved.

"How good was the intruder's disguise?" Kirk

asked. "Have you run an identity check on the

scanner images?"

Brady nodded. "About 80 percent. Similar

to the original recordings. The intruder must have a

pretty sophisticated setup to be able to produce

disguises that consistently score that high a

correspondence. I don't know how he's managing

to hide his power and materials consumption from our

computer searches."

"Keep after it. Something has to break soon."

Kirk turned to McCoy. "Doctor, what did

your autopsy show?"

"Not a lot we didn't already know." McCoy

scowled and tried to avoid meeting the captain's

look.

"Yes?" Kirk prompted.

"The body appeared to have been mauled by a

large animal-a saber-toothed cat or something

similar. But I examined those slash marks very

closely. They were too clean to have been made by any

animal I've ever heard of. Also, the lab found

traces of a strong, fast-acting neurotoxin in the

body. Apparently, it was injected with the first

attack. It would have paralyzed Yendes before he could

respond to the murderer."

"Dr. McCoy, are you saying the killer was or

was not a predatory animal?" Brady asked.

"I don't know what the killer was, Mr.

Brady. But those "claws" were too sharp for any

animal recorded in our library banks. The

cuts were clean enough to have been made with a scalpel."

"Doctor, is that all your autopsy turned

up?" Kirk struggled to keep the disappointment out of

his voice. He had hoped McCoy would find something

definite.

""Frail so, Captain. There wasn't a lot

left to look at. Kirk grimaced, remembering

what the body had looked like. Pushing that thought away,

he turned to his science officer. "Tenaida, what

about the latest course-changing program?"

"The content and programming method resemble the

other course-change program. Also, the

coordinates put us in the same region as the

previous 147

changes. I had the computer extrapolate the

most likely destinations, but there wasn't any

significant change over the last projection."

"That in itself is significant, isn't it?"

"Probably. But that doesn't give us any

useful information."

"No useful information!" McCoy's pale eyes

flashed with anger. "The science officer's job is

to come up with useful information. Dammit, that thing's

killing our people, and you take as long as that pointy-eared

Vulcan to reach a conclusion!"

"Enough, Bones. Tenaida is working as hard as

anyone to settle this. Does anyone else have a

suggestion?" Kirk looked around, but no one said

anything. "Tenaida, what's your progress on

keeping the intruder out of our computers?"

"I was working on a double-code entry to restrict

access to the system when the spy broke

into Auxiliary Control. After seeing that, I would

recommend more stringent controls than we originally

discussed."

"What do you have in mind?"

"That you block all access to the ship's

computers. Clear each person for only those

programs needed for the work."

Kirk nodded. "That might do it. But how do we

sell it. "Could we say there's a malfunction in the

computer's junction processor? That we've lost

primary connections to the working memory until

repairs are completed?" Brady's voice,

uncertain at first, lost its tentative tone as the

idea solidified. "We could say we're

relocating programs into storage sectors that

aren't affected by the problem and rerouting the access

linkages to accommodate the difficulty."

Kirk turned the idea over in his mind, looking

for objections. "It's plausible. I don't think

the majority of the crew will argue with it. And we can still

use the double-code system to control access to the

programs we release."

"We can say the codes are to keep people from

overrunning their allotted memory blocks. Then

if the intruder still gets into the computer, we'll know a

lot more about how he's doing it." Brady's voice

carried a note of grim satisfaction.

"I'll incorporate a tracer into the double-code

program so we can detect anyone trying to break

into the system," Tenaida added. "Do it,"

Kirk ordered. "I'll make the announcement

immediately restricted computer access until further

notice. The crew can report to you to get their

programs cleared. Can you get the double-code

system operating in an hour?"

"Yes."

Kirk looked around to see if anyone had anything

more to say. "Unless there's something else, this briefing

is over." He paused, looking at Chekov.

"By the way, Mr. Chekov, you'd better double the

guards on all posts."

"I have already done so, Captain. I will also have my

people work in pairs or groups until we capture the

thing that murdered Ensign Yendes." "Good thinking.

We don't want to lose anyone else."

"No, sir. And my people want very much to capture

this killer." "Good. Let's hope they find him

soon, Mr. Chekov." Kirk turned to his

science officer. "Lieutenant Tenaida, could I

talk to you for a minute? The rest of you may return

to your posts."

McCoy, Brady, Layton, and Chekov

left the room as Tenaida waited patiently for the

captain's question.

"Tenaida, I want your reaction to a

wild suggestion."

"Yes, Captain?"

"You said Janara Whitehorse was an

exceptionally strong telepath. Could she identify the

spy if she were in the same room with him?" "I

don't know. She has received images of a preda-

for stalking the ship's corridors since the first

night our passengers were aboard. However, her

talents are erratic and not always subject to her

control."

"Would she try to locate the intruder if I

asked her to?" "Captain, I cannot speak for Shan

Janara on so personal a matter." His face

went expressionless with tension, his dark eyebrows forming

harsh lines across his smooth olive skin.

"Speculate," Kirk countered.

"Most telepaths prefer not to sense other minds.

A deliberate search for the spy would mean intruding

on every other mind in the area."

Kirk frowned, puzzled. Like most

nontelepaths, he had little understanding of how

mind-to-mind communication worked. His only direct

exposure to such things was the few times Spock had

mind-melded with him. Other forms of

telepathy, such as the Deltans" ability

to exchange images or the wild-card human

abilities such as those possessed by Dr. Miranda

Jones, were outside his personal experience.

"Explain?"

"We've assumed the spy is either on Commissioner

Montoya's negotiating team or in

Ambassador Klee's party. To find one guilty

individual in either of those groups means there is a

large probability of invading the privacy of a

number of innocent people."

"Then you think Lieutenant Whitehorse would

resist a request to help us find the spy?"

"I cannot say. She has been greatly disturbed

by the images she has received. She might agree

to assist you because of Ensign Yendes' murder.

However, I can't predict her answer."

Kirk allowed himself a frustrated sigh.

"Thanks, Tenaida. You'd better get to work on

the double-code program." He pushed himself up out of

his chair. Then, "But wait, Tenaida . . ." as

a sudden thought sent him back to the intercom.

"Palmer, have Lieutenant Chekov send a

pair of armed security guards to my quarters."

"Aye, aye, sir." Palmer's

voice sounded frazzled. Kirk could almost hear her

thought Where are we going to find two more security people

who haven't already pulled double shifts?

"I don't want our friend attacking you while

you're working to keep him out of the computer," Kirk

told Tenaida as they waited for the guards to arrive.

"So far, the only thing he's been consistent about is

catching someone who's alone."

The Deltan nodded. "A wise precaution,

since he will know where to find me for some time."

"Unavoidable, I'm afraid. Our people have to use

the computer, and the intruder will want in just as badly.

The guards should prevent him from trying anything

drastic."

"Agreed, Captain."

Kirk instructed the guards that they were not to let

Tenaida out of their sight for any reason. He had

no desire to see the Deltan meet the same

fate as the guard in Auxiliary Control.

After Tenaida had left, Kirk activated his

computer. "Assistant. Evaluate the

probability that a telepathic search would be able

to locate the intruder aboard this ship."

"Insufficient information."

"What information do you require to answer

the question?" "Nature of intruder, including race,

psychic abilities, mental training, physical

condition, and motivation."

"If I knew all that, I wouldn't need a

telepath to find him." "Also require parameters

describing nature of search, including safeguards

required by Federation law to protect the innocent."

"Safeguards?"

"Federation Code, Section 175, Subsection

B (mental Privacy) The right to mental

privacy is an inalienable right of all Federation

citizens and shall not be abrogated without due process

of law.

"Section 183, Subsection A (searches and

Seizures), Paragraph 5 No law enforcement

agent or other person acting in the capacity of a

law enforce- ment agent shall invade or cause to be

invaded the mental privacy of any Federation

citizen or any other sentient being without first having

proved reasonable suspicion before a Federation

Justice of the Courts or planetary official

serving in a similar capacity."

Kirk drummed his fingers on the desktop,

wondering how long it would take the computer to get to the

point. Obviously, a Vulcan had

written this part of the Federation Code. And a Vulcan

wrote the program that's interpreting it, he

reminded himself.

Oblivious to Kirk's impatience, the computer

continued, "Paragraph 6 No law enforcement

agent or other person acting in the capacity of a

law enforce- ment agent shall invade or cause to be

invaded the mental privacy of any innocent

Federation citizen or other sentient being while in

pursuit of suspects for whom a search warrant

has been obtained under the provisions of Section

183, Subsection A, Paragraph 5.

"Section 243, Subsection A (telepath's

Rights), Paragraph 1 No law enforcement agent

or other person acting in the capacity of a law

enforcement agent shall compel any telepath to use his or

her telepathic gifts against his or her will for any

reason.

"Paragraph 2 No law enforcement agent or

other person acting in the capacity of a law enforcement

agent shall compel any telepath to invade the mental

privacy of any Federation citizen or any other

sentient being for any purpose, including justifiable

searches as defined under the provisions of Section

183, Subsection A, Paragraph

5."

"Enough!" Kirk scowled in exasperation. Trust

a Vulcan to write a program with a fascination for

reciting the entire Federation Code! "I just

wanted an answer to a simple question."

"There are fifteen other references in the Federation

Code that pertain to the question you asked"

"That's all right. Cancel request. I seriously

doubt that listening to the Federation Code is going

to catch a murderer for me." Kirk reached for his

coffee cup and settled back in his chair to do some

hard thinking. What clues would Hercule Poirot

need to solve this murder? How would Sherlock

Holmes unravel this case? And without their

all-too-fictional help, how was he, Captain

James T. Kirk, going to catch the spy that had

invaded his ship?

JOACHIM MONTOYA stormed around the work area

of his quarters, ventin g his fury in a string of

colorful oaths that threatened to corrode the

bulkheads. Zayle and Vreblin moved their chairs

closer to the walls to keep out of the commissioner's way

until his temper cooled. Norris, sitting behind the

table, ignored Montoya's outburst and continued

to run his dispatches through her computer. In the

adjacent sleeping area, Simons feigned sleep

and watched the scene through barely open eyes.

Montoya picked up a compact datapad from the

table and shook it violently. "I ask you-would I

say this?" he demanded of the room at large. was

"These events have shown the Kaldorni ambassador

to be an arrogant and obstinate individual with no

intention of negotiating any binding agreement with the

Federation or with the Beystohn Planets. I therefore

conclude we have no option but to terminate these

discussions forthwith." Would I say that? Just because we've

had a temporary misunderstanding?" His face flushed a

deep red. "So who the hell sent that message,

anyway?" Norris retrieved the datapad from

Montoya. In two-column format, it showed two

versions of

Montoya's morning dispatch to his supervisor.

One column was a copy of the dispatch he had

recorded and given to Simons to carry to the

Enterprise's communications officer. The report

summarized the difficulties they were having, but

emphasized Montoya's conviction that the

negotiations would resume shortly. Privately,

Norris thought Montoya's optimism was

premature, but she also knew that his

unflagging determination that negotiations would succeed had

brought worse fiascoes to acceptable conclusions. His

anger was as much at the suggestion of quitting before he

had explored every option for reopening negotiations as it

was at having his dispatches rewritten. Norris

read the altered dispatch again. It presented the same

facts, but interpreted them much differently. The

atypical conclusions of the counterfeit had alerted

Montoya's superior, and he had asked for

confirmation of the message. When the second

transmission did not agree with the first, he sent

Montoya copies of both dispatches. After almost

blowing out the bulkheads when he first read the forgery,

Montoya had cooled down enough to call his aides

together before his temper again approached the flash point.

"Joachim, who handled the tape besides yourself?"

Norris asked. Montoya whirled to face her, his

body taut with anger. Then her question registered, and

he froze in the center of the room. His forehead

wrinkled in concentration. "I wrote the report after

breakfast. Then we were scheduled to discuss your

transcript analysis, so I asked Cecilia

to take the tape to the communications officer." He

spun around and crossed to the room divider in three

quick strides. "Cecilia, what did you do

with that tape after I left?"

Simons stirred and raised her head, blinking as

if just awakened. "What, Yonnie?" she asked in

a drowsy voice.

"The computer tape with my dispatches. The one I

gave you this morning. Tell me everything you did from the

time I gave it to you until you sent it off." "It was

right there on the desk." She covered her mouth

to stifle a yawn. "I left it there while I

took my shower and got dressed, then I took it with

me when I went to breakfast. After that, I went to the

bridge and had the communications officer send it off.

Is anything wrong?" "Yes, something's wrong! The

message Rayleigh received is not the one I

recorded."

"I don't see how that could be." A bewildered

frown creased Simons" forehead. "The tape was in

our quarters or with me the whole time. Unless-was Her

eyes widened. "You don't suppose someone

slipped in here while I was in the shower, do you?"

Norris watched Simons, feeling a prickle

of suspicion grow as the woman talked.

Simons' act was good-very good-but it didn't ring

true. She's lying, Norris thought. Her story

doesn't fit.

"I have no idea!" Montoya's temper was again

approaching its eruption point. "But I didn't

record that damned message!" He whirled to face

Norris. "What does your computer say about the

tape?"

"I think it was altered." Norris tried to sound

as uncertain as she dared. "With your permission, I'd

like to see if the ship's cryptography banks have a

program that can confirm my suspicions."

"Do it!"

Norris pulled the tape from the computer, grabbed

the datapad, and hurried out the door. She knew that

Montoya had been using the new Kreylor

multilevel tapes, which retained everything recorded

on them until they were purged by a special command.

If someone tried to erase or write over data

without the command, the information was dumped to a storage

level. Norris' computer showed two generations of

tampering, but she did not want to discuss her findings

with Simons in the room. Also, to decode the

inactive blocks, she needed the Enterprise's

multichannel analyzer. She could identify a

copy of Montoya's original dispatch on one of the

tracks, but her machine was not powerful enough to disentangle

the layered messages on the rest of the

tape.

Janara Whitehorse mapped imaginary mountain

ranges across the ceiling over her bed. As a

meditation exercise, it would not win approval with her

Deltan instructors, but four boretelpn tablets

prevented her from achieving a proper trance. However,

the horror and revulsion she still received as the aftermath

of the security guard's murder disturbed her much more

than the drug-induced mental numbness.

The boretelin allowed her body to rest, but it

inhibited the meditation her mind craved. She had

been floating in the borderland between waking and dreaming for

some time when a knock on the door roused her. "Who

is it?" Her words sounded as blurry as she felt.

"Kristiann Norris. Would you mind talking

to me?" Janara levered herself into a sitting position,

shaking her head to clear away the fog. "Come," she

said to signal the computer. It unlocked the door and

Norris entered.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, but you were so

helpful earlier, and I have another problem my

computer can't handle. I'll go away if you're

busy, but I thought instead of bothering the captain,

I'd at least ask you first. Unless you're not feeling

up to it . . . after what happened."

"What-his Oh, that." Janara had difficulty

following Norris' rapid changes of subject.

"Something attacked a security guard in

Auxiliary Control. I heard his mental screams

when the assailant struck." Janara closed her

eyes for a moment, fighting to suppress the memory.

"It happens sometimes."

"I heard about the attack. The officers are

trying to keep it quiet, but everyone is talking just the

same. It sounded pretty gruesome." "Rather,"

Janara agreed in a dry tone. "As for the computer

work, you'll have to talk with the captainor at least Shan

Tenaida-anyway. They've put a lock on the

computer and are releasing programs on an

individual basis .... They'll probably

require someone from the ship to do the work for you. Why

don't you explain your problem, just in case?"

Norris outlined what she needed. As she listened,

Janara noticed how many sensitive details

Norris omitted while still covering the

significant facts. To Janara's particular

amusement, Norris projected her distrust of

Montoya's wife without mentioning Simons' name.

Someday, Janara decided, her ability to convey a

message by implication would earn Norris

an important position. "I think this should go

straight to the captain in private," Janara said

when Norris finished. "Shan Tenaida is clearing

programs for the crew, but you don't want to explain

this where everyone on the ship will hear you. Also, you'll

need Captain Kirk's authorization before you can touch

the programs you need."

She activated the intercom. Uhura answered

her. "Where's Captain Kirk?" Janara asked.

"I need his authorization for a program clearance."

"He's here on the bridge. You can talk to him

now."

Norris shook her head emphatically. Janara

nodded her understanding and asked Uhura, "Could he

meet me in my quarters? It's extremely

sensitive." The intercom went silent. A few

seconds later, Kirk reopened the channel.

"Lieutenant, would you explain yourself a little more

clearly?" Kirk's voice held a dangerous

edge. In the best of times, he disliked mysteries and,

at the moment, he already had several months' worth.

Janara picked her words carefully. "Miss

Norris has requested further assistance from the

Enterprise's

computers. An altered message was sent

through the ship's communications system. I thought you should

know."

"Thank you. I'll be down immediately."

Less than two minutes later, Kirk

barreled into Janara's quarters. His face had a

deadly serious cast, and he questioned Norris until

he had learned everything she knew.

"What I'm going to tell you now," he said, staring

at each woman in turn, "is not to go outside this

room. I'm telling you because you've guessed part of it

already, and I don't want you discussing your

speculations with anyone. Is that clear?"

Both women nodded.

"There's a spy on the ship who's been disrupting

our operations and who may be trying to sabotage the

negotiations. Those dispatches, Kris, are the first

direct evidence linking the spy to your mission.

I'll have to keep the tape after Tenaida analyzes

it."

"I'll need Commissioner Montoya's permission

for that. His dispatches are restricted communications."

"Anything that goes through the communications system of

my ship is my business-especially when it's been

altered. Tell the commissioner that, then bring the tape

to the bridge."

"Right away." Norris collected the tape and

her datapad, and left to find Montoya.

Kirk paced the length of the room. Now that he had

a chance to speak with Janara, he was unsure how

to make his request. "Lieutenant Whitehorse,

Lieutenant Tenaida sa ys you are a strong

telepath. I was wondering-that is, I wanted to ask

if you would use your ability to help us identify the

spy." Janara closed her eyes, fighting panic.

The thought of closer contact with the being that had killed

Yendes terrified her. "Shan Tenaida must also have

told you most telepaths don't enjoy looking

into other people's minds." Kirk nodded.

She watched the subtle play of his facial

muscles, seeking a measure of his desperation.

"I'll consider it, Captain, but it's not something I

will do willingly if there are any alternatives."

"Very well, Lieutenant. I'll remember that.

However, in return, will you consider the damage the

spy could cause if we don't catch him immediately?"

"Yes, sir." Even in her bleary state, the

elegance of Kirk's trap impressed her. If

she refused to help catch the spy, she opened herself

to the horrors of his next attack. Whether or not

she agreed to Kirk's request, her

mental tranquility would be compromised.

Taking her silence as a refusal, Kirk

strode from the room, grateful the trip to the bridge

allowed him to release some of his frustration. He could

order Janara to use her abilities to search for the

spy, but if she refused, any action he took

against her insubordination would only intensify her

determination to resist.

Federation law would support her refusal, even

if Kirk's motive was to save lives. Since

he had no viable options, Kirk found himself hoping

that Janara would agree before he resorted to issuing a

direct order. If Janara thought about the situation,

perhaps she would see that they had no choice. As the

door closed, Janara slumped against her pillows.

She needed rest more than ever, but the events of the last

hour had given her much to think about. Also, she had

to get her programs cleared so she could continue with the

Shansar problem. Dr. McCoy had declared her

unfit for duty, but she did not plan to let that

interfere with solving the troublesome equations. But before she

could finish organizing her evening's activities,

Janara was asleep.

n'Gelen 1'Stror Klee sat cross-legged

on the floor of his cabin, contemplating the

Representation of the Unities. He had placed it

on the wall, establishing this space as their Fortress

of Life, when he and his wives 160

had first entered the rooms. Symbolizing the spiritual

dimension of Kaldorni life, each family's

Representation was unique, created by the head of the

clan-its form visualized after the weeks of ritual

purification and fasting that the World's-Center Rite

comprised. Klee's Representation, an abstract

design of reds, rose-pinks, and brownish black,

served as the meditational focus for him and the extended

family that looked to him for both spiritual and secular

guidance. Every member could recite the vision that had

revealed the Representation to Klee, and all had

committed to memory the significance of each shape and

color.

Klee shifted position restlessly. He was unable

to enter the flow of the Universal Harmonies as

meditation before the Representation should have allowed. The

disharmonies of this mission were multiplying, the

wrongness expanding to engulf his family and his world.

His eldest wife knelt beside him. "You are not in

Harmony with the Universe today." Her voice was low

and sweet.

"I am not. Discord exists because I have

failed to protect those under my care. My grave

error is affecting the success of my mission and the

fate of our planet. I must atone for it, but I

cannot see the beginning of the discordance." He raised his

right shoulder, held the gesture for several seconds.

"How can one restore the Harmonies if the origins

of the Discord are not known?"

She rested her hand against his cheek. "Redress

those discordances you see now. Later, other

Disharmonies may be revealed, and those may be

corrected then. Where no reparations are made, the

Discord spreads until no remedy is possible."

He took her hand in his, stroking it while he

assessed her words. "You are most wise, Eldest

Wife. I thank the Universe that you are not among

the ones to 161

be taken from me." He tightened his fingers around

hers. "It is not that I would fight against the

Way-ofThings, but how I dread what I must do."

She touched her forehead to the floor, accepting her

duty. "We will prepare for the ceremony. Go now and

do what you must."

Joachim Montoya raged through his quarters,

taking target practice at the furniture with

stray pieces of clothing. The temper

tantrum did not improve the situation, but it was a

small outlet for his fury. His mood had

deteriorated when Norris had requested permission

to leave the altered dispatch tape with Captain

Kirk.

"Oh, Yonnie, I feel so terrible."

Simons' voice caught in her throat, trembling

as if she were about to cry. "I can't believe someone

would change your dispatches while I was taking my

shower." When he looked in her direction, she

shifted position to emphasize the full silhouette

of her breasts, but tears were gathering in her eyes.

"I feel so guilty." With an effort, Montoya

put a rein on his temper. He went to the bed and

took her in his arms. "It isn't your fault. It

would have taken a professional to do it without being

caught."

She burrowed her head against his shoulder.

Montoya felt his desire starting to build as she

pressed her body against his. It would be so easy,

he thought, to forget his problems and spend the afternoon

pleasing his wife. Simons gave him a look

calculated to arouse Methuselah. "I was afraid

you were mad at me for letting it happen."

"Of course not." He felt strangely

detached, as if his physical reactions belonged

to another man. Something teased his mind. First his

anger, and now the lust Simons engendered, threatened

to send it back into his subconscious. Her fingers

traced molten patterns across his chest and her lips

left fiery brands 162

along his collarbone. The tide of lust threatened

to drown him-and the half-formed idea snapped

into focus Cecilia was trying to distract him. Her

approach was plausible enough to work, but Montoya

survived by his ability to penetrate fagades.

A diplomat could not allow anyone, even his wife,

to interfere with his job.

Nor did Montoya believe in coincidences.

And the attempted seduction while he was still furious

over the forged dispatches was a startling coincidence.

He grasped Simons by the shoulders and pushed her

away. "I'm going for a walk. I want to sort this

out, and I won't be very good company until I do."

"If you must." She again sounded ready to cry. "I

must." He was through the door before she could stop him.

Montoya found Captain Kirk on the bridge.

He had just finished his shift and was turning the conn

over to the second officer. "Commissioner Montoya,

what can I do for you?" Kirk's voice was

almost cheerful, reflecting his satisfaction with the

uneventfulness of his afternoon.

"I was hoping you could answer some questions for me,

Captain." Montoya shifted his weight from one

foot to the other, unable to hide his uneasiness. "My

aide told you about my dispatches."

Kirk nodded, waiting for Montoya to get to the

point. "Could you tell me what time they were sent?"

Kirk turned to the communications officer. "Mr.

Laysa, would you-was "Aye, aye, sir," she

answered before Kirk completed the order. "What

else can we do for you, Commissioner?"

"I'd like the answer to that question first."

"Twelve thirty-six," Laysa said.

Montoya did a double take. That was almost four

hours after he had given the tape to Cecilia. "I

believe, Captain, I need some other questions

answered." He

ran a hand through his graying hair. "I gave the

dispatches to Cecilia about eight thirty. She said

she took a shower before she came to the bridge. Can you

verify her story?"

