Chapter One
Ten-year-old Jamie
Kirk slouched against the bulkhead of the starship Enterprise’s huge
recreation hall. She drew her knees up to her chest, clasped her arms around
her legs, and watched, silent and wide-eyed, as the two important diplomats
from the Federation instructed the small party of starship personnel in the
proper conduct for the upcoming trade conference with Epsilon Pyrria IV.
“No, no, Doctor!”
Philip Peters admonished Leonard McCoy for the fourth time in ten minutes. “The
right hand sweeps majestically forward, then ends with a curve, leaving the
palm of the hand exposed.” He demonstrated the greeting with a tightened jaw.
There was no disguising the man’s frustration. “The greeting you just showed me
was an open invitation to a challenge—something I guarantee you do not want to
invite when in the presence of a Pyrrian.”
McCoy grunted and
threw his hands in the air. “I give up. All these fancy moves, correct
behaviors, and ridiculous bowing and scraping! I’d rather stay aboard ship than
kowtow to some royal bigwigs—all for a couple million metric tons of rocks.”
“A most sensible
alternative to your accompanying the landing party, Doctor,” Mr. Spock remarked.
“I find the ceremonial greetings distinguished and expressive. They serve the
purpose of not offending our hosts, and for that reason are most necessary.”
McCoy waved the first
officer’s remarks away. “I knew you’d say that, Spock. Anyone who can master
that Vulcan greeting—a torturous contortion—would find these hand motions
child’s play.” He turned to the man standing beside him. “Is all this really
necessary, Jim? I say we beam Peters and Stenson down to Pyrria and let them
handle all the diplomatic niceties. When they’ve secured the magnetite, we beam
it up and transport it to the refineries on Daran V. What do they need the
command crew down there for?”
“Honor, Dr. McCoy,”
Geoffery Stenson broke in. “Pure and simple. The Pyrrians are very conscious of
their honor. Discussing high matters of trade with two delegates from the
Federation Diplomatic Corps would insult the ruling body of Pyrria in a way
that could easily bring about severe repercussions. In case you forgot, the
Klingons have also made offers for the magnetite of Pyrria. It is Starfleet’s
job to present ourselves in the best light.”
“Unfortunately,”
Peters added, “that means instructing the command crew of the Enterprise
in the customs and beliefs of the Pyrrians, as well as their protocols and
detailed code of behavior.” He shrugged. “Although Geoff and I know these
people well, we do not have the authority to sign the trade agreement.” He
nodded at Captain Kirk. “That honor goes to the captain of this vessel.”
“Lucky you, Jim,”
McCoy quipped with a grin. He glanced at the chronometer. “If that’s all for
today, Peters, I’ll say my farewells. I’ve got a sickbay to run. After all, I’m
a doctor, not a diplomat.”
Jamie grinned and
waved to McCoy as he passed by. He gave her a wink and a cocky salute and left
the gym in what Jamie knew was relief. She watched the doors slide shut, then
she stood up and found an out-of-the-way corner in which to practice.
Carefully, she ran
through the ceremonial greetings her father and the others had practiced the
past hour. She didn’t understand why Dr. McCoy complained so much. The hand
motions were clever and quite easy to perform. This one is ‘A great honor to
be in your presence,’ and this one, ‘May all your relatives prosper in the new
day.’
Jamie frowned in concentration. Let’s see. She
moved both hands to a small cup just below her chin, then let her arms slide
effortlessly to her sides. Three fingers pointed up while her thumb caught the
smallest finger and held it tightly. This one means ‘We accept your terms
and pledge to honor your—’
“Not bad, Cadet.”
Jamie spun around at
the sound of her father’s voice. She couldn’t help smiling whenever someone
addressed her as “cadet.” It meant something now. She was a real cadet,
no longer just a ship’s mascot. “Thank you, Captain. I’m learning every one of
the Pyrrian ceremonial hand speeches. Every one.”
Kirk folded his arms
across his chest and leaned against the bulkhead, clearly amused. “Why? It’s
not as if they’re useful anywhere but on Pyrria.”
“That’s exactly my
point,” Jamie said with a sly grin. With a grace that surprised the captain,
Jamie showed him the greeting Dr. McCoy had struggled with only moments before.
“I thought maybe—just maybe—if I learned all the ways to be respectful, you
might take me down with you sometime to look around. I’ve been stuck aboard
ship for the past two months, with no shore leave since I said good-bye to Meyla
and her uncle.”
Kirk lost his amused
expression and straightened up. He shook his head “No, Jamie. I’m sorry. Not
this time. It’s not a shore leave. It’s not even a Federation planet. That’s
why we’re taking such care not to offend these people. They trade with
anyone—Klingons, Romulans, Orions, even Tholians.” He shuddered. “Each trading group
is expected to behave in an honorable way. It’s delicate, and trade relations
are always fragile. These folks are sticklers for protocol; I dare not stray
even a millimeter from my instructions.”
He reached out and tweaked
a golden curl that had fallen across Jamie’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Cadet. I
can’t take you down. You’re not part of the deal.”
Jamie frowned and ducked
her head. “I’m never part of the deal,” she mumbled. Then she raised her
hazel eyes and caught her father’s somber gaze. “Couldn’t you ask? I’m sure
there must be a little girl or boy on Pyrria who’d like to meet a Federation
girl.”
“No. The wheels are
in motion. Nowhere in the briefs did they indicate that the representatives
could include anyone but the captain and a carefully selected handful of his
officers.”
“But maybe if you—”
Kirk held up a hand
to silence her. “May I remind the cadet that members of the Enterprise crew
do not argue with the captain? They say, ‘Aye, Captain’ like good little
cadets.”
Jamie frowned and
said nothing.
“Mr. Spock and I will
beam down,” Kirk added. “Maybe the good doctor—if he minds his manners, but Mr.
Scott will sit in the command chair. The rest of the crew will stay aboard the ship—including
Cadet Jamie Kirk.”
“Lt. Uhura is
learning the Pyrrian hand speech, and so is Lt. Sulu.”
Kirk nodded. “If I
need backup, I’ll have some people I can beam down in a pinch.” He pointed at
Jamie. “But you’re not one of them.” He paused. “Your response, please?”
Jamie sighed loudly,
crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at the deck. “Aye, Captain.”
“Don’t pout,” Kirk
admonished her. “It’s unbecoming of a Starfleet cadet.”
Jamie looked up. “Do
I have the captain’s permission to continue learning the hand speech?”
“Of course. It just
seems like a lot of trouble for no reason.”
Jamie let her arms
drop to her sides and stopped being a cadet. “But it’s so interesting, Daddy!
Mr. Peters and Mr. Stenson tell all kinds of fascinating things about the
people of Pyrria. Did you know that they’ve been fighting a war with each other
for over one hundred years?”
Kirk nodded. “