"Lieutenant, check the power usage logs for the

commissioner's quarters and see how long the shower was

running."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Was there anything else you needed?"

"If it's not too personal, I wanted to ask

when and where you knew my wife." At Kirk's

frown, he hastened to add, "I don't mean to pry

into your personal life, Captain. I am

merely-as Kris Norris would put it-playing a

hunch. I don't mean to offend."

After a moment, Kirk went to an unoccupied station

and retrieved the log of the Aeolus. He recorded

the data and handed the tape to Montoya. "That should

answer your questions. Anything else I told you would be

too subjective to be of value." With that, Kirk

strode off the bridge, leaving Montoya to stare at

his receding back. Tenaida and Brady exchanged

worried looks, wondering at the change in

Kirk's mood. A moment later, Montoya

left to find a quiet place to view Kirk's

log extract.

By midafternoon, the antidote had relieved the

Kaldorni's symptoms, and McCoy released the

women from Sickbay. Normally, he would have kept his

patients under observation for another day, but he felt

they would recuperate faster among their own people. Also,

in spite of the thermal blankets, the women

found the temperature in Sickbay uncomfortably

cool. However, McCoy was reluctant to set the

environmental controls any higher because his staff

didn't appreciate the tropical heat.

Ambassador Klee arrived at McCoy's

office five minutes after the doctor had released

Klee's wives.

Klee shifted his weight from one foot to the other,

waiting for the doctor to speak first.

McCoy pushed aside his notes on the

autopsy and motioned Klee to sit down. "What can

I do for you, Mr. Ambassador?"

"I would ask if the Doctor McCoy would

honor this humble servant by sharing food with him and those

that dwell with him. The honored Captain Kirk is

also to be invited. It is desirable to express

thankfulness for what you have done to save my people. Also,

I would be less than I already am if I failed

to expunge my debt to you in the manner of my people."

"Mr. Ambassador, you don't need to thank me.

I'm just glad we solved the problem so quickly."

"It would be a great privilege if the doctor

and the captain would allow this humble servant

to acknowledge the debt that is between us." "Then we'd be

delighted to accept the invitation. What time

do you want us there?"

"My eldest wife indicated she would be prepared

for the honored guests at 1900."

"We'll be there."

Klee stood. "If the doctor would excuse

me, my wives have need of my presence to prepare

for the ceremony."

"Of course, Mr. Ambassador." McCoy

called up the file for his autopsy report.

Klee's words did not register for several

seconds. "Ceremony? What ceremony?" He

looked up from the screen, but Klee had already left.

McCoy sighed in exasperation, but decided the

answer could wait. If he and Kirk had needed

to make special preparations, the Kaldorni would have

told him. He picked up his notes, hoping

to finish the report before he went off duty. He had

added two paragraphs when a voice interrupted

him. "Doctor, do you have a few moments? I need

to talk to you."

McCoy scowled at the interruption, then felt

all 165

thoughts of work leave him when he recognized the

woman in the doorway. "Come in, Cecilia."

He smiled and pointed at the empty

chair. Simons closed the door behind her. "I'm

not interrupting anything, am I?" "Just paperwork.

Having it interrupted is a relief. What can I

do for you?" McCoy put the computer on standby.

Simons melted into the chair. "Captain Kirk

ordered me to stay away from Janie. I wanted

to know why he would do that."

Watching the play of staged emotions flicker across

Simons' face, McCoy realized that she would

never accept the captain's restrictions, and the

doctor wondered if anything he could say would

convince her to obey Kirk's order. "Medically,

there's no reason she can't see you." Other than a

mild concussion and assorted scrapes and bruises,

McCoy thought. "However, she's been working too

hard, and I ordered her to get some rest. It sounds

like the captain extended that to exclude visitors."

He shrugged. "You'd have to ask him. We haven't

discussed the matter."

"I thought he would have confided in you."

McCoy struggled against the grin that quirked the

corners of his mouth. Simons' probing was far from

subtle. "The captain is under no obligation

to explain himself to me. If you want to know his

reasons, you'll have to ask him."

"I was hoping you could help me, Leonard.

Captain Kirk and I aren't communicating very

well." Simons sighed, and her expression became

a study of bewildered motherhood. "I know my

daughter and I don't get along the way we should,

but I do try. It's just that, for as long as I can

remember, she's gone out of her way to be as

difficult as possible."

McCoy felt himself sliding into the aura of

plausibility Simons was weaving. He caught

himself, swallowed the words of sympathy he had almost

spoken, and framed a more rational response. "Your

daughter 166

is an adult. She has the right to live her own

life. What you see as willfulness is how she

defends her choices."

"The Deltans are giving her no choice.

They're forcing her back to that planet so they can

brainwash her. Freedom has no place in how

they live. Everything is dictated by clan,

family, tradition, and duty." Simons gave a

short, bitter laugh. "Where's individual

freedom in that?" McCoy shook his head. "The

Deltan way of life is old and complex. It

may seem easy to some outsiders, but I

know it isn't, even for those born to it. However,

Delta Four has produced many scientists and

philosophers whose achievements are honored throughout

the Federation. A culture that produces such people can't

be all bad." He let that argument sink in, then

tried a different tack. "Have you considered this? On

the Enterprise, your daughter encounters more different

races and lifestyles in a week than many people see

in a lifetime. However she makes her decisions,

she doesn't lack information."

Simons' face darkened with anger. "That's not

what I was worried about, Doctor. But I'll

think about it anyway." She shoved herself out of the chair

and stalked from the room.

McCoy slumped in his chair, suddenly feeling

his age. He was getting too old to handle spoiled

passengers with gossamer diplomacy. And,

especially, he was getting too old to deal with women

who made him feel like the king of the universe one

minute and a useless fool the next. A veterinary

practice on a remote agricultural station was

sounding more and more attractive. McCoy grimaced,

realizing that fantasy would not finish the work he had in

front of him. With a sigh, he reactivated the

computer and returned to the autopsy

report.

Commissioner Montoya sat at attention. He

gripped the edge of Captain Kirk's worktable,

resisting the urge to prowl the perimeter of the room.

Kirk, 167

his hands resting on a noteboard, sat behind the table

with his Deltan science officer hovering at his shoulder

like a bodyguard. Montoya had not expected the

scientist; he had braced himself to confront the first

officer's boyish exuberance, but Brady's duties

had kept him elsewhere. Montoya broke the

silence. "I read through the records from the Aeolus

that you gave me, Captain Kirk. You were the

victim of some pretty bad luck." Kirk

shrugged, pretending a casualness he was far from

feeling. Montoya's opening told him that the

commissioner would not readily accept any criticism

of Simons. "The bad luck was too convenient for

my taste. Such things are rarely accidental."

"I don't believe in coincidence either,

Captain, but I would hesitate to condemn anyone

on such flimsy evidence." After reading the report,

Montoya felt Kirk had not handled the situation

well, and that the illness he had blamed on Simons

was obviously a cover for his own

incompetence. Kirk sensed the strength of the

commissioner's skepticism. He shoved the

noteboard across the table. "In any case,

Tenaida translated your tape. If I were you,

I'd watch whom I let near my dispatches. The

next person might recognize your Kreylor

multilevel tapes and purge the storage blocks

when they rewrite the message."

"I beg your pardon?" The change of subject

caught Montoya off-guard. "Mr. Commissioner,"

Tenaida said, "if you will look at the analysis,

you will see what the captain means. I believe the

third level on the tape contains your original

dispatch."

Montoya skimmed the text and nodded to confirm the

Deltan's statement. "That was replaced by a

second message. This one reported the same

facts, but interpreted them differently, which made

terminating the discussions the only reasonable option."

Montoya identified the forged message and nodded

again. "Now we come to the interesting part of that block.

Following your dispatch is a second report. Because

the Enterprise's computer had to send it, we've

determined the transmission vectors for the message.

However, we have not yet decoded the text,

and we may not be able to. It appears to be in a

moving-cipher code that requires knowledge of both the

substitution tables and the frequency with which they are

shifted. The third unit on that level is a

program to erase the memory tape and restore the

text of your dispatch, which was saved in the overwrite

program. The surface track is, of course, the

copy of your original message."

"And this reprogramming was done while Cecilia

was in the shower." Montoya stared at Kirk; his

voice was heavy with skepticism. "Someone took a

long shower this morning, using as much shower time as most

crew members use in a week. Furthermore, the

computer in your quarters was used for about two hours, but

it wasn't tied into the ship's memory, and everything was

erased before the unit was turned off." Kirk ran a

hand through his hair, looking for a way past

Montoya's disbelief. He could see the

commissioner's hostility etched in the harsh lines around

his mouth, and he knew Montoya would reject

everything he said if Kirk accused Simons

directly. "The computer usage time is consistent with

someone writing and recording a program, then dumping

the working files. But your wife would have known if someone

used your computer. She wasn't in the shower

that long."

"What are you implying, Captain?" A deadly

edge crept into Montoya's voice. "One of two

things, Mr. Commissioner. Either your wife lied about the

shower and rewrote your dispatches herself, or the person

using your computer was someone she expected there."

"I was with my aides all morning. No one

else should have been in my quarters."

"In the last few days, we've had trouble with some

of the ship's personnel appearing to be in two

places at once."

"I'll ask Cecilia, then. That would explain

things."

"A logical question, Captain. If I may?"

"Yes, Tenaida?"

"How would someone know when to come to the commissioner's

quarters to rewrite the dispatches?"

Kirk rubbed the back of his neck, trying

to loosen the tensed muscles. "An excellent

point, Tenaida. Do you have any ideas, Commissioner

Montoya?" "None, Captain. No one should have

known."

"That doesn't change the fact that someone did.

Tenaida, can we prevent an encore?"

Tenaida leaned forward, concentrating on

Kirk's words and trying to guess what the captain was

implying. "I think we can catch anyone who tries

it again. However, it will require some thought. I must be

certain I have anticipated all

possibilities."

"Good. Consider that a top priority." Kirk

turned to Montoya. "Commissioner, until we

catch this spy, I would feel better if you would

allow me to assign some of my security personnel

to personally protect you and your wife." Montoya

stared at Kirk in amazement. "You want your people

to follow me and my wife everywhere we go?" He

shook his head. "That is totally unacceptable,

Captain. I will not be kept under surveillance as

if I were the guilty party. Your guards will serve

both of us better by trying to capture the real

criminal."

"As you wish, Commissioner. However, may I ask

that you-and only you-handle your dispatches until we

catch the spy? And, please, don't discuss this with

anyone. Not even your wife, since your quarters

may be monitored." "Bugged? I want something

done about it at once!" Kirk shook his head.

"Knowing the spy may be

watching your quarters is to our

advantage. When we figure out how to trap him,

we'll use the bug against him. If we look for it

now, he'll know we're suspicious."

Anger and reluctance chased each other across

Montoya's face. "I suppose you're right,

Captain. If that's the best you can offer, I've

got work to do."

"I'm sorry we don't have instant solutions,

Commissioner, but catching spies is not what we're

trained for. We're doing the best we can."

"I understand, Captain." Montoya's tone was

laced with suspicion. He rose and headed for the

door with quick, angry strides. "He did not

believe you," Tenaida said after the door closed behind

Montoya. "No, he thinks we're hiding something.

And he's convinced that I'm making unjust accusations

against his wife." Kirk sighed, feeling his frustration

winding into a hard knot in his stomach. "Tenaida,

how do you manage it? This business has got me

tied up tighter than a Mertrovia'an's tail in

mating season, and you're as calm and unperturbed as

ever."

The Deltan circled the table and sat in the chair

Montoya had vacated. "Perhaps it is my mental

training. From earliest childhood, we of

Delta are trained to channel our emotions so they will

not disturb us when we cannot act upon them."

"I wish I had some of that training right now."

"It would take years to master, Captain.

However, there is a simple technique you could try.

Think of yourself as a rock, and the annoyances as the

rain. The rain flows over the rock and is absorbed

by the soil. When the storm passes, the water is

gone, but the rock is still there." "A rock in the

rain. I like that." Kirk closed his eyes for a moment

and focused on the image. Some of his tension seemed

to slide away. He would have preferred seeing the spy

confined to the brig, but Tenaida's image seemed

to help. "Back to business.

What's the probability that Simons altered the

dispatches?" "Eighty-seven-point-three percent,

assuming she does not know the spy we are looking

for."

"And if she does?"

"In that case, she either altered the tape, or

knew with certainty that it was altered."

"Could she be Admiral Chen's spy,

Tenaida?"

"I think not. Her records show no unusual

abilities of the kind we have postulated that

the spy must possess. In particular, she shows no

technical skills of the level required for

advanced biocosmetic work. Also, I have traced

her activities, albeit with difficulty, for most

of her life. Someone apparently has taken great

pains to hide the computer records of Simons'

movements, which tactic would require a thorough knowledge of

computer programming.

"When the records are deciphered, they show that many

interesting coincidences follow her, but I find no

pattern of direct action-especially not direct,

violent action. Certainly, her records show no

correlations to events like Ensign Yendes'

murder."

Kirk snorted. "We could argue that, Tenaida.

However, what was that you said about computer programming?

Anything like the examples showing up on our computer

lately?"

"That connection never occurred to me." Tenaida

looked stunned at having overlooked something so

obvious. "I'll look into it immediately. Captain,

may I ask what was on the tape you gave

Commissioner Montoya?" "Extract from the log of the

Aeolus. If you've been tracing Simons, you

know which one."

"Indeed. If you'll excuse me, I have work

to do."

"Of course, Tenaida. Oh, by the way, don't

work too hard to catch the person who's messing with the

commissioner's dispatches. If we give Simons enough

rope, I'm sure she'll hang herself. His

"I beg your pardon?"

"An old human expression, Tenaida. It

means, if she thinks we don't suspect her,

she'll get careless and make a mistake. Then

we'll at least know what game she is playing."

"That seems reasonable, sir. If we are too

stupid to catch the flaws in her story, she'll

assume we won't catch later mistakes, either."

Kirk nodded. "So we ignore her until she

steps into our trap. And hope the other spy gets

caught with her-since they seem to be working toward the

same goal."

"I see. I'll be in my quarters working on the

problem, if you need me." "Carry on,

Tenaida."

After the Deltan scientist had left, Kirk

threw himself on the bed. Somewhere there had to be a fast,

simple solution to this increasingly messy situation.

If only his tired brain would tell him

what it was.

The buzzer woke Janara from an uneasy

sleep. She pushed herself upright, rubbing her eyes.

She was groggy, both from the drug and from being awakened

suddenly. "Come."

The door slid open, admitting Simons. Her

mother looked contrite, and Janara was immediately on

guard. Simons wanted something, and she wanted it

bad enough to put on a major performance to get it. "I

came to apologize for what happened the other day,"

Simons said without preamble. "Dr. McCoy said

you could have visitors, so I came to tell you that

I've thought things over, and I shouldn't have lost my

temper." "It always seems to end that way, doesn't

it?" Janara searched Simons" face. Her

expression was controlled and gave no hint of true

repentance. The boretelin gave Janara a

welcome immunity from hearing her mother's thoughts, but the

drugged slowness of her mind placed her at a

disadvantage in the conversation.

Janara knew the apology could not be genuine, and

even if it were, she realized it had come years too

late. She no longer had anything she wished to say

to her mother.

Simons perched on the foot of the bed.

"I don't want to see my little girl trapped on

a world where sex is constantly demanded, but no one

knows anything of love."

Janara swallowed a sour grin. The sexual

openness of Deltan society and the Deltan ethic

against manipulating others for personal gain limited

what someone like Simons could do among Deltans.

Simons' opinions were biased by her prejudices.

"You make it sound as though Deltans are trained

to emulate Orion slave women. I assure you

that is not the case. Besides, I experience more than enough

emotion here on the Enterprise. was "Honey, you

don't even know what it means. Let me show you

what it's like to be a real, human woman."

Janara bit her tongue to hold back a bitter

reply. Some of her earliest memories were of

Simons' violent emotions. By the time Janara was

old enough to understand her psychic abilities and begin

to control them, she loathed her mother's turbulent

passions and all the benefits Simons claimed for

them. Finally, shaking with the effort of maintaining her

control, Janara found a neutral answer. "I

am not you, Mother, and I must live my own life.

Your choices may be right for you, but they aren't for

me."

Simons flushed with anger, but held her position

on the foot of the bed. She forced a cloying smile.

"Let's not fight about that now, darling. We can talk

about something else, can't we?"

"What should we discuss?" Janara heard the

change in her mother's tone-Simons was coming to the

purpose for the visit. "Well, there's everything that's

been happening on the ship. Yonnie's fit to be

tied over the problems with

his negotiations, and he's off at all hours

conferring with his aides. And now, to top it off, our

computer terminal is down, and Captain Kirk

won't send someone to fix it."

Janara lifted an eyebrow in a gesture

copied from Spock. Vulcan gestures were the only

thing that irritated her mother more than Deltan

mannerisms, and Janara hoped Simons'

annoyance would lessen her caution. Janara's

instincts told her Simons was lying, but even when

she concentrated, her head was too fuzzy from the

boretelin to register her mother's duplicity. "Could

I borrow your computer terminal for a while, darling?

I wanted to record messages for some friends. If

you don't mind, that is." "I don't mind."

Janara watched the tension leave her mother's

posture. "Unfortunately, the captain's blocked

off the entire computer system, and I haven't got

my console unlocked. Also, you'd have to clear your

programs through Shan Tenaida."

"What do you mean? Why's that?" Simons' body

snapped as tight as a drawn bowstring.

"I don't know. They said there was a system

glitch. Someone has to check each program

separately."

"That'll take forever. I just want to send some

messages. Surely you can arrange that much for your

dear mother."

""Fraid not. I can't even use my own

programs until I get them cleared." "I will

talk to the captain!" Simons stood, squaring her

shoulders with angry determination. "Surely he'll

let me use the computer for what I need to do."

"Don't count on it, Mother." Janara's voice

stopped Simons halfway to the door. "Captain

Kirk isn't very fond of you these days."

Simons whirled around. "How do you know that? Have you

been trying your nasty Deltan mind-reading tricks

on him?"

Janara laughed, enjoying the feeling of being at the

warp buoy ahead of her mother. "I've

seen his face when your name is mentioned. You are not one

of his favorite people."

"We'll see about that." Simons stomped out the

door. Janara dropped into her pillows and threw

an arm over her eyes. For the only time in her

life, she regretted not knowing what her mother was

thinking. Simons would never go through such an

elaborate charade just to record a few

messages. If she wanted access to Janara's

computer console, her reasons must equal the effort

expended on the performance. If Simons needed

to use the computer that badly . . .

Once the thought occurred to her, Janara could not

dismiss it. Finally, she reported the incident

to Captain Kirk. Afterward, she felt unaccountably

relieved. She stretched out, closed her eyes, and

was soon fast asleep.

Kirk and McCoy met outside the Kaldorni

ambassador's quarters. The doctor was fidgeting

with the collar of his dress uniform. Kirk shuddered,

feeling a sympathetic tightness around his own neck that

had nothing to do with the cut of the uniform. If he let

himself think about it much longer, he knew he would

develop as strong an aversion to dress uniforms as

McCoy. "What's the matter, Bones?

This uniform was your idea. Are you having second

thoughts?" "As a matter of fact, yes!" McCoy

gave his collar a second tug. "I was just

remembering how hot those women wanted my

Sickbay."

Kirk laughed. "You remember the old saying,

Bones comwhen in Rome..." "Yeah." McCoy

shrugged. "The ambassador was very anxious to give us

this thank-you dinner. He seemed to think he owed it

to us."

"Then, in the interests of diplomacy, perhaps we

shouldn't keep him waiting. I wish I knew a little

more about Kaldorni customs, though."

They entered, pausing at the door while their eyes

adjusted to the dim lighting and their bodies to the

oppressive heat. The temperature in the

Kaldorni's rooms was nearly the maximum the

Enterprise's environmental equipment could

produce, and McCoy was reminded once again of the

temperature in the ship's sauna.

Klee bowed to greet them, his movements

accompanied by the jingling of the jewelry that covered his

chest. His crimson robes were lavishly

embroidered with metallic thread and decorated with

gemstones. "Welcome, honored guests,

to our humble lodgings."

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances, uncertain

of the proper etiquette for a formal Kaldorni

evening. "The pleasure is ours, Kirk replied.

Klee's wives entered the room. In unison, they

gave McCoy an elaborate bow, followed by a

different, but no less complex, greeting to Kirk.

Three of the women wore dark brown robes and

black, heavy veils, while the other three were

dressed in rose-colored outfits and translucent

veils. Kirk was surprised to see their faces.

The robes were richly embroidered and trimmed with a

deep red that matched the ambassador's robe.

"If the honored guests would come this way-was The

women formed a corridor leading away from the door,

and the ambassador escorted Kirk and McCoy

into the cabin's workroom. The standard furniture was

gone. In its place, several sumptuous rugs were

spread in a circle. Perfumed candles burned on

every counter top, casting a mellow radiance that the

room's artificial lights could not match. Kirk

gave mental thanks to whoever had recorded the

Kaldorni's ceremonial use of candles in the

information the ship had received; without that warning

to reprogram the room sensors and the air

reprocessors, he shuddered to think what this display

would have done to the Enterprise's alarms and safety

system.

"The place of honor for the Doctor McCoy

and the

Captain Kirk is beneath the Representation of the

Unities." Klee gestured for them to kneel on the

rug under the large wall hanging. Kirk looked at

the tapestry, admiring the abstract design and warm

colors. The Kaldomi's clothing, he realized,

reflected the design in the wall hanging.

McCoy knelt, struggling to fold his legs beneath

him. By the time Kirk found a comfortable position, the

ambassador was seated opposite them. The three

women in the rose outfits knelt between Klee and the

two humans, but the other women disappeared, leaving

half of the circle empty. They returned a moment

later with a bronze tray holding a ceramic

figurine. It was about a third of a meter high and

intricately carved. Through the many openings, Kirk

saw the vermilion glow of coals burning in the

heart of the statuette. The figure reminded him of the

fire-god figurine he had once seen in

Spock's quarters. The women placed the tray before

Kirk and McCoy and retreated to the other

room.

"This is the Center of Harmonies," Klee said.

"It will witness this ceremony and record that all is

properly observed." He stretched his arms over his

head and bowed until his forehead touched the floor. The

women copied him, and after a slight hesitation, so

did Kirk and McCoy. Klee then led the women

in a sustained recitation in the Kaldorni

language. Antiphonal progressions of questions and

answers alternated with unison chants until

Kirk felt his pulse slip into the rhythms set

by the Kaldorni voices. At times, the women in the

other room intoned a counterpoint to the dominant

cadences.

After a while, Kirk found himself wondering how

long the ritual was going to take. He kept thinking

of all the things he should be doing to catch the spy, and

worrying about what the intruder was doing while he was

trapped here in a hot room by the Kaldorni love

of ceremony.

When the chant finally ended, the Kaldorni

unfolded from their prone positions. Kirk gritted

his teeth and struggled to lift his torso; he found that,

after remaining prostrate for so long, his muscles were

reluctant to move. McCoy, he noted

sourly, sat up easily, and Kirk vowed to get

even with the doctor later for showing up his captain.

The brown-robed women returned carrying brass

trays heaped with food. The other women took the

platters and knelt in a semicircle in front of

Kirk and McCoy. One at a time, each woman

extended her arms and offered her tray to the captain.

While Klee explained her gift, each woman

bowed deeply, first to Kirk and then to McCoy.

"This is Joy-of-Morning. She brings you

sweetness of spirit and willing eagerness in all things.

This is symbolized by the fruits and flowers she

gives you." The woman's willowy grace enchanted

Kirk. A small smile briefly lit her

heart-shaped face as she presented the tray.

"Shade-in-Sun is the quiet one. She brings you

calmness of temper and a steadiness for work. This is

symbolized by the cheese and the meat she brings."

Kirk felt himself sliding into her wide, misty

eyes. She broke the contact and stared at the floor

for the rest of the presentation. "Fire-in-Night is the

restless one. She is much skilled in the musical

arts and knows many ways to delight the senses. This is

symbolized by the candies and pastries she bears."

With liquid, hummingbird movements, the

woman offered her tray to Kirk. Her swift

smile was molten and sensual. "Now, most honored

guests, it is required that you consume a mouthful from

each tray, and present to your servants a selection

from that tray." Kirk nodded to show he understood. He

chose a small, bluish red fruit and shared it with

McCoy. It was both tart and sweet, and the juice

ran down his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of

his hand.

When he gave fruits to each Kaldorni

woman, they ate with dainty bites. Kirk

repeated the ritual with the meat and the pastries. As they

finished, the brown-robed women appeared with a tray of

eating platters. Joy-of-Morning took the tray,

knelt before Kirk, and offered it to him.

"Our honored guests may now select

platters and fill them with the foods of their choice.

After that, the others will follow."

Kirk took the top platter and loaded it with

food; McCoy took smaller servings. When they

had settled back to eat, each of the rose-garbed

Kaldorni women filled a plate and returned

to her original place in the circle. The

brown-robed women carried the food to Klee. He

thanked them and loaded his platter

to overflowing. Only then did the three women fill

platters for themselves and retire to the other room

to eat. They all ate in silence, broken only by the

jingle of the Kaldorni's jewelry. After a few

bites, Kirk understood why Ambassador Klee

was so overweight-the food was delicious! Kirk

wondered why all the Kaldorni were not more obese-he

knew he would overindulge if he were served a steady

diet of such food. For a while, the captain forgot

his impatience with Kaldorni formalities and enjoyed

his meal.

McCoy, watching him eat, made a mental

note to give him another detox pill when they

left. One capsule should have counteracted the trace

substances in the Kaldorni food that were harmful

to human metabolism, but Kirk was eating too

much.

When everyone had cleared their plates-except for the

ritual amounts of fruit, meat, and pastry that were

fed into the Center of Harmonies-the brownrobed women

removed the remnants of the feast. They returned with

two hyaline goblets and a tall flask made of

interwoven multicolored glass ropes. The

tallest woman unstopped the flask and

half-filled the smaller cup with the deep

green liquid. She set the

chalice in front of the ambassador and stood behind

him with her dark-robed co-wives.

Fire-in-Night heated the flask over the

Center of Harmonies until the liquid turned a

pale blue. She filled the larger cup and offered it

to Kirk with a deep bow.

"The most honored captain should drink deeply

of the Fire-of-Life, and then give the honored

doctor and each of his humble servants a taste of the

Fire. After this, he may finish the cup."

Kirk sipped cautiously. The drink was warm and

had a pleasant smoky aftertaste. He took a

larger swallow before passing the cup to McCoy and the

three Kaldorni women. When the last woman had

taken her ritual mouthful, Kirk drained the cup.

Klee picked up his own drink, swallowed the

liquid in one gulp, and inverted the cup on the

floor. "I have now paid my debt to those I can no

longer protect, and have passed their guardianship

over to one who has proven himse lf more capable of their

care. May the Balance of the Universe be restored,

now that I have atoned for my failure to fulfill my

responsibilities, and may my honor be

sufficient to achieve the great mission my people

have required of me."

At first, Kirk heard only the finality in

Klee's voice that released him from the interminable

formal evening. Then he realized Klee intended

something more than an elaborate farewell to his

guests. "What? Wait a minute. What did you

say?" A dawning realization began to spread in

Kirk's mind.

McCoy, realizing that his subconscious had

suspected the purpose of the ceremony from the start,

struggled to suppress a grin. "The medicine of your

dependent, the honored Doctor McCoy, cured

these women where the methods of my people could not. You have

proven yourself more worthy to care for them than their former

husband." Klee sounded ready to break into tears.

He looked at Kirk wi/lly. "A person

with as

much status as the honored captain should have enough

wives to reflect that status. May the venerable

captain cherish and care for his new wives, and may

they serve him well, as long as he preserves his

Harmony-with-the-Universe." With that, Klee

climbed to his feet and led the three brown-robed

women from the room. Kirk was surprised that the

squat Kaldorni could move so quickly.

He stared at the women kneeling before him. His

wives? Kirk shook his head, trying to clear it.

That wine must have been stronger than I thought. I

couldn't have heard him say that! He looked again at the

women, and decided his ears had not deceived him.

McCoy, kneeling beside him, was having trouble containing

his amusement.

Honor, duties, responsibilities-he

tried to remember the words Klee had used, so he

would have the appropriate ammunition to discuss the

situation with the Kaldorni. Before he found an argument

he thought might stand a chance, the women took charge.

They rose to their feet and began tugging on his arms.

"Come." "Home go." "Captain home." They

repeated the phrases as they pulled him toward the

door. Finally, he yielded and took them to his

quarters. With luck, the Universal Translator

would allow him to straighten this out. As they walked down

the corridor, McCoy's broad grin only

emphasized the impossibility of the situation. "You

seem to be enjoying this," Kirk grumbled, making a

sour face.

"You mean, you-all aren't?" McCoy gave him

a wide-eyed, innocent look. "I thought having

several wives was the ultimate

spaceman's fantasy. Now you'll never have

to worry about not getting enough exercise."

Kirk scowled. "You're forgetting that even the

cargo handler on a garbage scow likes to choose his

partners."

McCoy's grin widened. "I haven't

forgotten. But the ambassador must not have heard."

They stopped at the door of Kirk's quarters.

"I have some things to do in Sickbay. Enjoy getting

to know your new wives. And don't forget to take

another detox pill."

"Right." He watched McCoy disappear down the

corridor, plotting how to get even with the doctor for

his amusement. It did little to help his mood when it

occurred to him that, by any logic he knew, the women

should have been McCoy's. Shaking his head, he showed

the Kaldorni women into his quarters. His first

plan was to convince them to return to the ambassador.

After an hour of discussion in his quarters, he gave

up. All three women insisted it was their duty

to care and provide for the honored Captain Kirk,

whose servant, the honored doctor, had saved their

lives with his medical skills. Kirk's arguments

made them weep and beg him to tell them how they had

displeased their worthy husband, but nothing he

said could make them return to Ambassador

Klee's quarters. Defeated, Kirk adjusted the

temperature as high as it would go and ordered extra

blankets for the women. Then he settled himself for a

long and uncomfortable night in the chair by his

worktable.

"MAY I BE PERMITTED t0 sit here?"

Kristiann Norris swallowed a mouthful of her

breakfast. "Speaker t'Stror, of course, have a

seat. I haven't seen much of you lately."

"I have been performing atonements for not perceiving my

master's orders as he wished." t'Stror slid

into the chair. "He has been involved with family

concerns and has only just now ordered that I inquire

if there is a way to correct the disharmony I have

caused."

"Which of the ambassador's orders did you

misperceive?" "He instructed that I should explain

That-Which-Is to the commissioner so he might understand the

ways of our people. I was hasty in my judgment that I

could find no way in which to do this. It is now the command of

my master that I see if the Commissioner Montoya

would find it no loss of honor to forgive the error of

this unworthy servant and allow my ambassador

to explain the concepts I could not."

Norris bit into her toast and chewed slowly.

When she thought t'Stror had waited long enough, she

answered. "I can't promise anything until I

talk with Commissioner Montoya, but I believe he

will consider

reopening the discussions. If you will wait here,

I'll talk it over with him."

"I will be most impatient in anticipating a

response that will restore my good favor in the eyes

of my master."

"I'm on my way, then." Norris hurried

to her quarters and asked Montoya, Vreblin, and

Zayle to join her at once. The previous evening,

an annoyed Montoya had told his aides that

Kirk suspected there was a listening device in his

quarters. Norris was grateful for an excuse

to hold the meeting in her quarters-without Simons

lurking in the background. Within five minutes, the

three men had arrived. Montoya was last.

"What's this about?" he demanded as he came through the

door. Norris grinned, anticipating the effect

of her news. "I just talked with Speaker t'Stror

in the messroom. He asked if we would consider

reopening the discussions. He said he had misperceived

the ambassador's instructions, and had been

required to atone for his errors. He was ordered

to learn if you would forgive his error and allow

Ambassador Klee to explain the concepts

t'Stror was unable to get across."

"I think we can arrange that," Montoya said with

his first real smile since the Kaldorni delegation

had walked out of the briefing room. "However, we

don't want to appear too eager. What exactly

did t'Stror say?" Norris repeated the

conversation. As she finished, Montoya glanced at his

chronometer. "I think he's waited long enough.

Tell him we'll consent to meet with Ambassador

Klee in half an hour in the briefing room."

Montoya's triumphant smile widened, and his

eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. "Let's

see what we can get away with. Tell t'Stror

we will forgive his errors more quickly if he convinces the

ambassador to let us use our Universal

Translator. To minimize further misunderstandings,

of course."

"Of course." Norris chuckled with delight.

The Universal Translator was the perfect

concession to demand from the honor-conscious Kaldorni.

She left the three men planning their next move

while she delivered Montoya's

message.

Kirk leaned back in the chair, nursing his third

cup of coffee. Half his breakfast remained on the

plate. After spending the night sleeping at his

worktable, he felt tired and groggy and not the least

bit interested in food. It had been a relief

to escape for a quiet breakfast without the Kaldorni

women.

McCoy joined him as he refilled his cup for the

last time. "You really enjoyed seeing me get stuck

with all those women, didn't you, Bones?"

"I'm sorry, Jim. I just never thought of you as

the marrying type." Although he managed to keep his

expression neutral, McCoy's eyes twinkled

with amusement.

"And just what am I going to do with them now? If you

think there's room in my quarters for three wives,

you're sadly mistaken."

McCoy gave him a sympathetic smile.

Although the officers" cabins on the Enterprise were

large in comparison to those on a scout ship or cargo

vessel, McCoy could not imagine sharing his quarters

with three other people. And a commanding officer's need for

privacy in his off-duty time was even greater than a

doctor's. "I don't know what you're

going to do. I'm not a diplomat, remember. Why

don't you put Brady and Tenaida to work on it?

If they can't come up with something, you may have to resign

yourself to married life."

"Speaking of those two, I'm supposed to meet with

them shortly. I'd better get moving." Kirk

pushed himself to his feet, summoning the energy he

knew he would need today.

"Me, too. Stop by my office later if you

need some friendly advice." "Thanks, Bones. I

may take you up on that."

Shaking his head, McCoy watched the captain

leave. Kirk looked very tired. Diplomatic

missions were not his favorite, but this one, with its

additional problems, was weighing heavily on him. And

his Kaldorni "wives," McCoy suspected, were

not going to make the situation any easier.

Kirk, Brady, and Tenaida sat around the table

in the briefing room. The three of them seemed lost

in the large room, but until Kirk persuaded the

Kaldorni women to leave, his own cabin was too

crowded to work in. Kirk fiddled with his empty

coffee cup while Tenaida summarized the

detective work he had done the previous evening.

"So you think Simons is one of our

unauthorized computer programmers?" Kirk asked

when the Deltan finished talking.

"The probabilities are-was

Kirk shook his head and held up his hand. "It's

too early in the morning for that, Tenaida. I trust

your probabilities, so log them in the computer, and

tell me your conclusions." Kirk rubbed his gritty

eyes. He felt as though he hadn't slept in a

week, and he wondered idly if there was a

corollary to Special Relativity that required

time dilation effects to work selectively on

sleepless nights. "I could sure use another cup

of coffee now." "If you would prefer, we can

postpone this until you get some more-was "No, the

doctor would say I've had enough already. Continue with

your report."

"Though I can't be certain that it was Ms.

Simons who reprogrammed the vari-grav control

unit or added the subroutines to the Kaldorni's

food synthesis program, the skills required

are similar to those

needed to alter a person's history in computer

records. Therefore, the probabilities are that those

changes were made by Ms. Simons or by someone who

knows her well. She may have an

accomplice, although as yet I have no evidence

to prove such a person exists."

"No, you're wrong." Brady leaned forward, his

body taut with conviction. "Remember the message

added on to the commissioner's dispatch tape. That went

to someone, and Simons is the most likely suspect

for sending it." Tenaida's eyebrows drew together

into a solid line. "True. However, we don't

know who got the message, or what it contained. It

might be completely unrelated to these matters."

"Want to bet?" Brady's eyes were

uncharacteristically serious. "Have you made any

progress on decoding the message or determining

its destination?" Kirk asked.

"No." Tenaida frowned. "The coding

structure doesn't follow any standard pattern,

and the computer hasn't determined the basis for the

encryption schedule yet. The coordinates suggest

it was sent to a vessel located beyond our sensor

range."

"I knew you were going to say that," Kirk

grumbled. "It goes without saying that they don't

want us to know they're there."

"That is a safe assumption."

"If someone on the Enterprise is

transmitting to them-was Kirk's eyes widened with

sudden hope. "Could they be transmitting back?

Mr. Brady, have Communications check, will you?"

Brady nodded, but the intercom whistled before he could

say anything. Kirk reached for the control pad.

"Kirk here."

"Captain, Commissioner Montoya wanted you

to know that the Kaldomi have reopened the negotiations."

"Thank you, Uhura. Would you send Janara

Whitehorse down here immediately?" "Aye, aye,

Captain."

"Kirk out."

Brady's face wrinkled into a half-frown at

the captain's apparently irrelevant order.

Tenaida's face lit up with curiosity. Kirk

gave them little time to think about it. "With most of the

Kaldorni in one place, we'll try to find the

wolf in sheep's clothing."

"I beg your pardon, Captain?" Brady

asked.

"The spy."

"Shan Janara may not wish to search the

Kaldorni's minds," Tenaida said. "And you cannot

order her to conduct such an investigation without

violating the Federation Telepathic Rights

Statutes."

"I think Lieutenant Whitehorse will be

delighted to do it, when I explain things properly."

Kirk's mouth tightened with determination. Tenaida

frowned at the implied threat in Kirk's words. The

Deltan realized he still had much to learn about

humans. Quite apart from the difficulty of conducting such

a search without violating Federation law, Kirk's

proposal created a tricky maze of ethical

questions. The door buzzer interrupted Tenaida's

thoughts.

"Come," Kirk said. Janara entered the room.

"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I asked before if

you would help us identify the spy aboard the

Enterprise. his

Her body went rigid with suppressed emotion.

"Captain, I detest close contact with other people's

minds, and I protest your efforts to force me

to conduct this search."

"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I can

appreciate your feelings, but we're after the being who

killed Ensign Yendes. Do you really want to let

that thing continue to roam the Enterprise?"

Janara seemed to shrink into herself. The silence

stretched as she examined her

alternatives. "However,

your logic is inescapable, Captain. What would

you have me do?" "We think the spy is one of the

Kaldorni. The negotiations are about to resume, and

I want you to replace Yeoman Menon, who's

recording the sessions. From her station, you can examine

the Kaldorni and see if our spy is there."

"One of the Kaldorni?" The question was more curious

than surprised. "Yes. We think the spy is

hiding among the ambassador's party and using his

position as a cover for his activities."

"Her." Janara's voice was flat. "I

believe I know who the spy is." "What?"

"Captain, do you remember the problem Ms.

Norris was having with her translating computer?"

When Kirk nodded, Janara continued, "The machine

was consistently assigning a female voice to an

apparently male Kaldorni. At the time, Ms.

Norris and I decided the problem was caused by an

unknown peculiarity of Kaldorni biology.

However, on the basis of what you've just said, I

believe the one called t'Stror is the spy.

[*macr] "t'Stror? He's the

ambassador's right-hand man." Brady's voice

rose in disbelief.

"That could explain the trouble Commissioner Montoya

is having with the negotiations," Tenaida said.

"It could, at that." Kirk paused, evaluating the

new information. Unfortunately, it did not prove that

t'Stror was the person they wanted. "Lieutenant

Whitehorse, would you still report to the briefing

room? We need to be sure t'Stror is the spy

before we arrest him-I mean, her." Kirk shook his

head in frustration. "Whatever the correct gender,

would you confirm that t'Stror is the spy?"

Janara stared at the wall behind Kirk. The

briefing room was austere and impersonal. In

contrast to the

bland setting, Kirk's determination to achieve his

goals blazed like a supernova. Once Kirk had

decided her telepathic abilities could help him

and his crew, Janara realized, nothing she-or

anyone else-could say would deflect the captain from

his chosen course.

Even Federation law, Janara suspected, was an

annoyance for him to circumvent, if it interfered with his

ability to protect his crew. Janara shuddered at

the thought of deliberately contacting the alien presence

she had sensed aboard the Enterprise, but realized

circumstances made refusing Kirk's

request almost impossible. Even as she acknowledged

this, she knew she could not yield the principle that

justified her initial refusal. Bowing her head,

she said, "Under protest, Captain, I will do as you

ask." "Your objections are noted, Lieutenant

Whitehorse. And thank you." Janara accepted his

words with a tight-upped nod and left the room. "How

did you know she would agree?" Tenaida asked. "The

look on her face after Yendes was killed. I

figured another murder would be the more painful option for

her. I just had to state my case in those terms."

"Your analysis was correct, but I don't

understand how you reached your conclusion. Our people are

conditioned from birth to abhor intruding on another

being's privacy."

"I simply chose the only remaining logical

alternative to our problem," Kirk answered with a

slight grin that faded almost instantly. "Right now,

I've got a new problem I need some help with."

"Captain?"

"I think I'm married. The Kaldorni, on the

other hand, know I'm married. You two have to find me

a way out of it."

Brady opened his mouth, but the expression on

Kirk's face convinced him that not even

friendship

would save him if he wasn't careful. His jaw

snapped shut. Swallowing once, he tried for a

neutral tone. "You're married, Captain? How

did that happen?" "I'm not exactly sure, but-was

Kirk described the previous night's events,

trying to remember every detail, whether it seemed

important or not. "That's it. They're in my

quarters now, and I spent the night in the chair.

Damn uncomfortable place to sleep, too." He

rubbed the small of his back to ease the stiffened

muscles.

"Three of the Kaldorni ambassador's

wives?" Brady scratched his head, amazed. The

women had kept to their quarters since coming aboard,

and the ship's grapevine was rife with speculation over

their isolation. A puzzled look crossed

Brady's face as he tried to evaluate the

effect this development would have on their dealings with the

Kaldorni. "I didn't ask for any jokes,

Mr. Brady." Kirk realized he was

overreacting, but Brady's expression reminded him

of the third-rate comic whose act consisted of an hour's

repertoire of Starfleet jokes. "You've got

to get me out of this!"

"According to Federation law," Tenaida said, "a

marriage ceremony is legal and binding if the

participants accept it as such. By taking part m the

ritual, it is presumed that you accept its

validity."

"But, Tenaida, nobody told me it was a

marriage ceremony until it was over. Nobody in

the Federation even knew what their marriage ceremony

was, until they sprang this on me. There has

to be a way to get me out of this. I don't want

three wives! Besides, do you know how hot they've

got the temperature in my quarters? A Vulcan

might enjoy it, but another hour of it will kill me!"

"Captain, I am certain the environmental

controls cannot be set to lethal temperatures."

"Well, it feels like it. I'm depending on you

to find me a way out of it."

"Tenaida says it's legal, Captain.

Besides, have you considered the repercussions of telling the

ambassador you don't accept the validity of his

ceremony?"

"What if I stay married? He expects me

to treat them the way a normal Kaldorni husband

would. And I haven't a clue how to do that." "It is

a delicate problem in diplomacy,

sir." Tenaida canted his head to the side. "I will

research the legal and cultural ramifications and

see if I can find an answer to your dilemma."

Kirk sighed. "Thanks, Tenaida. Talk with

Kristiann Norris, while you're at it. She's

been studying the Kaldorni for Commissioner

Montoya, and maybe she can help."

"All right, Captain. I'll start immediately."

"Thanks, Tenaida. A lot." Kirk stood,

arching his back to loosen the cramped muscles.

"I'm getting that other cup of coffee now. Does

anyone want to join me?" B oth Brady and

Tenaida refused, insisting they had work to do.

Kirk played with his coffee cup, wishing he had

gotten more sleep. Even if McCoy let him

borrow his quarters, he doubted a nap would give

him any more rest. Besides, a captain should be an

example for his crew. Kirk sighed and drained his

cup.

"Oh, Jimmy, how nice to see you. Do you mind

if I join you?" Cecilia Simons stood at the

end of the table.

"I was heading for the bridge."

"I wanted to talk over old times with you. If

I didn't know better, Jimmy, I'd

think you were avoiding me."

Kirk forced himself to smile. "On a ship this

big, the commanding officer has many duties."

"Surely you must have some time for yourselfand me."

Kirk took a deep breath to calm himself, and

immediately regretted it. Her perfume was overpow-

ering, drowning him in its cloying fragrance. He

shook his head to clear it. "There's more to the captain's

job than you would think. Right now, I am very busy."

"Tell me what it's like to be a starship

captain, then. I'm dying to know everything you've been

doing."

"Not right now, Ms. Simons. I'm due on the

bridge." He stood, taking his cup to put in the

recycler on his way out.

"Jimmy, could you do me one little favor?" Her

voice was low and sultry, calculated to make any

man beg to please her. Kirk felt the hackles

rise along the back of his neck.

"What's the favor?" he asked, fighting against

her strange allure. How does she do it? he

wondered.

"I wanted to record some messages in my

free time." She gave him a diffident smile.

"I mean, since I can't visit with

Janie-was "Yes, continue." Kirk's voice was

cold.

"Anyway, I wanted to write some

messages-was She slid her food tray onto the

table and moved closer to him. Her hand caressed his

throat in rhythm with the thunder of his pulse. He

swallowed hard, uncomfortably aware of how close

to him she was standing. Then he remembered Tenaida's

instructions to be "as a rock in the rain." He

visualized himself as a stone, inert and unyielding, and

felt the pressure of Simons' sex appeal

lessen. "comand I couldn't get any of the computer

consoles to work for me. When I asked, everyone said

your science officer had cut off access to the computer,

and I'd have to get a security code from him." She

shrugged, acting bewildered. "He said he wasn't

authorized to give out codes to passengers."

"I'll talk to him about that," Kirk said.

"Jimmy, could you please give me the code? I

don't want to talk to him again. He scares me.

I'm afraid he'll do something to me."

Tenaida won't, but I may! Kirk shuddered

with the 194

force of his anger. He plucked her hand from his

shoulder. "Ms. Simons, I told you

I didn't want to hear any more of your

anti-Deltan remarks. As for your computer

access, I put Tenaida in charge of assigning the

codes, and you'll have to get yours from him. However,

I'll tell him to have it ready when you ask."

"Very well, Captain." Dismissing Kirk,

Simons threw herself into a chair and began eating her

breakfast. Her anger showed clearly in the tight

lines around her mouth. Kirk took one final

look, noticing the wrinkles around her eyes and how

she tried to disguise her age with makeup. When her

attention was focused elsewhere, it was difficult

to understand why she was so irresistible. He turned

away, eager to escape before she thought of anything

else she wanted from him.

Janara checked the indicators that reported the

status of the recording equipment in the briefing

room. Two units ran at all times, and a

backup recorder was ready, if needed, to replace

either of the primary units. She felt conspicuous, as

though she had no right to witness the negotiations. She

concentrated on the people seated around the table and tried

to suppress her revulsion for such telepathic

probing. To isolate the spy, she had to lower her

mental defenses, becoming vulnerable

to stray projections. Although she tried to focus on

the briefing room, Janara caught flashes of the

crawling sexual heat she associated with her mother's

attempts to suborn some hapless male. As it had

since childhood, exposure to her mother's tactics

induced a violent attack of nausea. With an

effort, she brought her stomach under control, fighting

her instinct to retreat into catatonia. She

rechecked the Kaldorni in the room, but t'Stror

was still absent. Janara wished he would return, so

she could determine if he was the

spy. None of the Kaldomi in the room had a

mental signature even close to that of the savage

predator she feared.

To control her agitation, Janara started some

calming exercises to keep her mind detached and

receptive. Once she reassembled her

defenses, Janara knew she could never force herself

to lower them enough to identify the alien. When the contact

came, she was unprepared for it. One moment, she was

checking the recording equipment and trying to ignore the

thoughts of a passing crewwoman. The next thing she

knew, the giant cat was inside her skull,

shredding her brain with its claws. Janara lashed out

in fear and pain. The mental projection

retreated in surprise, and Janara slammed her

shields into place. She envisioned a polished

metal wall encircling her mind, and the cat's

renewed attack bounced off without touching her. With

difficulty, she focused on the scene in the room.

While she was fighting off the telepathic attack,

t'Stror had entered and was now talking with the

ambassador. Janara opened a crevice in her

mental wall, probing for t'Stror's mind.

The second attack was as vicious as the first.

Janara reinforced her defenses, hoping they would

repel the assault. When the mental pressure

abated, she realized t'Stror was staring at her. The

hatred on his face matched the savagery of the

telepathic attack. Janara forced herself to look

away. Every muscle in her body was shaking.

Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott grumbled

about the ship's incompetent dietitian as he

checked the information on his reader board against the

equipment displays. The waste recovery system could

not handle the discrepancies in Leftwell's

parameters for the Kaldomi food program. The

incorrect input settings had overloaded the trace

element processors, crashing the entire

subsystem. Scott was still muttering 196

about the abuse to his machinery when the room lights

brightened, then every indicator on the main panel went

red.

He hit the intercom switch. "What's

happening?" "There's a rupture in the fuel flow.

The magnetic field collapsed and the portside

engines dropped off line."

"On my way." The noteboard hit the counter and

bounced to the floor as Scott ran for the

turbolift. He skidded into the main control room

as the power levels dropped to zero.

"Emergency power!" He grabbed the edge of the

counter and hooked his foot under the top rung of the

ladder to anchor himself against the sudden loss of

gravity. While he slapped all the override

switches he could reach, Layne's hands flew over

the panel, cueing in the sequencing commands. The

gravity generators gave a stomach-twisting

pulse, then settled back to half power as the

system switched over to batteries. The intercom

sounded before they finished shifting to the backup systems.

"Scott!" Kirk yelled. "Why did you cut

power from the warp engines?" "We dinna do it,

Captain."

"Bridge monitors show the warp

engines were taken off line by someone in Engineering."

"I'll check, Captain. But I dinna

authorize it. Scott out."

"We thought you went to check the dilithium converter

assemblies. Dettner went to help you," Layne

said.

"Thank you. I'd better get down there."

Scott tripped over something at the base of the

ladder. He leaned down and turned the body over.

Even in the red glow from the emergency lighting system,

the deep gashes showed through the dark blood on

Dettner's face. Scott shouted up to Layne,

"Get a medical team. And Security, on the

double."

"What is it?"

"Someone's attacked Dettner. Probably

whoever

took out our engines. Get that security team!"

Scott looked around, searching for any sign of

unauthorized personnel. No one was in sight.

He shook his head, realizing anyone who knew enough

about the Enterprise to take the engines off line also

knew enough to do it from the maintenance section. "You're not

going after the intruder, are you?" Layne asked.

Next to the ladder was an equipment locker.

Scott took out the largest wrench he could find and

hefted it. "Aye, I am." The idea did not

make him happy. "We canna leave any

stranger with our power systems for any longer than we

must."

Scott crossed the engineering room, pausing

to check the dilithium assemblies. They were

untouched. Behind him, he could hear Layne sending for

assistance. He reached the maintenance section, but the

door was locked from the inside. Swearing to himself in

Gaelic, Scott removed the access panel and

entered the override code.

The door slid open, revealing a complicated

array of equipment, monitors, and subsystem

modules. The ship's functions were controlled

by panels in the main engineering room, but for the ship's

safety, every aspect of the engineering and life

support equipment could be independently monitored

and adjusted by equipment in the maintenance section. The

intruder was in the far corner of the room. A man of

Scott's height and build, wearing a blue-gray

Engineering uniform, hovered over the regulator

unit for the warp engines. The flickering indicator

lights threw sinister patterns across his cheeks.

Scott ran forward. The man looked up,

and Scott froze. The resemblance was so exact that

the engineer felt he was looking in a mirror.

The intruder yowled-a chilling sound more

appropriate to a Koorane nightstalker-and

charged. His fist caught the chief engineer in the

face. Scott l ost his balance and fell, hitting his

head against the edge 198

of a counter. The intruder turned, shoved home

several switches on the control panel, and ran for the

access hatch to the lower decks. The room spun

around Scott. He struggled to rise, but had only

reached an unsteady sitting po sition by the time the

security men and the first officer found him.

"Did you see the intruder?" Brady asked.

Scott felt the back of his head. His fingers

came away bloody from a small cut. "Aye.

I thought I was looking at myself," he said.

"What?"

"He looked more like me than my own twin

brother."

"How close did you get to him?"

Scott glanced at the blood on his fingers.

"Close enough."

Brady stared at Scotty, bewildered. Kirk

had seen the spy trying to impersonate him,

but they all had been convinced that the disguise would not

pass close inspection. How could the intruder have

fooled the chief engineer at such proximity? It

made no sense. The skills and equipment

required to produce such a perfect impersonation were

monumental. "Is this where you found him?"

"Aye, but I dinna ken how long he was in here

before we caught him. We'll have to check everything before

we know."

"Then do it, Mr. Scott. We have to find all

the tampering. The warp engines are down, and Commander

Sulu reported peculiar energy readings when he

tried to bring the impulse engines up to full power."

"I'll get started right away."

"You'll do no such thing, Scotty. At least, not

until I've checked you over." McCoy advanced

on Scott, his medical tricorder poised for

action. "Doctor, you heard what Commander Brady

said. Our power systems are out. I don't have time

to play games with you and your medical gadgets."

"I'll relieve you from duty, Mr. Scott.

I have the authority." "Do it after I get the warp

engines on line again." Scott pulled himself upright

and keyed a diagnostic sequence into the console.

McCoy ran the tricorder over the chief

engineer's body, checked the readings, and scowled.

"You've a nasty bump on your head, possibly a

concussion. But if you'll report to Sickbay when you

get the engines fixed-or if you experience any

dizziness-I won't drag you in now." "Thank you,

Doctor." Scott turned away, immersing himself

in the Enterprise's power systems. He was so busy

he did not even notice when McCoy left.

Brady followed the doctor to the door, his

expression tense with worry. "How serious is his

injury? Will it affect his work?" He kept his

voice low to prevent Scott from hearing his question.

"It shouldn't. He'll have a bad headache, and his

head will be sore for several days, but it's not as bad

as I told him." McCoy slung the tricorder

over his shoulder. "If it was, I'd haul him

into Sickbay in spite of the engines."

"Thank you, Doctor. If you'll excuse me,

I'll go help him." Brady retraced his steps,

his silhouette outlined by the multicolored

indicator lights on the control consoles.

McCoy gave the blinking panels a final look

and headed for Sickbay. Dettner needed surgery

to repair the deep slashes on his face.

Srrawll Ktenten prowled the quarters

assigned to her alterbody, t'Stror. She flexed

her fingers, feeling the thickened nails, and fought the

instinct to transform into something more able to eliminate

danger. The predatory forms of her homeworld were

worse than useless. No one would mistake a

savage, catlike phena or a powerful,

wolflike talbera for one of the Enterprise's

regular crew.

She snarled under her breath. Her own carelessness

had cost her a flawless cover. She should never have

believed the Simons vrith'k when she said her

Deltan cub was harmless. Ever since boarding the

Enterprise, Srrawll had felt the mind-hunter

pulling in her thoughts. Though Srrawll was not, in the

strictest sense of the word, telepathic, her race

had evolved on a world populated by telepathic

predators. Survival depended on detecting an

attacker's use of telepathy.

Srrawll threw herself at the bed and curled up in

a ball. To save herself and prevent the aliens from

stealing her homeworld, her next move must be planned

and executed meticulously. She closed her

eyes, surrendering to a vision of a mature kenda

tree with a comfortable nest in the hollow of a forked

branch. The air was warm and scented with

summer flowers-and there was nothing larger than a frightened

karra within a long run in any direction. After a

few moments, she leaped off the bed. Such homesick

self-indulgence would not repel the invaders nor would

it solve her immediate problem. She must control herself,

must examine her options and plan carefully. The

safety of her world depended on her, and she could not

afford another mistake.

Kirk was outside the briefing room door when the

negotiations recessed for lunch. He waited for

Ambassador Klee to come through the door. "May

I have a word with you, Mr. Ambassador?"

Klee dismissed his aides and gestured for his

honor guard to follow him at a distance. "I am

going to have my luncheon repast with the women who are my

wives. Offense is not intended when I ask you

to talk as I go to my quarters."

"None taken." They began walking slowly down

the corridor. Kirk adjusted his strides to match

Klee's pace.

"Are your new wives a pleasure in the hours that

you spend with them? I have tried to train them always

to delight the wishes of their husband." "Mr.

Ambassador, that's what I wanted to talk to you

about. I don't feel right taking your

wives from you."

"But it is correct that you should have them, honored

Captain. Your esteemed servant was able to heal them

after the rituals of our people had failed. It is

proper that they should belong to the man who is able

to protect them." Kirk shook his head. "You are

guests on my ship. It's my duty to care for

everyone aboard. No special thanks are needed."

"It is also a matter of my honor that I cannot

remain married to those I cannot protect. I have no

honor if I do not permit these women to dwell with the

man who can provide for them what I cannot."

"That's the point, Mr. Ambassador. I'm a

ship's captain. All I have is my Starfleet

salary and a few personal possessions. There's

barely enough room for me in my quarters, let alone

three other people. I don't have any way

to accommodate your wives properly."

"Most respected Captain, the women we are

discussing are now your wives. It is not proper that you

should diminish their honor by calling attention to their

previous, unworthy husband. However, as captain,

do you not have the ability to command anything you desire?

Certainly, you should be able to order for your wives the

living space they require."

"Uh, right," Kirk stammered, taken aback by the

ambassador's immovable certainty and utterly

unsure how to get around it. The conversation was not going

at all as he had planned. He was still looking for a

new way to phrase his objections when they reached

Klee's quarters. "If the honored captain will

excuse me, I must now

attend upon my wives." The ambassador bowed

slightly and extended his arm in farewell. Kirk

did his best to repeat the gesture as Klee

disappeared into his cabin. How, Kirk wondered, was

he ever going to persuade the Kaldorni to take

back his wives? His arguments were useless against

Klee's talk of honor and obligations.

"All right, Tenaida-explain how the intruder

got into the computers this time." Kirk heard the edge in

his voice and realized his frustration from the interview with

Klee was spilling over into this discussion. The

Deltan dropped a plastic disk onto the table.

Kirk frowned. The Engineering access key carried

the operating codes for the computer-controlled stations in the

Engineering section. Anyone with that key could

completely disable the Enterprise.

"The intruder attacked Lieutenant Dettner

and used his key to get into the Engineering

control system. When I designed the new

security program, I didn't consider stolen

access keys."

"Or that the spy would know enough to steal one."

"True. Until this action, the intruder hadn't

shown such detailed knowledge of the ship's operations."

"Maybe someone told him. Or maybe he hid

out in Engineering long enough to pick it up. The question is

how bad was the damage, and how do we keep him from

doing it again?"

"I've assigned passwords to restrict the

access keys. I also designated codes for the

medical department's keys, although it would be more

difficult to disrupt the ship with the programs

controlled through the medical keys." "And how bad was

the damage this time?" Kirk asked. Tenaida

called up Brady's damage report on his

screen. "The initial power surge overloaded the

warp drive regulator units and fused half the

control circuitry. Commander Scott is still

assessing the minor 203

problems. He'll log those and report

progress of the repairs on the computer later."

"In other words, Scotty said, "Don't

bother me, I'm fixing my engines.""

Kirk gave Tenaida a strained, lopsided grin.

"How long will the repairs take?"

"Mr. Scott estimates he will need twenty

hours to replace the control circuits. And another

ten to bring the system up to operational

specifications."

"Thirty hours?" Until the repairs were

completed, the Enterprise was helpless-a sitting

duck for any threat that came along. "Did you get

all the intruder's programming out of the control

systems?" "I don't know, Captain. I disabled

the segments I found, but Commander Brady and I should

examine all the programming in the Engineering control

sys- tems."

Tenaida hesitated uncharacteristically for a moment.

"And, Captain-there's something else I think you should

know."

"Yes?"

The Deltan twisted the stylus in his hand,

fidgeting from nervous tension. "Word has spread

among the crew that the three Kaldorni women are

staying in your quarters. I have heard-jokes-about it.

Captain, it is not good for your image to have them there."

"Don't tell me about it! I thought I'd given

that problem to you to solve. Haven't you or

Commander Brady come up with anything to get me out of the

marriage yet?"

"I regret that we have not yet formulated a viable

plan."

"Well, if you get any ideas, let me know

immediately!" The intercom whistled. The captain tapped

the pad. "Kirk here." "Captain, someone just found

a body on the shuttle deck. It's one of the

Kaldorni."

"On my way. Kirk out."

Kirk thought the turbolift would never reach the

hangar deck. He sprinted toward the crowd

gathered behind the box-shaped shuttle and saw that the

body was sprawled on the deck, tangled in the

brightly colored and highly decorated Kaldorni

robes. The clothing was nearly intact, but the limbs

and facial features had been burned past any

hope of identification. In spite of the ventilation

system, the stench of the charred flesh hung in the air.

Kirk felt his stomach heave with revulsion. He

forced himself to look away from the body. On the deck

half a meter away, a carrying pouch had spilled

its contents on the floor. Among the items,

Kirk saw an identity disc.

"Whose is that?" Kirk pointed to the plastic

counter. Security Chief Chekov stepped around the

body, picked up the disc, and handed it to the

crewwoman who was recording the scene. She

slipped the disc into her tricorder. "Identity

disc belongs to k'Vlay t'Stror, of

Ambassador Klee's staff, from the United

Worlds of the Kaldorni Systems." "What?"

Kirk seized the tricorder to verify the

identification. The disc was t'Stror's.

McCoy worked his way over to Kirk. "What is

it, Captain?" Kirk pointed to the body.

"Autopsy that as soon as Security is through. I

need to know the cause of death and what burned the face

and extremities like that. Also, compare the

physiological parameters with the identity disc we

found."

McCoy glanced at the body, grimaced, and

looked awa . "Is there anything else you want,

while I'm performing miracles?" Kirk shook his

head. "We thought we'd found our spy. But the

identity disc says that's him on the floor."

"I'll get on it right away." McCoy

looked at the security chief, his eyebrow raised.

When Chekov nodded permission, McCoy

gestured to his assistants to load the body onto

a stretcher.

Kirk followed McCoy out the door. Tenaida

fell in step with him. "Have you identified the

intruder?" the Deltan asked. "Lieutenant

Whitehorse spent the morning in the briefing room.

She said that her predatory alien was Speaker

t'Stror."

"It appears that Speaker t'Stror is dead."

"Or we're supposed to believe he's dead.

McCoy will find out the truth." "I don't follow

your reasoning."

Kirk felt the weight of his

responsibilities drag on him. As captain,

his decisions affected the lives of everyone on his

ship. And once again, the spy had outmaneuvered him.

He scowled in frustration. "Murder is rarely

logical, Tenaida. But I'll bet the intruder

thought we were getting too close, and decided

to change identities by "murdering" himself. What

I haven't figured out is how he's going to pull

off the masquerade." Tenaida was silent until

they reached Engineering. From the way the young Deltan's

eyebrows were twitching, Kirk knew he had given

Tenaida a lot to consider.

Montoya was talking when Kirk entered the

briefing room. He waited until the commissioner

noticed him. "Captain Kirk, can we do something for

you?" "I have a message for Ambassador Klee.

I regret it's not a pleasant one." "You will

speak to me this message that you have," said the aide

seated at the ambassador's left. Kirk could not

remember the man's name. "I function

temporarily as mouthpiece while the Speaker

t'Stror meditates upon the imbalance of his

overzealousness."

"My message is that one of your party has been

murdered. The identity disc with the body belonged

to Speaker t'Stror. May I extend my deepest

sympa- 206

thies to the ambassador and the rest of your party on

the loss of your companion?"

Kirk's words sparked an extended discussion in

clipped, guttural Kaldorni. Two of

Klee's aides appeared to be offering

contradictory advice. When they had finished

arguing, Klee turned to Kirk. "There will, of

course, be reparations."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is said that the captain is

responsible for all that occurs upon his ship. Therefore,

it is the carelessness of the captain that has caused the

loss of this valuable servant. As a man of

honor, the estimable Captain Kirk will wish

to give to us the life of one of his servants who is

equally valuable."

"Servants?" Kirk shook his head. "I

don't own the life of anyone on this ship. I cannot

do as you request."

"We do not request this, and all we see obey

your commands as master. We have observed the way of your

ordering your servants and the value of the duties that they

supply you. It is our opinion that there is one

among your servants who is seen by us to be of greatest

value. The insult to our people may be appeased by the

life of the one you call Tenaida."

"His life is not mine to give. He is a

free man."

"This cannot be. Free men give orders, not receive

them. Until reparations are made, we cannot continue

in conference with these others from your people. When your honor

is restored, we will talk again." The Kaldorni

marched from the room.

Kirk dropped into a chair. "How did I put

my foot in it this time? I'll never understand

those people."

"Captain, would you tell us about the murder?"

Norris smiled at Kirk. "Please?"

He rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of the

chaotic situation. "You people are the experts on the

Kaldorni. Maybe you can help figure this out."

Two hours later, Kirk felt qualified as an

authority on the Kaldorni and on Kaldorni

psychology. However, 207

he still did not understand the Kaldorni interpretation

of the Enterprise's command structure that had led them

to choose the Deltan Science Officer-in-

Training as the ship's most valuable officer. Nor

did he know how to convince Ambassador Klee that

he had no power to surrender Tenaida as a

compensatory payment for the death of Speaker t'Stror.

"ALL RIGHT, BoNE'S, what did you come

up with?" Frowning, Kirk closed the door

to McCoy's office. He turned a visitor's

chair to face the doctor and slid into it.

Seeing the expression on Kirk's face,

McCoy realized something must have happened since

Security found the body. "You look like you've got

another problem, Admiral."

"You can say that again! On top of everything

else, the Kaldorni are demanding Tenaida's

life as reparations for t'Stror's murder." "Would

it help if it wasn't t'Stror?" McCoy

looked smug, pleased with the results of his foray

into forensic medicine. Kirk stared at McCoy,

scarcely believing he'd guessed right. "You're

sure?"

McCoy gave an emphatic nod. "The body

isn't t'Stror's. The blood type, the antigen

matches, even the body mass is wrong. The

murderer tried to destroy all the identifiable

features, but every test I can run on what's left

proves it isn't t'Stror."

"Then who is it?"

"A Kaldorni. I don't know which one."

McCoy shrugged, and some of his satisfaction

vanished. "We've gone through our medical records

on the

ambassador and his staff, but they didn't tell

us much."

"What about the support files for their identity

discs?" "Invasion of privacy. You'd have to ask

Ambassador Klee or clear it through Starfleet

Command, the Diplomatic Corps, and the Federation

Council." "I could try, but I don't

think we can afford to wait that long. And if I asked

the ambassador-assuming he'd talk to me about it,

which I doubt-we'd alert the spy that we're onto

him. Maybe Tenaida can get around the

safeguards."

McCoy fiddled with his stylus to cover how

uneasy his next information made him feel. "There was

something else. The body was loaded with

Trisopen-5." "Tnsopen-5? That's nasty

stuff. How much?"

"Enough to make him remember his entire life in

vivid detail. I'd say the murderer pumped his

victim dry of information before killing him." "The

spy. It's got to be. We thought he was

masquerading as t'Stror. He must have guessed

we'd caught him."

"So he used the truth serum on another

Kaldomi, killed him, and assumed the identity of the

murdered man. It would fit the facts, though I

don't see how he expects to pull off the

masquerade for long." McCoy shuddered, appalled

at the killer's cold-blooded planning.

Kirk nodded. "It doesn't seem likely, but

he's apparently used mind control on some of us, so

maybe he thinks he can use it on the

Kaldomi to hide the substitution. Or, maybe

he's been using some type of mental manipulation

all along to cover the flaws in his disguises.

Otherwise, even with the most advanced biocosmetic

fabricator he could steal, I don't see how his

impersonations could be that good."

"He's been pretty successful so far,"

McCoy answered pointedly. "True, but this does

solve one of our problems If 210

one Kaldorni killed another one, they're both

the ambassador's responsibility because he

selected his aides and is accountable for their actions.

Bones, do you think that will get Tenaida off

Klee's hook?" McCoy doodled a pattern

on the desktop. "It might. It's certainly

worth a try." He shoved a datapad across the

desk to Kirk. "He should have this autopsy report,

since the victim was one of his people."

Kirk picked up the report. "I don't know

if this will work, Bones, but I'll give it my best

shot. Klee seems to think I'm his equal since

he gave me half his wives."

"Good luck, Captain."

"Thanks, Bones." Kirk looked at the

noteboard in his hand. "I think I'll

need it."

Tenaida loaded the tray with vegetables and

cheese. After several hours of unsnarling the

programming bugs in the Engineering control systems,

he planned to eat a light meal and meditate before

working out to relax himself.

"May I speak with you, Mr. Tenaida?"

Simons glided across the room. She stopped in

front of him and fluttered her eyelashes in a

manner that Tenaida recognized as one that humans

regarded as seductive. "Captain Kirk told

me to see you about getting access to the computer. I'd

like to send messages to some friends." She gave him a

helpless little smile. "There's not much for me to do,

since my husband is working so hard."

"Indeed." Tenaida set his tray on a nearby

table and gripped his hands behind his back to control a

sudden tremor. Simons' proximity created

spontaneous reactions in certain extremities.

He dug his fingernails into his palms, telling

himself that he was imagining things because he was tired. As a

Deltan bound by his oath of celibacy, he should not

be thinking of such matters. And as a Deltan trained

to control his reactions around less sexually advanced

races, he should not be experiencing such

sensations. Gritting

his teeth, he struggled to assume the Vulcan

poker face that his immediate superior used.

"Which programs do you require?"

Simons regarded him with wide, innocent eyes.

"I really don't know, Mr. Tenaida. I

usually just use Yonnie's, but he's been too

busy to tell me which ones I need. Could you just give

me his access code? I mean, if it wouldn't be

too much trouble?" She rested a hand lightly on his

shoulder. Tenaida's arousal increased.

"Madam, you must have your own access code. If

more than one person uses a given code, the computer

will cancel it and erase any information it protects."

He took a deep breath and tried again to quell his

physical reactions. His body resisted, acting as

if governed by an external force. With a start, he

realized what was happening on a primitive, almost

unconscious level, Simons was a telepath.

And she wasn't a typical Deltan or

Vulcan telepath-she was one of the rare few who could

impose her will on others. At the moment she was

projecting intrusive, overpowering lust, hoping

to distract him enough so that he would give her the access

codes she wanted.

"Can't you do anything so I can send my

messages?" She moved closer and stared in his

eyes. The sensuality she projected became even

stronger. Tenaida picked up his tray and jerked

free of her clinging hand. "I'll compile a list of the

programs you'll need. When I'm done, I will

assign you an access code and clear the programs

for that code. You will be given the list when I have

finished it."

"Would you do that for me?" she asked. "Could you do it

now? I'm sure the computer console in my quarters

is free. Yonnie is off somewhere having a meeting

with his aides."

"I cannot work on it immediately, as I have a prior

obligation." He bolted for the door, carrying his

dinner. Behind him, he heard her whisper a vicious

"Damn!"

In his quarters, Tenaida set the food aside

while he struggled to reassert control over his

body. Simons' mental assault had ripped through

the delicately balanced restraints that governed his

life. After his mind and body calmed and he

organized his findings, he knew Kirk would be

interested in his discoveries about Cecilia Simons.

However, at the moment, Tenaida's

concern was less intellectual. Simons had

triggered his mating instincts, and his body was throbbing with

desire. However, on a human ship, he could not

allow his physiology to follow its natural

course. The long hours of lovemaking would overload

the Enterprise's air purification system with

Deltan pheromones. Tenaida shuddered,

remembering his last leave on Delta Four and the

two weeks he had spent becoming reacquainted with

his three cross cousins and their soul mates. By the

time he had left, they had become so close, so

united in mind and body and spirit, that the merest brush

of a fingertip was enough for them to share a deep emotional and

mental intimacy. After a melding like that, what

Simons suggested was the foulest perversion he could

imagine. Tenaida fought his body, struggling to bring

his erratic hormone levels under control. When he

had calmed, he headed for the gym, hoping a vigorous

workout would bring his troublesome physiology back under

his conscious control.

Kirk knew little of the etiquette for visits

among equals on the Kaldorni homeworld, but after

some thought, he decided human customs would serve

for the occasion. The Kaldorni women watched him

curiously as he smoothed the imaginary

wrinkles from the braid on his dress uniform but,

observing his preoccupation, concluded they were not invited

to share this ritual. The dietitian had provided a

drink that tasted almost like Kentucky bourbon, but

contained nothing

more harmful to Kaldorni metabolism than

alcohol. Kirk was exceptionally pleased with the

container fabricated to hold the liquor a

rainbow-tinted glass bottle that changed colors as

it was rotated. After checking and rechecking his

preparations, the captain confirmed the meeting with

Ambassador Klee. The door of the Kaldomi

quarters whisked open at Kirk's first knock. As

he entered the dimly lit room, Klee greeted

him with a slight bow and a sideways roll of his head.

Kirk did his best to copy the greeting

"Honored brother, you grace our humble living

space with your presence." "The honor is all

mine, to be allowed to share your company." Kirk

extended the bottle. "May I present you with a

small gift to express my pleasure. It

resembles a beverage popular on the human

homeworld." Smiling, Kirk gave the bottle

to Klee.

In the room's corners, the extra

heaters Scotty had found somewhere were operating at

maximum, maintaining the temperature in the

Kaldorni's quarters in spite of the power

restrictions elsewhere on the ship. The temperature

made Kirk wish for a tall glass of iced tea,

but he knew he would have to settle for something else because

the caffeine it contained was toxic to the Kaldorni.

Much to Kirk's relief, Klee produced

glasses. "Would it be pleasing to the honored captain

to share in the drinking of his gift? It would be my

privilege to serve him if he would take a sitting

position on the rug."

Kirk followed Klee into the central living area

and sat beneath the large wall hanging. He would have

preferred a chair, but there were none in the room.

Klee joined him, handing Kirk a large, square

glass of the synthetic bourbon. There was a long

pause while they sipped their drinks. Kirk

schooled himself to patience, knowing he had to follow

Kaldomi custom here even though his own preference

dictated immediate action.

"It is extremely rare to find a being from your

Federation who is willing to conduct his affairs in

accordance with the Harmonies of the Universe. The

Captain Kirk is to be congratulated

upon his skills as a human being." Kirk gulped his

drink in surprise. With his struggle to understand anything

about the Kaldorni, such a compliment was the last thing

he had expected from Klee. "One learns from one's

instructors, and I've had a good teacher." "The

respected captain does his humble servant too

much honor. There was a matter you said must be discussed

before we arranged the matter of the reparations?"

"Yes. Dr. McCoy has completed his

autopsy on the dead man." Kirk told the

Kaldorni of the doctor's findings.

By the time Kirk had finished, Klee's face was

a study in confusion. "Is there a significance to this

story that I am failing to perceive? How is it that you can

display so much certainty that the body does not belong

to the man who is missing?"

Kirk considered his options. He was uncertain how

Starfleet would react to his telling the Kaldorni

about the spy-knowing Chen, he suspected she would

disapprove strongly-but under the circumstances, the

risk seemed justified. Klee listened, rocking

back and forth with intense concentration. He made no

protest and seemed to follow the logic behind Kirk's

conclusions. "If I grant the truth of this, it is

needful that I accept the blame for what

has happened because I failed to detect the disharmony

of an outworlder among my aides." His face creased

with a perplexed frown. "As yet, I see no proof

that this thing is true. How can I make a determination

on what I am told when both occurrences are so

disharmonious? The Harmony of the Universe rests in

the balance of its truths, but there is no harmony in

any of this.

"And what does the honored captain propose

to do for reparations? From either of these disharmonies, I

am now missing the services of my most valued

aide. The Captain Kirk cannot restore what is

lost, but honor demands that he submit to me the

life of his most valued assistant. "It is not

known how that one can replace the aide lost to me through

the carelessness of the Federation's servants, but it is

to be hoped that he will be trainable. It is most

certain that the skills he gives to the venerable

Captain Kirk are highly needed to protect those

that serve me against the dangers of your greatly

perplexing Federation."

At the word trainable, Kirk felt relief wash

through him. When Klee had demanded Tenaida's life

m reparations, he had meant the statement literally.

Also, Kirk realized, Klee had chosen

Tenaida as Kirk's most valuable servant

solely on the basis of the work he had seen

Tenaida do. The outline of a solution began to take

shape.

Kirk drew a deep breath, struggling against his

urge to rush now that he saw the pattern for solving his

dilemma. "If you failed to detect the spy among

your aides, wouldn't that carelessness negate the later

carelessness of my people?"

"It has not yet been proven that this disharmony

existed first. No explanation has been offered that will

cover the i mpossibility of this stranger looking so

much like one of my own that even I, the Protector of

my Clan, cannot distinguish this strangeness. If the

Harmony of the Universe is to be restored, the known

discordances must be atoned for. Reparations for alleged

disunities cannot be contemplated until the imbalance

is proven." "Until we determine what actually

happened, wouldn't it increase the disharmony to demand

reparations? What if you were to receive payment for an act

that was your fault?"

Klee, obviously troubled by the implications of

Kirk's question, took a long time to answer. "A

disunity exists. I seek to balance it in the

only way that appears reasonable to me. If I do

not protect the Harmonies of my people, I will be

judged unworthy to guide them in their search for

Balance."

"You've asked for Tenaida's life, but he's the

person on the Enterprise who is best qualified

to determine which of the possible-disharmonies-is the true

one. Would you suspend your claim to his services

until the matter is settled? Then we'll know

who's responsible and what reparations should be paid."

Klee took even longer to consider this strange

suggestion. Kaldorni custom contained no

provisions for delaying reparations. Finally, Klee

seemed to melt into himself with resignation. "It is not

possible by the ways of our world to address disharmonies

such as those you propose. Since the disunity cannot be

balanced without creating another, finding the solution to this

would seem the way the one called Tenaida can best

serve the interests of my people.

"It is not my wish to appear rude to my honored

guest, but I would meditate now that I might

select a clearer path through the disharmonies you have

brought me."

"I'm sorry my information was so disturbing, Mr.

Ambassador. If you'll excuse me,

I'll leave now. Perhaps we can talk again later."

Klee gave Kirk a deep bow, then

prostrated himself before the wall hanging. He ignored

Kirk as the captain let himself out of the rooms.

Once in the corridor, Kirk leaned against the

wall, savoring in equal parts his feeling of

relief and the cooler temperature outside the

Kaldorni's rooms. He had accomplished most

of his objectives, but the strain of guessing the

proper formalities had drained him. After a few

moments, he headed for McCoy's quarters. He

sorely needed to talk to someone who did not

practice circumlocution as an art form.

Janara Whitehorse was certain working in her

quarters was a direct violation of Dr.

McCoy's orders. On the other hand, what the

doctor could not see would not bother him, and Janara

found the Shansar equations more relaxing than several

other activities McCoy would have allowed.

Tenaida's suggestions had pointed to a solution for the

major difficulty. With that resolved, the rest of the

model was falling into place. She had been

absorbed in the equations for several hours when the

door buzzer interrupted her concentration.

"Come."

Tenaida entered the room. She looked at him

curiously, wondering why he had not called her before

coming. The man moved toward her with a predatory,

feline power foreign to the Deltan.

"Do you want something?" His actions seemed

abnormal, alien. She slip ed her hand over the

intercom button and waited for his next move.

"Y." He closed the distance between them and grabbed her

by the shoulders. She punched the intercom to

"Transmit" as he hauled her from the chair and

crushed her into a bodylock. With the first contact, the

savage, saber-toothed cat exploded into her mind,

stripping away her defenses. Her consciousness

cringed away from the mental onslaught. She struggled

against the physical hold and tried to regroup her

defenses on the psychic level. The intruder

flipped her against the wall as easily as if she were

a toy. She slid to the floor, half-stunned by the

impact, but used the brief time her assailant was

not touching her to reinforce her mental defenses.

Hampered by his Deltan form, the spy tried

to kick Janara. She saw the blow coming and lashed out

at her attacker's other leg. Thrown off balance,

the intruder fell heavily, but rolled away before

Janara could land a karate chop on his

neck. The spy regained his feet and was circling

warily, looking for another opening, when someone pounded

on the door.

"Open. Security." The man's voice was

muffled by the door. "Come," Janara gasped. Her

left side felt as if every rib had been broken.

Her assailant, snarling savagely, ran for the

bathroom to escape through the adjoining cabin.

The security team split. One man followed the

fugitive while another raced down the corridor

to intercept him. Janara heard a voice call for the

doctor before she lost consciousness.

Janara moaned and tried to block the bright lights

from her eyes. Pain lanced through her shattered

collarbone and broken ribs. "Lie still and don't

move." Dr. McCoy's voice seemed to come from

a great distance. Janara opened her eyes

cautiously. The doctor's pale face and dark

hair took shape against the blinding background. He

smiled to reassure his patient. "Captain Kirk

needs to talk to you now. I'll fix those bones as

soon as he's done."

"Understood," Janara whispered. "May I see

Shan Tenaida, too?" "That's up to the captain."

Janara closed her eyes. She heard

McCoy speak to Kirk, but the captain's reply

was drowned by a woman's shrill protest coming from the

adjoining room.

"What do you mean-let that Deltan animal see

my daughter, but not her own mother? Hasn't he already

done enough? He nearly killed her, and you're going

to let him in there to finish what he started? He

belongs in the brig, not running around loose

assaulting people. When their hormones are acting up,

they're capable of anything!"

"Madam." Kirk's voice was flat, betraying

his thinning patience. "If you don't leave immediately,

I'll put you in the brig. The rest of your

allegations aren't proven, and there's no positive

identification of the

attacker. You may discuss visitors'

privileges with Dr. McCoy after your daughter

comes out of surgery."

Simons started to protest, but Kirk cut her

off. He beckoned to a guard who had helped carry

Janara's stretcher to Sickbay. "Escort Ms.

Simons to her quarters, and see that she gets there."

The man nodded. Simons looked from Kirk to the

burly guard and left quietly.

Kirk called Tenaida to Sickbay.

While he waited for the Deltan to arrive, he

hovered behind McCoy, trying to interpret the readings

on the monitor panels. "How bad are her

injuries?"

McCoy set the large scanning unit for another

pass over Janara's torso. The computer added the

new data into the image, emphasizing the splayed

cracks in the ribs. "She's in a lot of pain, and

I need to fix those broken bones as soon as

Christine gets the operating room ready."

"I won't take long, Bones. But the

security men are positive her assailant was

Tenaida, so I have to get her statement."

"You don't think he did it? You're out of your

mind!" "I don't know, Bones. At first, we were

operating on the assumption that the spy could control

minds and make people do things they wouldn't ordinarily do.

Then Scotty saw his double in Engineering, so we know

the intruder is also a master of disguises. That means

I need to know everything I can about this attack. Was it

Tenaida? Or someone that just looked like Tenaida?

I've got to know what I'm up against."

McCoy scowled. "That's a problem."

"That's an understatement, Bones."

Tenaida entered the room. His damp

face was deeply flushed, his breathing was rapid and

shallow, and there was an uncontrollable tremor in his

mus- cles. For a moment, McCoy wondered if

Tenaida could have been the attacker. He inhaled

deeply and concentrated on his own reactions, but he

felt no more

than the usual physiological warmth he

experienced when he was exposed to Deltan

pheromones. That made Simons' suggestion of

attempted rape due to hormone imbalance

extremely unlikely. However, something had

happened to deeply upset the young Deltan. While

Kirk questioned Tenaida, McCoy went to the dispensary

to get him a mild tranquilizer.

"Where were you for the last hour, Tenaida?" Kirk's

tone was grim. "I was in the gym, practicing heavy

gravity movements."

"Was anyone else with you?"

"Not that I saw. However, the exercise logs will

confirm my activities." "I hope you're right."

Kirk told Tenaida what had happened, then

pointed through the door into the examining room. "Dr.

McCoy said she wanted to talk to you."

Tenaida stopped inside the door, studying the

slight form on the bed. When he moved to her

side, she seemed even more frail and delicate

than she had from across the room. A sudden rage

shook him at the sight of her bruised face, and he

fought the urge to inflict the same damage on her

assailant. When Janara sensed his presence, her

eyelids fluttered open. She tried to speak, but the

pain kept her from taking a deep enough breath. Her hand

stretched toward his, begging him to grasp it. He

looked at her, torn by a flood of unexpected

emotions. He tried to sort them out tenderness,

protectiveness, an overwhelming need to lose himself

in her thou89s and feelings. This is what my cousins

give to their soul mates. 1 shouldn't be feeling this.

He forced the emotions down and clasped Janara's

hand. With the physical contact, he sensed the images

in her thoughts, which were blurred by the painkiller Dr.

McCoy had given her. She reached for the dark,

cool textures of his mind, letting herself drift

among the surface patterns of his awareness.

Then she was gone, leaving behind a sense of her caring

and her impressions of the being that had attacked her.

He probed the memory, shuddering involuntarily as

the image of the savage saber-toothed cat erupted

in his brain.

"Tenai da, what is it?" Kirk's

voice penetrated his concentration. The Deltan

shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality.

He forced his fingers open and laid her hand gently on

the bed. His whole body was trembling, and the wetness

on his cheeks was not sweat. He took a deep

breath and met Kirk's concerned look.

"She gave me her perceptions of her

assailant and her memories of the attack. If you

will excuse me, Captain, I need a few

minutes to examine the information."

"Wait for me in McCoy's office," Kirk

ordered. "Then we'll collect Commander Brady and

go somewhere where we can talk." He turned to Janara.

"Who attacked you?"

"Alien. Not . . . Tenaida." She spoke in

a faint whisper, and Kirk had to lean over to hear

her words.

"Are you positive?" Kirk knew he could not

afford a mistake. Even though McCoy was hovering

at the door, impatient to begin surgery, he had

to be sure of Janara's statement.

"Not . . . Tenaida." Her whisper was

definite, and Kirk knew he had not

misinterpreted her response. He straightened.

"Your patient, Bones." He strode

from the room.

"Well, Tenaida?" Kirk threw himself into the

chair before the worktable in the Deltan's quarters.

Behind him, Patrick Brady lounged against the

wall, trying to conceal his tension with a casual pose.

Tenaida sat opposite the captain, stiffly

erect in his chair. "The assailant projected the

image of a large predatory felinoid into Shan

Janara's mind during the

attack. It would appear that was to keep her from

defending herself against the physical assault."

"I'd say the plan very nearly succeeded,"

Kirk said. "Yes. But why should the intruder

attack her now? She's reported similar mental

impressions since the Kaldorni came aboard."

"The spy has decided Lieutenant

Whitehorse poses a threat to him. But-what is this

spy? The security team reported they chased you-you,

Tenaidafrom the lieutenant's quarters. At that

point, they had the turbolift on security

override. No matter how good the spy is at mind

control, your-body-could not have gotten from the crew

quarters down to the gym in ten minutes without using the

turbolift. I'd say that effectively rules out

the mind-control hypothesis and every variation of

it that we might consider." "Agreed, Captain. The

exercise logs will show I was in the gym when the

attack occurred. It is equally unlikely,

given Shan Janara's efforts to defend herself, that the

intruder's disguise could have remained intact.

Biocosmetic appliances are notoriously

fragile during the first forty-eight hours after

application, and such a violent struggle should have

damaged or dislodged a significant percentage

of the intruder's disguise." "Does this mean what I

think it does?"

Tenaida nodded. "For the spy to create the

difficulties we have been experiencing, I believe

the intruder has the ability to alter its body shape

at will. When someone has appeared to be in two

places at oncethey were. The spy has been

assuming our forms to disrupt the ship's operations."

"A shapechanger?" Kirk examined the idea. It

explained a lot, but he had never heard of any

creature who could do what this one apparently could. In

particular, the ease with which the alien assumed new

identities was hard to believe.

Brady straightened his posture as he considered this

concept. "Are such complete

transformations physiologically possible? You're

talking about a thorough duplication, even to the point that

key physical pa- rameters are reproduced.

Like voice patterns."

"To account for the observed facts, the creature would

have to have the shapechanging ability I have just postulated.

In which case, we are dealing with a previously unknown

race."

Kirk nodded. "I'll accept that. But back to the

attack. Why now? Do you think the spy noticed

Lieutenant Whitehorse in the briefing room this

morning?"

"That's possible." Tenaida frowned. "That would

require the spy to be telepathic-actually, that

ability is probably necessary to carry off these

impersonations. At the very least, I would assume

sufficient psychic abilities to sense when a

disguise is not sufficiently convincing." "But how

telepathic is that? The intruder obviously

doesn't know everything about us. And why did he

impersonate you for the attack?" The lines around

Tenaida's mouth deepened. "I don't know.

Insufficient information."

Kirk frowned. Tenaida's unspoken thoughts

hung in the air, almost as if they were in

mental contact. Each of the three men knew that

events were rushing toward a climax. Kirk felt

an almost tangible aura of danger gathering around them.

Somehow, he needed to regain control, to get the upper

hand in the situation-for once, to be waiting when the spy

made his next move. "A trap. We need some

kind of trap."

Tenaida took a deep breath. "The bait must

be something the intruder will find irresistible."

Brady stepped forward, "He seems to have a

taste for Deltans. You could confine Lieutenant

Tenaida to the brig. It's a good place to spring a

trap." "Yes." Tenaida stared at the corner of the

worktable, refusing to meet Kirk's eyes. "Perhaps

you should confine me to the brig, as Ms. Simons

suggested."

Kirk grimaced at the idea of considering anything

from that source. "Let's leave that for a last

resort. Anyone in the brig is a sitting

duck."

"A sitting duck, Captain?"

"A-a target that isn't moving-one that's very

easy to hit. The spy would know exactly where to find

you, but you wouldn't have any way to defend yourself

without giving away the trap."

"I'll keep that in mind." Tenaida fell

silent. Brady moved to Kirk's side.

"Captain, if you don't mind, I'd like to run some

simulations on this shapechanging idea. See if I

can come up with its operational parameters."

"Sounds like a good idea, Mr. Brady. Let

me know what you come up with." "I promise, you'll

be the first to know." Brady stepped back, resuming his

place against the wall.

Tenaida shifted nervously in his chair.

"Captain, may I change the subject?"

"What's on your mind, Tenaida?"

"I may have discovered something important about

Commissioner Montoya's wife." Tenaida

described his meeting with Simons, complete with a

clinical account of his own reactions, and finished with his

conclusions about her telepathic abilities.

"Subconscious projections of intense lust.

Sounds unbelievable?" Kirk's face took on

a far-off, thoughtful expression. "But it explains a

lot. She was always so desirable that it was almost

impossible to see beyond that." Tenaida seemed

genuinely puzzled. "It's irrational to spend one's

entire life coercing other people to do things against

their will and that lead to results harmful to them."

"Irrational. But human." Kirk frowned as a

new perspective occurred to him. "Who?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I assumed she did it solely for her own

amusement. But with that ability, she would make a

formidable operative for someone. If everyone is

watching

her sexual exploits, no one will take anything

else she does seriously." Kirk rubbed his

forehead, trying to focus his tumbling thoughts. The

idea, once formulated, had an inevitability he

found compelling. Simons' act was too good, too

well-rehearsed, to be played for low stakes. He

shook his head in disbelief. "An interplanetary

playgirl and spy. I thought such things were the

product of bad fiction."

Brady shook his head. "You're speculating."

Tenaida seemed perplexed. "There's no

evidence to support that position, Captain."

Kirk shrugged. "Call it a hunch, Tenaida.

If we start looking, I'll bet we'll find enough

facts to convince even you."

"Wouldn't our time be more profitably spent trying

to trap the murderer?" "Perhaps." Kirk

shot a speculative look at Tenaida. "On

the other hand, we might get lucky and catch both

at the same time."

"Perhaps." Tenaida's tone was heavy with

skepticism. Kirk's optimism asked more of the

universe than the Deltan believed it would

deliver.

Simons kicked her shoes at the far wall of the

room and threw herself on the bed as hard as she could.

She balled her left hand into a fist and pounded the

pillow. The action barely diminished her anger, but

her quarters lacked a more suitable punching bag.

Damn this job! And damn her restrictive

position as Montoya's wife! And, especially,

damn anything that put her within a megaparsec of her

ungrateful, telepathic, and all-too-Deltan

daughter! As long as Simons was not around the girl,

she could forget she had a daughter. For that matter,

Simons was sure Jane-Anne was equally

grateful not to be reminded of her mother.

With her anger somewhat abated, Simons stretched

out on the bed. Something about that last scene in

Sickbay nagged at her subconscious. What was

it? She 226

ran the scene back in her mind her

protests against Tenaida, Kirk's anger at her

words, his order to forcibly remove her. What was it

he had said-that the assailant had not been

positively identified, in spite of the eyewitness

reports from the security men? Unless-

Snatches of overheard conversations and hints of

information dropped by Montoya's aides

reorganized themselves in Simons' brain. Someone

else on the Enterprise was working her territory, and

that person had a better cover than hers. She ran

through the possibilities and realized suddenly who the

spy was.

Simons bounced off the bed, and pulled her

collapsed suitcase from the closet. The

miniaturized phaser was hidden in the base, so she was

able to retrieve it without re-expanding the case. She

put the weapon in her pocket and returned the

suitcase to the closet. One Kaldorni had

differed from all others. If Simons' guess were

correct, her competitor would be no more successful

at hiding that difference in his new identity than he

had been in his old.

She wa s smiling to herself as she left her quarters.

With luck, the Kaldorni ambassador would be so

incensed at losing another aide that he would

termi- nate the negotiations immediately. If

not-well, at least Simons would be able to operate

without tripping over someone else's mistakes. The

sooner she concluded this mission, the sooner she could

get off the Enterprise and away from Montoya.

She went to the lounge for a cup of coffee while

she waited to spring her trap.

Srrawll Ktenten prowled her quarters, snarling

at the transcriber. It took an eternity

to produce the hard copy that Ambassador Klee

had requested. "s'Flen, do this. s'Flen, fetch

that." Srrawll snarled again. From the standpoint of

rank and privileges, k'ationavle s'Flen had

been the logical choice when she needed a new

Kaldorni identity to replace t'Stror's. But

s'Flen

was not a member of the Clan Stror, and

Ambassador Klee distrusted him accordingly.

His true function on the negotiating team was

to prevent Klee from concluding an agreement that would

give Clan Stror an advantage over rival

families. And-much to Srrawll's

disgust-s'Flen's major duties were errand running and

operating the transcriber. The last piece of paper

popped out of the machine. She gathered the

sheets together and knocked them on the table with more

violence than was needed to align the edges. With the

transcript ready for the ambassador, she paused

to calm herself and double-check her Kaldorni disguise

before venturing into the corridor. When s'Flen

knocked on the door, Klee was talking with his

wives. Much to Srrawll's relief, the

ambassador took the papers without inviting s'Flen

to join his family for the evening ceremonies. There

were, after all, advantages to not being of Clan

Stror. After a day of being Klee's errand boy,

Srrawll needed the freedom to roam the ship,

seeking the critical vulnerability that would topple

her enemies and save her world. She paused outside

s'Flen's quarters, but could not force herself to reenter the

room. First, she decided, she would get something

to eat. The crew would not expect s'Flen to understand

their language, and she might overhear something that would

tell her how to eliminate the troublesome Deltans.

Her lips drew back from her teeth, and she barely

suppressed the yowl that rose in her throat as she

remembered how the little mind hunter had foiled her

plan to dispose of both Deltans in one move.

If the security men had arrived a minute later,

the Whitehorse tavra would have been dead

and the Tenaida nuisance confined to the brig for murdering

her. She entered the recreation lounge and thrust

s'Flen's diet card into the food dispenser. The

selector pads absorbed her savage

keystrokes as she ordered 228

the least obnoxious of the Kaldorni slop that the

card prescribed. When the panel slid open, she

took the tray to an empty table along the far

wall. "May I join you?"

Srrawll looked up. Cecilia Simons

stood beside the table. Of all the humans she did not

want to see-to One of the benefits Srrawll

expected from disposing of the t'Stror identity was not

having to service Simons' sexual appetites in

exchange for the information the woman provided.

Unfortunately, acting rude to the vrith k was not in

character for the diplomat s'Flen. "It would be my honor

to with the reverent lady Simons speak."

Simons placed her coffee cup on the table and

slid into the chair. She flipped back the long

sleeve of her dress, revealing the phaser she

held in her hand. It pointed at Srrawll, and

Simons' hand was trunksteady. "You can drop the

awkward sentences, t'Stror. I know you speak

better English than that."

"t'Stror is dead. Known am I as k'ationavle

s'Flen."

"Nice try." Simons' mouth split in a

predatory grin. "But your walk gives you away.

All the other Kaldorni move as little as possible,

and that with obvious difficulty, because of the ship's

heavier gravity. You try, but anyone with eyes can

see how easily you move. I wonder why

Captain Kirk hasn't noticed yet."

"What you are talking about, I understand not." Even

to her own ears, Srrawll's protest sounded weak.

"But Captain Kirk would. Should I call him?

And a security team?" Simons moved the phaser a

few millimeters. Srrawll followed it with her

eyes, barely restraining herself from swatting it out of the

woman's hand. She knew Simons would be able

to fire before she could reach the weapon. "What is it you

wish of me?"

"Talk. I want to know what you're up to. I

think we're working toward the same goals, and we could

profit by combining our forces."

"I do not know what it is you mean, but if you will

conceal again your weapon, I will consent to whatever

discussion you feel is appropriate to the situation."

A satisfied smile spread across

Simons' face. "Act naturally and finish your

food, then we'll adjourn to the briefing room where

the negotiations are being held. Don't try any

tricks, because I don't intend to let you pull a

double cross."

"I lack understanding of what causes you this worry,

but it will be as you say. One hopes this discussion will

relieve the discordances that disturb your Harmony."

"I'm sure it will. Simons glided to the coffee

dispenser for a refill. Srrawll watched her,

snarling under her breath and wishing for a whisper-gun

to throw a dart into the arrogant human's back. No

double cross, indeed! SrraWII added another name

to her list of nuisances scheduled for elimination.

"DOCTOR, MAY I ASK Lieutenant

Whitehorse a few more questions about her assailant?"

Chapel looked up from her computer screen. Even

in the quiet of Sickbay, Tenaida's approach

had been so silent that Chapel had not heard him.

"I'm sorry, sir. She was extremely restless

after surgery, and Dr. McCoy ordered a

sedative."

"You don't agree with those orders?"

As she tried to decide how to answer, Chapel

drummed her fingers on the counter. McCoy

would consider discussing diagnoses with someone outside

the medical department insubordination-or worse.

However, Tenaida was the one person on the ship who

would understand her concern. "I'm no expert on

psi-related disorders, but I spent six months

working with Tai Jorrel when he was rehabilitating

the children from the Zebulon-Theta disaster." Chapel

fell silent, remembering.

The initial surveys of Zebulon-Theta had

detected no native life forms larger than a

coyote. After reviewing the surveys, the Federation

had established a research station on the planet.

Six months later, the outpost's record logs

began showing evidence of mental instability among the

research personnel.

Ninety percent of the humans on

Zebulon-Theta were dead before someone discovered the

planet's secret it had once been populated

by a race of long-lived, powerfully telepathic

beings. The last of these creatures were still on the

planet, profoundly insane and craving death. A

handful of children survived the Zebulonis' racial

suicide, but they were deeply traumatized by the

psychic overload, which provided a catalysis for

their own latent abilities. Intensive

psychotherapy and massive doses of

psi-suppressant drugs had been required before

the children could function again in normal society.

Chapel shook herself mentally, returning her

attention to the present. "What Lieutenant

Whitehorse needs is a psi-suppressant, but

the ship's dispensary doesn't have any that are safe

to use on Deltans."

"I see. Would you be able to use boretelin under the

present circumstances?" Chapel searched her

memory. It had been several years since she had

worked with the Zebulon-Theta survivors, and it took

her a moment to place the drug. "Tablets, right? Do

you have some available?" When Tenaida nodded,

Chapel continued in a more confident tone, "Few

interaction problems with other drugs, targets

specifically to the psi-centers, no side effects.

It's ideal."

"I'll bring it at once." Tenaida left as

quietly as he had arrived. While she waited for

Tenaida to return with the medication, Chapel went

to Janara's room to examine her patient. Janara

was in good condition, except for another set of cuts

and bruises. McCoy had fused the broken bones

and closed the major wounds. Now, Janara

needed rest so her body could repair the damage the

Enterprise's medical services could not. Tenaida

returned with the boretelin and gave the bottle

to Chapel. After giving Janara a mild

stimulant, she shook two tablets from the bottle and

set the

container on the counter beside the bed. When Janara

stirred, Chapel slipped an arm around her shoulders

and helped her into a half-sitting position. "Here,

swallow these," Chapel ordered in a low voice,

holding out the boretelin. Janara stared at the

tablets, her head swaying with groggy confusion, until

she recognized the medication. She fumbled the tablets

out of Chapel's hand and into her mouth. Chapel held

a glass of water for Janara while she drained it,

then eased her under the blanket. Janara was uncon-

scious almost before her head reached the pillow. Chapel

straightened. "It'll be at least an hour before the

sedative wears off enough for her to talk. You can ask

your questions then." "Thank you, Doctor." Tenaida

turned and was gone, leaving Chapel alone with her

patient.

The day's events had driven all thought of his

Kaldorni wives from Kirk's head until he

entered his quarters. The stifling heat

reminded him he had yet to find a way of returning

the women to Klee, but before he could retreat to safety

elsewhere, the Kaldorni women surrounded him. They

led him across the room and pressed him against the

pillows they had piled on the bed.

Kirk was too tired to oppose three determined

females, so he settled back without protest.

Shade-inSun removed his boots and uniform, while

Joy-of- Morning brought slippers and a li ght robe

for him. Both were decorated with ornate designs that

matched the women's own clothing. Looking at the

decorations, Kirk decided his wives had learned

the quartermaster functions of the ship's computer

entirely too quickly.

He had just found a comfortable position after donning the

robe when Fire-in-Night appeared with a tray of

food. She presented it to him with an elaborate

bow and then balanced the tray across his legs. Stepping

backward, she stood beside the bed, waiting 233

for commands. Joy-of-Morning brought a decanter

and a matching wine goblet inlaid with a complex pattern.

Fire-in-Night held the glass while Joy-of-

Morning poured the wine. When it was full,

Fire-inationight offered it to Kirk with a liquid bow

and a sultry smile.

Kirk took the wine, struggling to hide his

impatience with the elaborate formality-this round was being

played by Kaldorni rules. He reached for his

detox pills, washing one down with a mouthful of wine

before he started on the food. The meal consisted of

spiced meat and vegetables served over a cooked

grain. The combination of flavors and textures was

unusual but pleasing. When Kirk had emptied the

bowl, the women offered him fresh fruit and sweet

cakes to finish the meal.

Kirk pushed the tray aside, hoping he had

eaten enough to compliment the women's culinary skills.

He pantomimed for the Universal Translator.

Shade- in-Sun handed it to him and he thumbed it

on.

"That was a very good meal. I thank you for it." He

tried to speak slowly and to give his words the sense of

ceremony the Kaldorni expected. "It honors

us to serve our most worthy husband. Is there anything

else you require that Shade-in-Sun can provide

you with?" "Yes, I'd like some information." He paused

a moment, wondering where was the best place to start.

"What would happen if I sent you back to your

planet by yourselves? It's not that I don't

appreciate you," Kirk added hastily

when the women started to cry, "but living like this, crowded

into the captain's quarters on a starship, is no

place for ladies like you." Shade-in-Sun dashed

her hand across her face to wipe away her tears.

She fired a series of questions to the other women,

speaking so rapidly the Universal Translator

could not keep up with her. Her co-wives answered in

the same staccato dialect, and the overlapping speech

from the three threatened to 234

over-whelm the computer. Kirk turned the machine

off, hoping the women would tell him their conclusions when

they finished talking. After what seemed an interminable

debate, the women fell silent and

Shade-in-Sun faced Kirk. He reactivated

the translator. "We do see the logic in our

honored husband's statement that his room is most

crowded, but as captain of this ship, our husband has

the power to command that his lodgings reflect his more

important status. We wonder why it is that our

husband has not already done this."

Kirk groaned, wondering how he was going

to convince these women of the difficulties inherent in their

suggestion. By Starfleet standards, the cabins in the

Enterprise were quite large. On a smaller ship, a

cabin the size of Kirk's quarters would have

accommodated nine officers on rotating three-man

shifts.

Here, the space was assigned to his exclusive

use. However, to increase his living space would

necessitate major remodeling of the adjoining

cabins and moving half of his senior officers to new

quarters. Kirk shuddered to think how most of them would

feel about the idea. "It's hard for me to explain,"

he said, "but the captain's quarters can't be enlarged

that easily." Shade-in-Sun looked skeptical

but continued. "My co-wives and I agree it would

cause us great sorrow never to see our homeworld again.

However, if we go there with no husband or clansman

to protect us, there would be small enjoyment of the little

time we would have."

dis.why?"

"There are many dangers on our world, and everyone must

have a protector to shield them from harm. A husband

defends wives, children, and perhaps even his younger brothers

or cousins.

"Throughout one's life, one grows in strength and

wisdom and is better able to determine what the

Harmonies of the Universe are. But there are always

those who are discordant and who seek

to disturb anyone they can touch. Without the protection

of a husband and his clan, a woman has little chance of

surviving the discordant ones. Is this not how it is

with your people?" Kirk wiped his forehead, feeling hotter

than ever. "Adults in our society are expected

to take care of themselves."

"But then how do you achieve Harmony with the

Universe, if there is no one to guide your

searching?"

Kirk started to say most humans never considered

the subject, but then he saw a way out of his

dilemma. "Our people look for harmony in other

ways. Would you explain the duties of a Kaldomi

husband so I don't accidentally destroy your

Harmony?"

Shade-in-Sun bowed to him. "Our husband is

most wise." The women clustered on the bed,

explaining to Kirk the duties expected of a

harmonious Kaldorni husband.

Kirk escaped to the refuge of the lounge to mull

over what the Kaldomi women had told him. On

their violent, danger-filled world, protectors for the

weaker members of the society made sense. What

he would never understand was the complex web of ritual and

obligation that formalized relationships in the

culture. While he worked to unravel the puzzle,

he listened with one ear to a duet between Lisbeth

Palmer of Communications and a botanist he could not

immediately place.

Kris Norris, wandering past the room, heard the

music. She glanced through the door and saw Kirk.

On impulse, she walked over to him and pointed at

an empty chair. "Is anyone sitting there?"

"No." Kirk smiled at her. "I can't

promise to be good company this evening though."

"A hard day? Goodness knows, I can sympathize

with that, considering ours." "I was working on an

unresolved problem-by 236

trying not to work on it. Is anything happening with the

negotiations?" Norris shook her head. "I

don't expect much before morning. Joachim asked

if we could negotiate around your alleged lack of

honor and harmony, and I expect Klee will

suggest that we discuss the possibilities in more

detail. And so on, until we reach a consensus for

reopening the formal talks." Kirk started to tell

her about McCoy's autopsy and his own talk with

Klee. Chekov entered the room and stopped beside

Kirk. "Captain, may I have a word with you?"

"Business?"

Chekov gave a brief nod.

Kirk stood. "You'll have to excuse me yet

again, Kris. A captain's work is never done."

She grinned back. "What can I say? A

diplomat's job is only slightly better."

Kirk laughed and followed Chekov from the room.

In the corridor, he moved up and fell in step with

his security chief. They were silent until they

reached Chekov's office. "All right. What is

it?" "I was looking at the recordings from the

monitors we installed outside the quarters

assigned to the Kaldorni. After listening to Commander

Brady's hy- pothesis, I assumed t'Stror was

altering his form and that he had disguised himself as

t'Stror before coming aboard the Enterprise. was "The

body Security found on Starbase 15 was

probably the real t'Stror." "That would appear

to be a reasonable hypothesis. At any rate, I

assumed that any distinguishing characteristic that separated

t'Stror from the other Kaldorni would identify him

in his new disguise."

"I agree. Did you find something?"

"I think so. I would like you to judge for yourself what

I have here." "By all means."

Chekov activated the computer console and

then 237

stepped to the side to let Kirk watch the display.

Scenes of Kaldorni in the corridor played

across the screen, including several shots of

t'Stror. "Captain, do you see how easily

t'Stror moves? All the other Kaldorni have

trouble walking in our gravity, and they say they find

it difficult because it is so much heavier than what they

are used to."

"t'Stror told me he had made several

trips off planet and enjoyed the change." Kirk

stopped, shaking his head to clear it. "What am I

saying? That was the spy talking. But could it have been the

real t'Stror's opinion on the subject?"

"I don't know. However, I would like to show you some

other recordings. This one was made this morning, just before

everyone was going to lunch." The screen showed two

Kaldorni entering the turbolift. One walked

easily and supported the other, who moved as if

heavily drugged. With a start, Kirk realized the

clothes on the dazed man were the same as those on the

corpse found on the hangar deck only a short

time later-they were watching the murderer lead his

victim.

"That looks like enough evidence to accuse

someone of murder. Do you know who?"

"I think so. I searched this afternoon's recordings,

and have identified which one of the ambassador's aides

I think the intruder has replaced. However,

Captain, I wanted you to confirm my conclusion before

I took further action."

"All right, Mr. Chekov." The computer cycled

through the Kaldorni's movements during the afternoon.

Kirk watched the sequence three times before he said

anything. "There isn't much doubt, is there?" "I

did not think so, Captain. However, I did not

want there to be any chance of error."

"Who is the spy now, Lieutenant? Do you have a

name?" "If my information is correct, he is the

one called k'ationavle s'Flen. He has a very

high position in the 238

ambassador's party. However, he belongs to a

rival clan and Ambassador Klee does not

trust him."

"I see. Now that we've identified the spy

again, what should we do about it?"

A frown creased Chekov's forehead. "According

to Federation law, you cannot put one of the ambassador's

aides into detention unless Ambassador Klee

waives diplomatic immunity for him."

"That's going to be troublesome. Unless-was A

satisfied grin spread over the captain's face.

"If we convince Ambassador Klee the person

we want is an impostor, he should be willing

to let us make the arrest."

"I do not see how you expect to accomplish that,

Captain."

"I can't, but McCoy can. He's got the body

of the real s'Flen down in the morgue. Now that we can

tell him what to look for, I'll bet he can make

a positive identification of the body within an hour.

When we have his results, we'll tell the

ambassador."

"Do you want me to put a guard on s'Flen?"

The thought was tempting, to always have the suspect within

sight of someone Kirk trusted, but he forced himself

to reject the idea. "No. If we gave s'Flen

his own personal watchdog, it would tip the spy off

that we've figured out his disguise. However, you'd

better keep extra teams patrolling the

corridors until this is cleared up."

"I hope that will be sufficient, Captain."

"So do I, Mr. Chekov. So do I. And if

you'll excuse me, I'll get McCoy started

on that autopsy. Get those extra guards

posted as soon as you can." "Immediately, sir."

The briefing room door whisked shut behind them.

Srrawll whirled around, but the phaser had

reappeared in Simons' hand. Not yet, then,

Srrawll thought. The Kaldorni shape could not withstand

the phaser fire. She concentrated, rearranging the

cell

structure across her chest and abdomen. The

asbestoslike hide of the adult fire-fury would not

repel a sustained burst of fire, but it would give

her the critical seconds needed to reach Simons

when the opportunity came. Srrawll clenched and

unclenched her fists, feeling the fingernails strengthen

and sharpen.

"Why don't you explain who you are and what your

purpose is? I'd also like to know how you manage

to change identities so easily." Simons gave

SrrawIl a frigid smile and wiggled the hand that

held the phaser. "For starters, that is. And if you

don't talk, I know some tricks with a phaser that

aren't in the owner's manual."

Srrawll eased into a chair without taking her

eyes off the weapon. "You were told correctness

before. I am the ambassador's aide that is known as

k'ationavle s'Flen. It is not within my

understanding to know why you suspect me of being a different

thing."

A pitying smile spread across Simons' face.

She shook her head. "Try again. You're really not

that good a liar, t'Stror."

"The one called t'Stror is no more. The men of

Captain Kirk found his body on the hangar

deck. Why do you insist that I am that person?" "The

way you walk. The way you talk. Little things like that."

Simons' smile widened and became more predatory.

"Have you ever seen the damage a phaser will do to naked

skin when it's set for narrow beam and one-quarter

power?" "I do not understand why it is that you continue

to threaten me. What is it I have done that has

menaced you?"

"You know as well as I." Simons' finger

twitched on the firing stud. "Of course, if you're

telling the truth, we could call for the ship's

security people-to see if you really are the person your

identity disc claims you are."

Protect! Protect! The urge crashed over

Srrawll like a 240

cloudburst. Images of her warm, dark jungle

flooded her mind. She fought the compulsion to rip out the

woman's throat since Simons would

expect such a reaction from a cornered opponent.

Srrawll forced herself to slump in apparent defeat.

Struggling to avoid the defiant snarl that bubbled in

her throat, Srrawll asked, "What do you wish for

me to tell you?" "How about your identity and the nature

of your mission?" Simons allowed a small smile

of triumph to play across her face. Srrawll

studied her opponent, waiting for success to make

Simons overconfident. Gathering herself for the spring,

Srrawll slid lower in her chair. When she

spoke, however, she kept the proper tone of defeat

in her voice.

"We call our planet The World. It has no

other name that has meaning to us. I am here to protect

The World from those who would rob us of it." Her head

sank into her chest in despair. "I have failed. You

may use your weapon now."

"No." Simons shifted her phaser, aiming for a

crippling shot at Srrawll's shoulder. "That's a

start, but you can tell me more than that." Srrawll

uncoiled her legs and sprang in a powerful leap,

striking at Simons' phaser hand. The weapon

discharged, but the beam's main force was absorbed by the

fire-fury skin across Srrawll's chest. The

shapechanger's claws slashed the tendons

in Simons' wrist, sending the phaser flying toward

the wall a dozen paces away.

The momentum of the leap carried them both to the

floor. Srrawll pinned Simons flat and

covered her mouth with one hand. She pulled a syringe

from her carrying pouch and injected Simons, waiting

for the Trisopen to take effect before loosening her

grip. A sound halfway between a purr and a snarl

gathered in her throat.

"Why?" Simons' voice was weak and blurred from

the drug.

"I don't owe the enemy any explanations. But

in a few minutes, you won't remember it

anyway." The shapechanger's lips stretched into a

defiant snarl. "I do it to save my world. The

fat ones come to steal it or fight over the theft with

others as bad as they. If I knew how, I would

kill all of them, just so they would leave my world

alone!"

"That's nice." Simons' eyelids drooped as

she slid into the drug-induced trance.

The spitting, snarling cat smashed through Janara's

mind, ripping away the layers of drugged

unconsciousness. McCoy's sedative was wearing

off, but its action still interfered with the

boretelin Chapel had given her. She struggled

to block the cat from her awareness, but its attack

grew stronger. She moaned and tried to open her

eyes. Her eyelids felt as if they were made of

solid lead, but with effort, she forced them apart. At

first, she did not recognize where she was. Even

with the subdued lighting, she knew she was not in her own

quarters. As the room came into focus, she

identified the medical equipment and patient

monitors, but could not remember how she had gotten

to Sickbay. She tried to recall the events of the

past few hours, but she was too groggy and the

details refused to come.

As the savage cat renewed its psychic

attack, Janara reached for the bottle of boretelin

tablets. Her hand clutched it as if it were a

lifeline. She shook out several pills and gulped

them down, struggling to hold the cat at bay until

the drug took effect.

Slowly, the cat faded to a darkness as black as

its hide. The last thing that registered on her

consciousness was the pain of phantom claw gashes

across her torso.

Montoya looked up from the computer screen as the

door closed behind his wife. "It's getting

late. I

was starting to wonder if something had happened to you."

"I was walking around." She dropped onto the

bed, looking distraught and helpless. "That Deltan

animal beat up my poor little Jane-Anne, and

Captain Kirk won't let me see her. Her

own mother!" She blinked several times, trying to hold

back the tears that filled her eyes. Montoya

turned off the computer and crossed the room to join

her. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders,

holding her close. "I'm sure Captain Kirk

has his reasons, but if it will make you feel

better, we can go to Sickbay now and talk to the

doctor. That way, you'll at least know what's going

on."

"Do you really think they'd tell us anything?" He

looked at her pale, woebegone face and smiled

tenderly. "You're her mother, aren't you? The captain

was probably trying to say you'd be in the doctor's

way while he was treating her. I'm sure they'll

let you see her now, if she's awake."

"At this time of night?" Her voice cracked, and

she looked away to hide her tears.

"I thought you said she worked the night shift."

Montoya kissed her forehead. "Besides,

if Dr. McCoy is as good as everyone says,

Jane may be out of Sickbay by now."

"Do you really think so?" She looked up at

Montoya, blinked her eyes several times, and

swallowed hard before she spoke. "Could we go right

now? I would feel so much better if I just knew

how she was."

"I think we can manage that." Montoya stood

and pulled her to her feet. She leaned against him for

support as they left the room.

Chapel looked up from her terminal as two people

entered Sickbay. Commissioner Montoya stopped

beside the admitting station. "My wife is concerned about

her daughter. We hope you can give us some

information, and possibly allow Cecilia to see the

girl."

Chapel stood. Montoya was not particularly

tall, and Chapel's uniform boots gave her an

additional advantage. She used it to emphasize

her words. "I don't have the authority to allow

visitors. Dr. McCoy left strict orders

that Lieutenant Whitehorse was to see no one."

Simons sniffled. A large tear coursed down

her cheek. "Is she in such bad shape that even her

mother can't see her?"

"I don't know why Dr. McCoy said no

visitors." Years of reassuring patients made

it easy for Chapel to hide that lie. She summoned

her most reassuring smile and continued, "The last

time I checked her, she was resting comfortably. You

don't need to worry on that count."

"Doctor, could we see her for a few moments?

I'm sure that would relieve my wife's mind

considerably."

"I'm not authorized to overturn my superior

officer's orders in that matter." A trace of

annoyance crept into Chapel's voice. "However,

if you insist, I'll ask Dr. McCoy whether

he wants to make an exception to his orders."

"We would greatly appreciate that, Doctor."

Chapel gestured toward the outer office. "If you

will please wait in the other room, I'll try

to find Dr. McCoy." When Montoya and

Simons were seated, Chapel called McCoy, who

was washing up after running additional analyses on the

dead Kaldorni.

McCoy scowled when Chapel told him

Montoya and Simons were in Sickbay, but while

Chapel talked, he returned the body to the

mortuary locker and traded his surgical

whites for his regular uniform. When Chapel signed

off, McCoy called Captain Kirk. He

waited in the corridor until the captain arrived.

McCoy and Kirk entered Sickbay together.

Montoya planted himself in front of McCoy.

"Doctor, 244

my wife is concerned about her daughter. Is there

any way she can see her?" Kirk stepped forward.

"Commissioner, those orders are mine. They are for

Lieutenant Whitehorse's protection."

"Surely you don't suspect the girl's mother of

threatening her safety?" Kirk glanced at

Simons. She seemed strangely quiet.

Uneasy but unable to isolate the cause, Kirk

focused his attention on Montoya. "Commissioner,

at the moment, everyone on this ship is under

suspicion. Too many strange things have been

happening."

"I still don't see-was

"Excuse me, sir," Chapel said, interrupting

Montoya. "Captain, would you allow the

commissioner's wife to see her daughter if you and

Dr. McCoy were in the room?"

Kirk gave the idea a moment's thought and nodded

grudging assent. "But only for a moment,"

McCoy said. "She needs rest and shouldn't be

bothered with visitors." He started toward

Janara's room. Kirk followed them, frowning with

concentration. It was not his imagination-there was something

different about Simons' behavior.

"What?" McCoy rushed to his patient. The

diagnostic panel displayed a mass of confused

readings. Janara was drugged, but McCoy did not

recognize the effects of any medication he knew.

He moved closer and his foot kicked something.

Leaning over, he picked up a small, square,

rough-textured bottle. Its top was missing, and it

held four or five brown, oval tablets.

McCoy frowned, unable to identify the pills.

He glanced toward Kirk. "Jim, tell

Christine to get in here at once."

"How long has she been like this?" McCoy asked

when Chapel joined them. Chapel looked from Janara

to the diagnostic panel,

comparing the readings with the ones she had been monitoring

just before Simons and Montoya arrived. She shook

her head. "Not long. I was monitoring her from the

other room."

She circled the bed and opened the control panel

for the monitoring equipment. The

diagnostics program registered a null output.

When she got the same results a second time,

Chapel snapped the cover shut. "The transponder

circuit is malfunctioning. It isn't sending any

warning signals to my console."

"What's going on." Kirk demanded.

McCoy held out the bottle to the captain.

"Lieutenant Whitehorse took an overdose of

something. I don't recognize these pills."

Chapel straightened to attention, looking like a

trainee waiting for a reprimand. "The pills are

boretelin, a Deltan psi-suppressant. I

thought it would be more beneficial than sedatives for

her."

"Deltan?" Simons pushed her way into the

group. "First, you let that animal beat her up, and

now you let him poison my poor little Janie. I

want that creature punished!"

"Ms. Simons," Chapel said, "the drug may

be Deltan, but it's hardly a poison. And if

anyone is at fault here, it's me. I left the

bottle within reach."

"I want that Deltan punished!!"

Kirk's thoughts snapped into focus and he

realized what was nagging at his

subconscious. Simons' words and gestures were the

same, but she lacked the overpowering sexuality he

identified with her. While he tried to unravel the

significance of that insight, Kirk went to the

intercom and called Tenaida to Sickbay. When he

finished, McCoy was still questioning Chapel about the drug.

"The function of any psi-suppressant is

to block off the areas of the brain involved with the psi

functions. Boretelin was formulated for use on

untrainable telepaths. It can be administered at

high dosages for long periods without side

effects." Chapel scanned the 246

diagnostic panel again. "As far as I know, the

only effect of a large dose is unconsciousness,

but I've never heard of anyone taking quite that much."

Footsteps sounded in the outer room. Tenaida

walked through the door in time to catch the last of

Chapel's explanation. "Doctor Chapel's

information is essentially correct. There have been

occasional reports of allergic reactions, but no

other harmful effects have ever been observed." He

raised an eyebrow in a questioning gesture when he saw

the almost empty bottle in McCoy's hand, but he

said nothing.

"He's lying!" Simons' voice

rose in a despairing wail. "First, he beat her

up and said he didn't do it, and now he's tried

to poison her with a drug he says is harmless."

Montoya had followed Tenaida into the room.

Simons went to her husband and buried her face

against his shoulder. "Yonnie, can you do something, if these

people won't?"

Montoya's arm tightened protectively around

her. "Captain, wouldn't it be wise to restrain the

suspect until you investigate the matter? I

think my wife has a valid point."

Kirk felt as though a trap had closed on

him. He knew Simons' accusations were

ridiculous, but he could not afford to antagonize

Montoya by saying so. The captain looked toward

Tenaida, wondering what he was thinking. The

Deltan caught Kirk's eyes and nodded almost

imperceptibly. Kirk remembered Brady's

earlier suggestion to confine him to the brig as bait for the

intruder. Though the idea still troubled him, he saw

no other choice. "Very well, Commissioner. If that

will satisfy you."

"Jim, you can't-was McCoy protested.

Kirk gave a shake of his head, hoping

McCoy would recognize the warning. When

the captain spoke, his voice sounded tired. "Not

now, Doctor. We'll talk about it later." He

cut off further protests by sending for the security

guards.

"I want someone with Lieutenant Whitehorse

at all 247

times. She's been having too many accidents

lately, and it's about time we practiced a little

"preventive medicine." Also, just to be safe,

I'm posting a security guard outside the door

until further notice."

McCoy started to object, but a second look

at Kirk's grim expression changed his mind.

When the security men arrived, Kirk had them arrest

Tenaida. After politely but firmly removing

Montoya and Simons from Sickbay, Kirk went

to the brig, ostensibly to interrogate his science

officer.

By the time Kirk reached the brig, Security

Chief Chekov was waiting. Kirk jerked his head

toward the office. "I'll be with you in a minute,

Mr. Chekov." He turned to the two guards.

"Johnstone, Ramirez-put Tenaida in

maximum security. And guard that door until I

bring your relief." The guards exchanged

puzzled looks. Access into the cell block was

controlled from Chekov's office. Tenaida was

calm, accepting his arrest with complete equanimity,

making such extreme precautions seem unnecessary.

Kirk glared at the two guards to warn them that his

orders were not to be questioned. Johnstone palmed the door

lock and waited for Chekov to release the

forcefield. They escorted the Deltan down the

corridor, and they locked him in a cell behind

another force barrier. When the door field was

restored, Johnstone and Ramirez took up their

places on either side of the opening.

"Captain, would you explain what is happening

now?" Chekov asked, stepping into the corridor.

Kirk pointed toward the security chief's

office. The room was small and sparsely

furnished, with surveillance screens covering one

wall. Kirk closed the door and pulled a chair

around to watch the monitors on the security cells.

Satisfied with his arrangements, he finally answered

Chekov's question. "Bait. I think the spy was in the

room when I arrested Tenaida. If so, she 248

will attack now while she believes Tenaida is

confined and unable to defend himself.

"I want your two best men to trade

shifts on that cell. One of them should be there at all

times. Don't let either of them leave this area or

get out of sight of another guard for any reason

until this is settled. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Captain."

"When your men arrive, I'll give them the

passwords I'll use if I want to see

Tenaida. Absolutely no one else is to go

into the cell, unless they're accompanied by me. If

someone tries to get in without the correct password,

or if I'm not with them, I'm ordering the guards

to shoot first and ask questions only after the person is under

restraints. Even if the person looks like me."

"Do you really think the spy will try to attack

Lieutenant Tenaida while he is in maximum

security?"

"Tenaida and I discussed it, Lieutenant, and

we think there's a chance. Besides, what have we got

to lose? If the spy doesn't move soon enough,

I'll let Tenaida out and hope we've got a

better idea by then."

Chekov called in two more guards. Kirk gave

them their orders and passwords, and took them

to Tenaida's cell. "Remember," he said,

repeating his orders for emphasis, "keep

in sight of another guard at all times. Don't

even go to the head by yourself. I don't want to give the

spy any opportunity to replace you and attack

Tenaida."

"We understand, sir." The looks of grim

anticipation on their faces told Kirk how

badly they wanted to get their chance at the spy. He

hoped the intruder would make her move before a long

vigil wore down the guards" fighting edge.

When Kirk re-entered the office, Chekov was

examining his monitor channels. "Would

Lieutenant Tenaida mind if we used the video

monitors to watch the inside of his cell? And

listened with the enhanced audio sensors?"

"Take any precaution you think necessary. The spy

has the advantage-she knows right where Tenaida

is."

"All right, Captain. We will use all our

sensors at full sensitivity." Chekov began

keying in the commands and Kirk escaped to the relative

peace of McCoy's office i n Sickbay.

Kirk stared at the wall, trying to isolate the

thought that he could not-quite-drag out of his subconscious

mind. If, as he suspected, the shapechanger had

replaced Cecilia Simons before

Simons and Montoya came to Sickbay, then where

and when had the substitution occurred? And what had

happened to the real Simons? That afternoon, both he and

Chekov had thought the shapechanger was disguised as the

Kaldorni k'ationavle s'Flen. He turned on

the computer, worked through the security clearances, and

called up the afternoon's recordings from the intercom

monitors. After five minutes' search, he found

Simons and s'Flen entering the turbolift on

Deck Seven. Kirk scanned forward and found where

they entered the briefing room, but Simons was the

only person who left.

After calling for a security team to investigate,

Kirk went to the briefing room himself. The armed

guards went inside, but returned immediately, looking

worse for the experience. "There's a body in there,"

Tiilson, a stocky blond ensign, reported.

"It's not a pretty sight."

Kirk entered the room. Simons' nude body

was sprawled on the floor. The torso had been

sliced open by parallel gashes that ran from

collarbone to pelvis. Blood covered the body and the

surrounding floor. Kirk turned away,

grimacing.

"Get a stretcher down here at once,"

he ordered. "We'll need an autopsy on that

body. And search the room for any clues."

"Yes, Captain." Tiilson hurried to the

intercom.

Kirk listened to the guard's agitated voice for a

moment, then turned to his tall, dark-haired

partner. "Keth, tell McCoy I want the

autopsy report the minute it's ready. I'll

talk to Commissioner Montoya now and will be available

after that." He paused, glancing over at the corpse

once more. "Have the doctor wake me up when the

report is ready."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Kirk stared at the intercom, wondering how to tell

Commissioner Montoya of his wife's death.

Montoya would not take the news well, especially

given the circumstances of the murder. Finally, Kirk

hit the control pad. There was no good way to break the

news, so he might as well quit procrastinating.

The voice that answered the call was blurred with

sleep. "Montoya here." "This is Captain

Kirk. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but

something important has come up. Are you alone?"

"My wife is asleep, Captain. Can't this

wait until morning?" If I put it of

Kirk thought, there may not be any morning for you.

"I'm afraid not, Commissioner. Could you come to Dr.

McCoy's office at once?" When Montoya

answered, his voice sounded more awake. "Very well,

Captain. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll be expecting you. Kirk out." He

slapped at the intercom pad. "Chekov? Kirk

here. Put a triple guard outside Commissioner

Montoya's quarters. If his wife leaves those

rooms, arrest her immediately. Use extreme

caution; she's to be considered armed and dangerous."

"Yes, Captain."

"On second thought," Kirk said, cursing himself

for his stupidity, "pass Montoya through, but arrest

anyone else that leaves that cabin." "Acknowledged."

"Kirk out." He slumped in his chair, fiddling

with the strap on his chronometer. Five minutes, he

told himself. If Montoya isn't here in five

minutes, Ill have to assume he's been replaced,

too. He activated a medical scanner and linked

its output to the computer, setting the system to warn him

if the scan registered less than 95 percent

correspondence with Montoya's identity files.

The phaser in his lap felt comfortingly solid.

Montoya entered and took the seat Kirk

offered. "All right, Captain, would you mind telling

me what's so important it cannot wait until

morning?" Kirk glanced at the computer screen. It

showed a solid 98 percent on all scans. Knowing

he faced the real Montoya did not make it

easier to choose the right words. "Half an hour

ago, we found a body in the briefing room,

Commissioner. We're certain of the identification; it

was your wife." "That's impossible. I left

Cecilia in our quarters not five minutes ago."

"I'm afraid that was an impostor, Commissioner.

When we found her, your wife had been dead for some

time."

Montoya opened his mouth to protest, but no words

came. His jaw muscles twitched convulsively,

and his face took on a numb, bewildered look.

"You've seen the body, Captain?" he asked when

he could speak. "Yes. It wasn't a pretty

sight, but I'm certain of the identification." Kirk

shuddered, remembering just how well he knew

Simons' body. "I would like to see her,

Captain. I have to be sure."

Kirk searched Montoya's face for clues

to his emotional state. He seemed in control, as

calm as the proverbial stone Vulcan.

How long that restraint would last, Kirk could not

guess, but for the moment, he decided to play things

Montoya's way.

"Very well, Commissioner."

McCoy was doing the autopsy when Kirk

escorted Montoya into the ship's morgue. The

doctor threw a

sheet over the torso to conceal the deep wounds from

Montoya. He stared at his wife's face for

several minutes without registering any emotion.

Finally he walked out of the room, his movements slow

and wooden. Kirk heard him drop into a chair.

"Bones, do you have any preliminary results?"

McCoy gave him a disgusted look the condition

of the body should have been enough to tell Kirk what the

doctor's initial findings would be. "Cause of

death loss of blood and internal damage. You

saw those slashes. Also, she was given a massive

dose of Trisopen-5 shortly before she died."

"Just like the other one." It gave Kirk little

satisfaction to know the spy was being consistent. Also, with

Simons dead, they might never learn what her

interest in their mission had been.

"There's something I'd like to show you, though."

McCoy switched on a display screen.

"I did a full body scan. Notice the dark

area behind the left ear."

"An implant of some sort?" Kirk asked.

"It looks like one of the code-receiving chips

Intelligence uses for their agents."

"It's similar, but I don't recognize the

design and the neural connections are wrong. It

isn't one that our people admit to using."

"Can you get it out so we can study it?"

"I don't know. I'll try, but I'd prefer

to have Tenaida and Scotty help me with it. These

infernal gadgets often incorporate

self-destruct mechanisms." "In that case,

don't do anything for a while. Tenaida should be free

to help you in an hour or so."

"Good." McCoy returned to work as Kirk

left the room. He was analyzing the slashes,

hoping to learn what had made them, and he wanted

to finish the job as quickly as he could.

Kirk stopped beside Montoya's chair, waiting

for the other man to notice him. Montoya raised his

head, giving Kirk a dazed, hopeless look.

"What will you do about the thing impersonating my wife?"

"With your permission, sir?" When Montoya

nodded, Kirk called Security.

"Tell the guards on Commissioner Montoya's

quarters to arrest anyone inside." He turned off

the intercom.

"Thank you, Captain. Is there somewhere I could be

undisturbed for a while? I need to sort some things

out." He stumbled over the words, stretching them out as

if talking was too great an effort.

"Use Dr. McCoy's office. He's busy

and won't need it for some time." "Thank you."

Montoya staggered out of the chair. His motions, like his

words, were stiff and mechanical. He acted as though

his brain had divorced itself from the rest of his body.

Kirk took Montoya to McCoy's office.

Montoya seemed oblivious to his surroundings, but

Kirk gave him a glass of McCoy's

medicinal scotch anyway. For a moment, Kirk

found himself wishing he could join Montoya and postpone

his next unpleasant duty, but he knew he would be

needed soon in the brig. Before he reached the

turbolift, the intercom paged him. "Kirk here."

"Captain, no one was in Commissioner

Montoya's quarters. And the guards saw no one

leave the cabin."

"Acknowledged. Kirk out." He looked

nervously over his shoulder as he hurried

into the turbolift. Somehow, the spy had outguessed

them once again and had evaded the trap. She was

loose on the Enterprise, and Kirk had no idea

where to start looking.

WHEN KIRK CALLED MONTOYA,

Srrawll suspected someone had found the body in the

briefing room. Leaving it there had been sloppy

work, but removing the evidence without attracting

attention had been impossible. She had considered

disfiguring the body, but without a false identity

to mislead the investiga- tors, the effort would have been

wasted.

Destroying the body with Simons' phaser would have

been better, but to Srrawll's disgust, the device

had been keyed to Simons. By the time Srrawll

discovered that, the flesh of Simons' hand had cooled

enough that it would not trigger the sensors in the phaser's

handle. When she left the body in the briefing

room, Srrawll had hoped it would not be found

until morning. Once Montoya was sound

asleep, she could drug him as Simons had done

when she had slipped out at night. Then, using

Montoya's form, Srrawll could execute the fat

ones. When Kirk finally discovered who was

responsible, the negotiations would be over.

Now, however, she could not replace Montoya.

In the short time available to her, even with the

Trisopen, she might miss critical information

needed to carry off the sustained impersonation of so

impor- 255

tant an individual. She feigned sleep

until Montoya left, then opened the cabin's

air duct.

Concentrating carefully, she visualized the sur

snake of her home jungles. After a moment, she

felt her form shift, lengthening and stretching. And then

she moved inside, feeling the walls of the air duct

against her scales.

Kirk drained the dregs from his coffee cup and

grimaced. With the best food synthesizers and

technicians in the Federation at his disposal, he still

could not get a good cup of coffee. He reached for the

carafe to pour another cup, wondering whom he had

to bribe to get something that tasted like the real thing.

"Assistant," he said to the computer. "Scan and

evaluate Commander Brady's files on the

shapechanger theory. Is such an entity possible?"

After a long moment, the computer replied, "Commander

Brady's files contain much speculation but no

data amenable to analysis."

"But could such a being exist?"

"Insufficient data. Commander Brady

postulates an ability for total transformation of

cellular material. However, he does not

stipulate the time parameters of such a transformation,

nor does he specify how much of this hypothetical

creature's metabolism would be directed to fueling

the transformation. Other factors needed for the

analysis include the physical size of the

creature and its biochemistry. Without such basic

information, no meaningful analysis of this problem is

possible."

The door buzzer interrupted Kirk's

irritated reply. "Come," he called as he

deactivated the computer.

With a swish, the door slid aside. Patrick

Brady, looking tousled and rumpled, entered

Kirk's office. He threw himself into a chair and

reached for the other coffee cup. "Captain, if you had

to have a meeting at this ungodly hour, at least you

provided 256

the amenities. Though I'm sure your chief

surgeon wouldn't approve of you serving it by the

pot."

Kirk shrugged. "Is the dress uniform

for my benefit, or did I interrupt something

important? Does it have anything to do with that ensign

you've been admiring?"

"Captain!" Brady said with injured innocence.

"I'll have you know I've been working so hard lately

I haven't had time for pursuing said fair ensign.

Do you always run such a sweatshop?"

He gulped a mouthful of his coffee and almost

choked. "Where did you get this stuff? It tastes

exactly like the witches' brew they serve on

Starbase 34. And I have it on good authority the

mess officer there uses the engineer's sweat socks

to give it the proper punch."

"Maybe that's what they modeled our synthesizer

program after. But the coffee's not what I wanted

to talk to you about."

"I didn't think so." Brady dropped his

joking manner. "What's up?" Kirk described

the events of the last hour, concluding with Simons'

death and Tenaida's arrest. "So that's the plan.

We're hoping the spy will make a move and we can

catch her. Is there anything I've left out?"

Brady reached for the coffee. He lifted the lid,

then swung his arm, emptying the carafe in Kirk's

face. Kirk yelled as the hot liquid

hit him. Brady launched himself at Kirk. He

cleared the desk with ease, and his hands closed around

Kirk's throat.

The attack took Kirk by surprise. He

tried to twist away from his attacker and fell

sideways out of his chair, pulling Brady down on

top of him. Brady's hands squeezed harder,

closing off Kirk's windpipe. But Kirk had not

survived Finnegan's attacks at the Academy

without learning a few things about gutter fighting. He

slapped his hands hard against Brady's ears.

Brady grunted in surprise, and his hold on

Kirk's throat loosened. Before he could recover,

Kirk slammed one knee into Brady's crotch,

then rammed both fists into his kidneys, knocking

the wind out of him. Brady struggled to keep his hold

on Kirk, but the captain grabbed his thumbs and

jerked. There was a sharp crack of breaking bone.

Brady yowled and scrambled to get his feet under him.

Kirk kicked out with both legs. Brady flew

backward, crashed into the wall, and slid to the

floor, stunned. Kirk pulled himself to his feet,

gasping for breath. He slapped at the intercom

pad. "Security. My office. On the double."

Brady let out another frustrated yowl

and struggled to his feet. Before Kirk could move,

he stumbled out the door. Kirk tried to follow, but

by the time he reached the door, Brady was out of sight.

Frustrated, Kirk leaned against the wall, trying

to catch his breath.

The turbolift whisked open and four security

men jogged up to Kirk. "Security reporting as

ordered, sir."

"Search the area. The spy just attacked me, then

escaped into the corridor. He's disguised as

Commander Brady."

"Commander Brady? We'll find him right away,

Captain." The security men split into two teams

and began searching the corridors. Kirk leaned against

the wall, still trying to gather his scattered wits. The

attack had caught him completely off guard,

especially since the spy's conversation had sounded so

much like Brady's. Did that mean Brady had met

the same fate as Cecilia Simons-or was the

spy a very observant actor? And what was her next

move?

As soon as he asked the question, Kirk began

cursing himself for a fool. Of course the spy would head

for the brig. Whatever she wanted with Tenaida, she

would hope to accomplish by speed, to get

to Tenaida while Kirk and the security men were busy

elsewhere. Kirk hit the intercom switch. He

warned Chekov of his suspicions and ordered him

to find out what had happened to Patrick Brady.

Then, still swearing under his breath, Kirk headed for the

turbolift at a dead run.

Captain Kirk entered the brig and approached the

two guards flanking Tenaida's cell door.

Both guards remained impassive, one watching the

corridor while the other kept his eyes on the

prisoner. Srrawll massaged the poison sacs

at the tips of her fingers. "Let me in the cell with

him," she ordered.

The guard inspected her. For a moment, she feared

he had found a flaw in her impersonation, but he

turned toward the forcefield control mechanism. With

his hand poised over the touch pads, he said in a

conversational tone, ""Tis a wee bit early for

playing poker, is it not, sir?" Srrawll

blinked, wondering what to say to the irrelevant

remark. When she hesitated, the second guard

fired his phaser. She crumpled td the floor,

knocked unconscious by the heavy stun setting.

The watch officer looked up when Kirk entered the

guardroom. "Captain, I thought you just

went in to talk to the prisoner."

"No, I-was A grin of triumph split

Kirk's face. This time, he had guessed right!

"We've got her!" He charged from the room and into the

maximum security area, just in time to see his double

collapse on the floor. "Report," he

ordered, skidding to a halt beside the guards. "This

person asked to enter Lieutenant Tenaida's

cell. He didn't know the response to the code

phrase." The guard repeated the poker question. "It's

later than you think, Mr. Kelowicz," Kirk

replied. "Let's get Tenaida out of there and

lock up our prisoner. Have McCoy send someone

to collect

physiological data on-whoever that is-before the

prisoner wakes up. And put a guard in there with

her. If she tries anything, stun her again. I

want her to still be here when I return."

"Yes, sir."

They lowered the forcefield and carried Kirk's

double inside the cell. With the spy locked up and under

restraints, Kirk and Tenaida left the maximum

security area. After telling Tenaida what had

happened in the last few hours, Kirk sent him

to Sickbay to help McCoy extract the

implant from Simons" body. That left Kirk

with nothing to do until the prisoner regained

consciousness. He got another cup of coffee and

settled into a chair to wait.

"Captain?"

Kirk pushed his head off the table and struggled

to open his eyes. "Captain, the prisoner is

awake. Do you wish to question him now?" Kirk

straightened in the chair, stretching his back. "Yes,

Kelowicz. I'll be there in a minute." He

picked up his half-empty cup and downed the cold

coffee in three gulps. Scowling at the bitter

taste, Kirk left the cup on the table and followed

Kelowicz to the prisoner's cell. It was a shock

to see himself strapped to the bunk. Extra restraints

had been added, making it almost impossible for the

prisoner to move. Seeing Kirk's expression,

Kelowicz said, "Lieutenant Chekov ordered the

additional restraints, sir."

"A wise precaution." He entered the cell.

The spy glared at Kirk, putting all her hatred

into the look. Kirk was grateful for the weapons held

by the guards behind him.

"I am Captain James T. Kirk of the

starship Enterprise, was the prisoner said.

"You are an impostor and I demand to be released

at once!"

Kirk moved closer. Even from this distance, he could

detect no visible flaws in the impersonation. He

shuddered, chilled by the uncanny resemblance and the

eerie sensation of seeing and hearing himself. "The medical

department examined you while you were unconscious. You

are not, in spite of outward appearances, James

Kirk. Who are you?"

The double tensed, testing the restraints. They

tightened automatically, holding the captive's

body firmly against the bed. "A prisoner of war.

You have no authority over me."

"A prisoner of war?" Kirk's voice rose

in disbelief. "You are a spy, a saboteur, and a

murderer. So if you have anything to say for yourself, you'd

better start talking."

The double clamped his jaws shut and turned his head

toward the wall. "All right, let's try this. If

we don't find out anything more about you, we can't

reprogram the food synthesizers to meet your

dietary needs. You might have trouble finding enough energy

to hold your borrowed form." Kirk turned and walked

out, signaling the guards to restore the forcefield.

"It is not your plan to starve the prisoner,

is it, Captain?" Chekov asked when he and

Kirk were seated in Chekov's office. "That would be

considered a very cruel and unusual punishment."

"Of course not, but what I said is partly true.

We'll need information before we can program the food

synthesizers properly. I'm guessing it must take

a lot of energy to maintain an alien's shape, so

I'm hoping the threat of starvation will encourage the

prisoner to talk sooner." Kirk glanced at the

monitor to see if h is words had had any effect

yet. "I understand, Captain. We will continue

to observe the prisoner, and we will notify you the

minute anything changes."

"Carry on, Lieutenant." Kirk pushed himself

out of

the chair and forced his legs to carry him through the

door. He stopped at Sickbay for McCoy's

report on Patrick Brady.

"A bad concussion, and assorted bumps and

bruises." McCoy blocked the door to keep

Kirk from moving to Brady's bed. "He'll be

fine, but he needs rest. Same as you, Captain.

Are you going to your quarters, or do I give you the

bed next to Mr. Brady's?"

"I'll take my own, thank you."

"By the way, what happened to him?" McCoy

nodded his head toward Brady. "Apparently, the

spy attacked him. Fortunately, she didn't have

enough time to finish him off."

"What about you?"

Kirk shrugged. "We've caught the spy. Now

I think I'll go sleep for a week." "Just what

I was going to prescribe."

With great effort, he made it to his quarters before

collapsing from exhaustion. The Kaldorni women were

asleep on blankets piled on the floor, so the

bed was unoccupied. Kirk fell across it without

bothering to undress. As his head hit the pillow, he

recalled the double's words about being a prisoner of

war. "What was that supposed to mean?" Kirk mumbled

to himself. If it was important, he would figure it

out in the morning. Right now, he was too tired to think.

The intercom buzzer woke Kirk. He shoved

himself to a sitting position and looked at his

chronometer. 0700. It was past time for him to be

up, even if he had gotten only four hours of

sleep. He rubbed his eyes and reached for the control

pad.

"Captain," Tenaida's voice came through the

speaker, "I thought you would like to know what we

learned from the implant in Ms. Simons' body."

"Definitely, Tenaida. I'll be down in five

minutes."

Kirk bounced off the bed, suddenly feeling wide

awake. Finally, he was starting to get some answers

instead of only finding more questions. The room was

oppressively hot, and he considered taking a

shower. After a moment's thought, he decided to postpone

it until after he had seen Tenaida. He traded

the rumpled uniform he had slept in for a clean one,

tugged a comb through his hair, and was out the door before the

Kaldorni women had roused themselves from their

makeshift beds on the floor.

At this hour, most of the crew were on duty,

asleep, or eating, and the corridors were deserted.

Kirk saw no one as he hurried to Sickbay.

He charged through the door, out of breath from his haste.

"Let's have it." Tenaida handed him a noteboard

showing the circuit schematics for the implant. The

Deltan looked tired but his expression was

confident, as if he were well-pleased with his

results. "We were able to disarm the self-destruct

circuits in the implant, so we could remove it from

the body with its information intact. I dumped

its data into our computer for analysis."

"And came up with what?"

"The implant was a cipher chip for Simons

to encode and decode her communications with the people who

hired her. We decoded the message she added

to Commissioner Montoya's dispatch tape. It

suggests she was working for Dalien Cenara."

"Dalien Cenara?" Kirk stared at Tenaida in

disbelief, wondering if he had heard the Deltan

correctly. Dalien Cenara was the most notorious

underworld figure in Federation space. He controlled

an immense organization and was involved in every

illegal activity that would turn a profit.

Rumor claimed that Cenara could find a person for

any job-if the customer could pay his price.

"Someone must have wanted something pretty bad if they

went to Cenara for it. Do you know what her instructions

were?" "I infer her mission was to disrupt the

negotiations. That would have led to war between the Kaldorni

Worlds and the Beystohn League over the disputed

planet."

"Then someone who would profit from the hostilities

paid Cenara to sabotage the discussions." It was a

grim, ugly, and all-too-probable scenario.

"That's my conclusion." Tenaida's mouth

quivered in agitation. "Captain, there was something

else about the implant."

"Ye-es?" Kirk drew the word out into a question,

afraid if he pushed too hard Tenaida would not

tell him what was bothering him. "I am disturbed about

how the implant was placed in the skull." Tenaida

took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was totally

encased by bone, and there were no insertion marks-Dr.

McCoy believes that bone was grown around the unit

and the plate grafted into the skull."

"If that's true, is this discussion heading where I

think it is?" Tenaida nodded, his mouth compressed

into a harsh line. "It means that someone has greatly

improved implant techniques. A device

installed like Ms. Simons' is virtually

undetectable to all but the most thorough medical

scans. Furthermore, given the neural connections

required for a person to operate the implant, it could

not be removed from living tissue. To attempt to do so

would immediately activate the self-destruct

mechanism." "Destroying the person, as well as the

device." Kirk shuddered, thinking that someone had found

an incontestable way to insure loyalty. "Federation

Security will want to know about this as soon as

possible. Dispatch your report to them,

Priority One, when it's finished."

"Very well, Captain."

"To change the subject, where does our friend in the

brig fit into this?" "I don't know." A puzzled

look spread across Tenaida's face. "How long

do you intend to deprive the prisoner of food? If

she's been eating the Kaldorni 264

food, you can't expect her to take your threat of

starvation too seriously." Kirk gave Tenaida a

sheepish grin. "I was improvising-and hoping she

doesn't like Kaldorni food. What I'd

planned to do was question her again this morning, and then see

if McCoy and Leftwell have had time to work up her

nutritional requirements from the medical exam the

doctors did last night." "I see. When were you

going to conduct the interrogation?" "After I've had a

shower, breakfast, and enough coffee to keep me awake.

Do you want to help with the questioning?"

"Definitely."

"Then meet me in the brig in an hour."

Janara opened her eyes and looked around the

room, cataloging the monitors and equipment of a

standard room in Sickbay. She focused her

awareness inward, probing her body for new

injuries. Her collarbone and ribs had

been repaired, but she found a fresh assortment of

bruises on her body. She ran a hand down her

torso, half expecting to find a long knife

cut. The motion attracted Chapel's attention and

she came to the bedside. "How are you feeling this

morning?" she asked.

"All right." Janara checked herself again. The

residual damage was minor and, for once,

McCoy's sedatives had passed through her system

without making her feel like one of the rock specimens in

the lab. Even the predatory cat was seeking other

game for the moment. "Actually, I feel quite good."

"That's great. Dr. McCoy said I was to feed you

breakfast, and then he wants to talk to you." Chapel

sent for her breakfast tray. McCoy entered the

room as Janara finished her cereal. After he had

ordered Chapel to remove the 265

tray, McCoy paced the room, avoiding

Janara's curious look. When he realized what

he was doing, he stopped beside the bed.

"I have some bad news," he said, trying to meet

Janara's eyes. "Your mother was murdered last

night."

"A knife," Janara said in a flat tone,

drawing a line from her collarbone to her

pelvis.

"More like giant claws." McCoy stopped when

he realized what Janara had said. "How did you

know?"

"I-felt it."

"Then you already knew your mother was dead?"

Janara shook her head, denying the specifics.

"I knew someone was attacked. I didn't know

who."

McCoy searched her face for any sign of

emotional reaction. "You act as if it doesn't

matter that your mother was killed."

"Should it matter, Doctor? Our relationship was

due to an accident of biology, nothing more. Would you

like me to cry for you?" "No, but I don't think it's

healthy for you to bottle up your feelings, either."

"What feelings do you mean, Doctor? I

don't feel anything. Just tired . . . and

empty." Janara closed her eyes and turned her

head away. "If you don't mind, I think I'll

take a nap."

McCoy waited for several minutes, but Janara

ignored him. Finally, realizing Janara would not

continue the discussion, the doctor left. There were

limits to how much help he could offer

to someone who did not want to accept it.

"Captain, it was the strangest thing! We were

watching the prisoner on the monitor like

Lieutenant Chekov ordered, and suddenly his-I

mean, herentire body started to melt and . . . and

change shape. It took three or four minutes.

You can see the final results of the transformation."

Kirk took a long look at the screen. The

prisoner

was still strapped to the bunk, but a compact felinoid,

definitely female, had replaced the duplicate

James Kirk. She twisted against the

self-adjusting restraints, and the motion drew the

uniform tunic tight across four small, rounded

breasts. Her nose was broad and flat, and her

narrow, lipless mouth was twisted in a vicious

half-snarl. Two pointed, triangular ears

twitched in short, angry movements as she strained

to hear any sound her captors made. The five

centimeters of black fur on her head stood on

end. Her unblinking amber eyes stared toward the

concealed video pickup, and Kirk wondered if she

knew it was there. "Analysis, Tenaida?" "If

that's her true form, she doesn't belong to any

race known to us." "But is that her natural

appearance? Could it be another disguise?" "I

don't know. However, Shan Janara consistently

reported a black, catlike being. If her

appearance is for our benefit, she would confuse us more

by continuing to look lik e you."

"Then let's talk to her, because we're not going

to get any more answers sitting here."

"Agreed."

Kirk signaled to the three waiting guards

to follow him. He left one man outside the

shapechanger's cell and took the other two men

inside with him. The man already in the cell moved to the

far wall. Each of the guards braced himself against a

wall and trained his phaser on the prisoner. The

felinoid stared past Kirk. Only the increased

twitching of her ears showed she had noticed him.

"Are you ready to talk yet?"

"Am not obligated to talk with murderers and

thieves." She punctuated the words with vicious

snarls.

"Murderers? What do you call killing my

security guard? Or Cecilia Simons? Or

the Kaldorni ambassador's aides?"

"Thieves and friends of thieves. They are not

important."

"And what is important?"

"I defend my people. My solitude. I am

prisoner of war because I failed." "Where do you come

from?"

"The World. Where else?"

"That's not particularly helpful. Many beings call

their planets The World. his

"Prisoners of war are not required to tell their

captors anything. That is your law. My law

says thieves must be killed like the animals they

are." "What does this have to do with the Enterprise or

anyone aboard her?" "The fat ones are thieves.

You aid the fat ones, so you are no better than

they. In war against the enemies of my planet, I

kill all that interfere." "Yagra," Tenaida

said. "The prisoner is from Yagra IV."

"Is not name of The World!" She hissed and

snarled, arching her body against the restraints that held

her. Her struggle was so violent Kirk was afraid

she would hurt herself.

"Is Yagra IV the name used by members of the

Federation for the planet you come from?"

"Yes!" she answered between yowls and snarls.

"Captain, this changes the situation for the

negotiations. The Prime Directive

clearly prohibits colonial development under

these circumstances." "Yes, a native

intelligent race on the planet negates both the

Kaldorni and the Beystohnai claims

to exploitation rights." Kirk was not sure if

discussing the Prime Directive in front of the

prisoner would persuade her to cooperate, but at the

very worst, he did not see how she could become less

compliant.

"Of course, we must prove the prisoner comes from

that planet." Kirk glanced at the shapechanger.

She was listening intently to the discussion, but her

expression was

hostile. Clearly, she did not believe what

he and Tenaida had just said. "How long will it take

you to prove she comes from Yagra?" "I don't know,

Captain. I'll start on it at once."

"Unless the prisoner wants to tell us anything

now-was The felinoid clamped her jaws shut when she

saw Kirk looking at her. "comI think we'll

continue this later."

The prisoner stared at the ceiling, pretending she

had not heard anything Kirk had said. The captain

motioned to the security guards, and two of the three men

followed him and Tenaida out of the cell.

"May I see the patient, Doctor?"

McCoy looked up from his computer screen. He

had not heard Tenaida approach. "I don't see

why not. I'm keeping her here for observation, but she can

have visitors."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Janara was sitting against a pile of pillows, with the

computer screen in front of her. When Tenaida

entered the room, she shoved the machine away with an

annoyed grimace. "The doctor set this thing for

"read only," and I haven't been able to counter the

blocks. I'm getting tired of what little I can

do."

Loose strands of dark hair framed her face and

accented her smooth olive skin. Her expression

softened as she forgot her irritation with McCoy. A

wave of tenderness for the small woman washed through

Tenaida, and he was overwhelmed by her beauty. Why

have I never noticed it before? he thought. He

swallowed, trying to bring his voice under control. She

shook her head and gave him a half-smile.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has thought about me in a

long time, but you know it isn't true." "To me, it

is," Tenaida responded. He swallowed and

continued, barely able to keep his voice from

shaking. "I would ask if there is a soul mate for

you. She who was bonded to me died many years ago, and

until now, I have not found anyone I would wish

to take her place." Janara sank into the pillows

and closed her eyes. After a small eternity, her

eyelids fluttered open again. Tenaida let himself

drown m her gaze. She smiled, breaking the

spell. "There is much to consider in your proposal.

It will give me something to do until the doctor

releases me from his tender care. I had never thought

to find one of my own kind to share my life."

Tenaida wrapped his hands around one of hers, holding

it like a precious jewel. It was so small it

seemed lost between his wide palms. At last,

reluctantly, he laid her hand on the blanket.

"I must go. The alien we captured is from the

disputed planet, and the captain wants my advice

on the scientific and technical aspects of the

discovery."

"Tell me what's happened," she said, touching his

hand. "It will help you organize your thoughts for the

captain."

After a moment, he nodded in agreement. He

told how they had captured the shapechanger

and what finding a native intelligent race on

Yagra would mean for the Enterprise's diplomatic

mission. When he had talked himself into silence, she

suggested an idea he had overlooked. He glanced

at his chronometer, judging how long he had before

Kirk would need him. "I must run some simulations

on your suggestion, but I think you have solved our

problem."

"I hope so. There isn't much else I can do from

this bed."

"I'll ask the doctor to allow you full use

of the computer, although he is most stubborn about such

things."

"Don't I know!" Janara watched Tenaida

leave with a soft smile on her face.

Kirk downed another mouthful of coffee and set the

cup aside. Three hours of continuous subspace

communications with Admiral Chen and the Federation

Council's legal department had sorely tried his

patience. The diplomatic briefing that followed had

done nothing to improve his frame of mind. "That's

about it." He gave Kristiann Norris the

noteboard with the last of the documents he had just

summarized for her. "When Tenaida compared the

prisoner's physiology to our files on

Yagra IV, it confirmed her claim that she came

from that planet. Since her race is obviously

intelligent, the need for negotiations between the

Kaldorni and the Beystohn League no longer

exists."

Norris nodded. "The next thing we have to do is

explain this to Ambassador Klee. He isn't

going to be happy at losing those resources for his

planet." "Lieutenant Tenaida suggested a

solution. We submitted it to the Federation Council

along with a recommendation to permanently quarantine

Yagra IV. We're waiting for the reply."

"What was Shan Tenaida's idea?"

"When we were called to Starbase 15 to pick up

your party, we were working on the first phase of a routine

exploration and mapping assignment. We had just

finished scanning the Shansar system. It's a little

farther from the Kaldorni Worlds than Yagra, which

may explain why they haven't discovered it yet.

There are no intelligent inhabitants in the

system, and Tenaida reports the second planet

is similar to the Kaldorni homeworld in climate

and gravity. We proposed that the Kaldorni be

given the exclusive right to develop that planet."

"That should satisfy Ambassador

Klee, but what about the Beystohn League?"

"Conditions on the fourth planet in the Shansar

system should be much more to their liking than anything on

Yagra."

"Isn't it something of a coincidence that you just

happened to have a solar system waiting to be parceled

out?"

"Not really. There are plenty of uninhabited-and

unexplored-planets in this sector. The

Enterprise could have found something suitable with very little

effort, although neither the Kaldorni nor the Beystohn

League have the spaceflight technology for

extensive exploration-yet. If there's any luck

involved, it's that we didn't have to search for what we

needed." "And what about the prisoner? She may

consider herself a hero protecting her world, but that

doesn't justify her actions in everyone's eyes.

Joachim, for one, wants to see her properly

punished."

Kirk sighed, wondering if any answer would

satisfy Montoya. The commissioner alternated between

periods when he seemed functional and times when he

refused to leave his quarters or see anyone. "I

don't know what will happen there, Kris. The

Federation Council will decide that." Before

he could say more, the intercom sounded. He tapped the

switch. "Kirk here."

"Captain, we have a message for you from the

Federation Council." "What is it, Uhura?"

"The Council concurs with your recommendation

to terminate the scheduled negotiations between the United

Worlds of the Kaldorni Systems and the Beystohn

Amalgamated League of Planets because of the

identification of a native intelligent race on the

disputed planet, Yagra IV. "Further, given

the nature of said race and their expressed desire

to remain isolated, the Council provisionally

accepts your recommendation to establish a

quarantine, which will become permanent if approved

by the resident sapient population of the planet.

"The prisoner is to be handed over to the

authorities at Starbase 15, where she will be

confined pending discussions with representatives of her

homeworld to decide the appropriate punishment for

her activities against individual Federation

citizens.

"Proposal for the disposition of planets of the

Shansar system to the Kaldorni Worlds and the

Beystohn League is approved, if the

respective negotiating teams can

conclude appropriate treaties. Under the

circumstances, Federation regulations against disclosing

locations of Class -G exploitable worlds

to governments with less than Class-VI

spaceflight capabilities are waived.

Detailed instructions will follow shortly. End of

message.

"Also, Mr. Scott reports most repairs

are completed and warp capability is restored."

"Thank you, Uhura. Tell Mr. ben Josef

to set course for Starbase 15, and let me know when

the next message arrives. Kirk out." He

grinned at Norris, letting her see his pleasure

at the Council's answer. "That's the word. Now you

know as much about the situation as I do."

She stood, brushing the wrinkles out of her

tunic. "Thank you, Jim. I'd better see if

Joachim is ready to be briefed on this, and then I

have to set up a meeting with the Kaldorni."

"I'll walk you part of the way." Kirk rose and

moved to her side, offering her his arm. "Do you think the

Kaldorni will accept our proposal?" "They should.

In their own way, they're reasonable beings."

Kirk entered the Kaldorni's quarters. Klee

bowed to the captain. Kirk returned the

greeting and seated himself on the floor. The short

Kaldorni joined him.

"I've come to discuss the discord created when my

security people did not prevent the murder of your

aide, s'Flen," Kirk said. "This discordance is

a matter of the most concern. But the honored captain

should know that my failure to detect the impostor

among those that serve me is a matter of greatest

shame to me."

"There is truth in your words, Mr.

Ambassador. However, my superiors charged me

with finding the intruder, so the disgrace at failure

must be mine." "It would seem your failure is

indeed disgraceful. If you are at fault, you owe

me reparations for the loss of my aide. It would also

seem that your Commissioner Montoya wishes

reparations for his wife because I failed to detect the

discordance of an alien among those who serve me. The

compounding of these errors is becoming more than the

Harmony of the Universe can balance."

"May I suggest a resolution to the problem?"

"I will listen to your words and hope they may be as

harmonious as the ones given my people by your commissioner."

Kirk felt the relief wash through him. If

Mee liked the Federation's solution to the

Yagra problem, he should approve the captain's

next idea. "I will persuade Commissioner

Montoya to waive reparations for the death of his wife

if you will waive compensation for s'Flen."

After a moment, Klee extended his hands and bowed

to touch his forehead to his palms. "I believe this can

be made acceptable to my people." "I also wish to give

you a personal token of apology. I ask you

to accept the right to care for my three wives. My

honor owes you this additional apology because of my

responsibilities to protect everyone on my

ship. I hope you will receive the women and cherish them in

the spirit of brotherhood and harmony that prevails between

our peoples."

"If your honor demands this of you, I will

protect

these women as long as I hold the strength to defend

them."

"I thank you greatly, Mr. Ambassador. You

have restored my harmony with the universe." With an

overwhelming sense of relief, Kirk headed for his

quarters to tell the women.

Epilogue

KIRK AND KRIS NORRIS leaned against the

wall, watching luggage being loaded onto

the transporter pad for transfer to Starbase 15.

The Kaldorni had returned to the base half an

hour earlier. And with their departure, the Enterprise's

official duties were over.

"Well, Jim," Norris said, "it's been an

interesting trip."

"I'm sorry about that. I could have used a little

less excitement." "We have to take events as they

come, I guess."

"Speaking of that, how is Commissioner Montoya

handling things now?" She laughed. "Actually, he's

over most of the shock, and we'll have lots of work

hammering out the final agreement with the Kaldorni.

That's what he needs right now-something to keep him

busy. "What about you? Where's the Enterprise off

to next?" "Would you believe, to a detailed

exploration of the Shansar system? The Federation

Council wants more information, now that they've

assigned development rights to the second and fourth

planets. Since we did the preliminary scans,

we got the assignment." "That's good. Will you be

stopping over on Starbase 15 anytime soon?"

276 ENEMY UNSEEN

"I don't know. It depends on our schedule."

"Anytime you're in my neighborhood,

stop in. I'll buy you dinner, and I promise it

won't be from a Starfleet regulation menu." "I'd

like that. Good-bye, Kris." "Good-bye, Jim."

She gave him an impish grin and stepped onto the

transporter pad. "Do I detect a hint of

romance there, Captain?" Brady asked. Kirk

jumped, startled for a moment that he had company. "I

don't think so. She's just a very nice lady-and a

friend." "I see you returned the Kaldorni

ambassador's wives to him." Kirk allowed a

smug expression to spread across his face. "Once

l explained it in the proper terms of honor and

harmony with the universe, I think he was as glad to have

them back as I was to give them to him. You don't know

what a pleasure it is to have the temperature in my

quarters set at a reasonable level again!"

"Speaking of warm climates, when is Mr.

Spock due back?" Kirk glanced at his

chronometer. "Anytime now. He was supposed to be

here half an hour ago, but Base Traffic

Control said his shuttle had been delayed." The

door whisked open, and Tenaida and McCoy

entered, almost colliding with Kirk and Brady.

McCoy circled around to face the captain.

"Jim, why didn't you expedite the rest

leave I recommended for Janara Whitehorse?"

"What rest leave?" "I can answer that," Tenaida

said. "Shan Janara asked that the recommendation not

reach the captain until we finished our work on the

Shansar system." "She needs rest. And time

to adjust to her mother's death." Tenaida shook his

head. "I don't see why you think everyone should

react to such an event by dissolving into a pool of

useless emotions."

277 ENEMY UNSEEN

Kirk glanced at Tenaida, noticing his bland

expression. He suspected the Deltan was not

telling them something, but saw no way to find out what.

"Bones," Kirk said finally, "I think you're

outvoted this time. If Lieutenant Whitehorse

wants to finish her investigation of the Shansar system,

it sounds like the best prescription to me. But I

promise she'll get her leave as fast as possible

when I see the request." "And what about you,

Captain? This mission has been stressful for you

too." "I think I'll manage." Kirk gave

Tenaida a questioning look. "Do you suppose,

gentlemen, that we are fit for a quiet game of

poker? Or does the doctor think it would be too

strenuous, considering our current weakened

conditions?" While the transporter whined, McCoy

glared at the three of them. As Spock

materialized on the pad, the doctor announced,

"In your current weakened conditions, I should confine

the lot of you to Sickbay!" Spock responded,

"May I inquire as to what weakened conditions you are

referring?" "These men have had an extremely

strenuous two weeks," McCoy announced with a

theatrical flourish. "I can't begin to tell you how

difficult it's been for them." Spock lifted an

eyebrow. "Indeed, Doctor. I was under the

impression that the ship was undertaking a routine

diplomatic mission." Brady grimaced. Kirk

chuckled at his expression and turned to Spock,

shaking his head. "Just once, Sock-just once-I'd

like to see what a routine diplomatic mission was

like." Spock's eyebrow rose even higher. "Then

may I assume that the advice program you were

testing proved useful?" Kirk shook his head. "The

program needs work, Spock." "That is not

unexpected. It was a very preliminary version."

Kirk allowed himself a grin. "Well, Sock,

I hope your last two weeks weren't half as

exciting as ours." "I would not presume

to make comparisons until I know what happened on

the Enterprise. However, I have had an extremely

stimulating leave. T'Slar of the Vulcan

Academy of Sciences and her associates have

made some astounding discoveries on the structure of the

space-time continuum. Within the next twenty years,

their theories will completely revolutionize our

concept of space travel. And the Andorian group

led by Tarlev of Gan-was McCoy rolled his eyes

and shot Kirk an exasperated glance as Brady

looked on with amusement. Tenaida, however, listened

carefully to Spock's monologue, committing each

detail to memory. Kirk grinned and gestured

toward the door. "Gentlemen, shall we go mind the

store?"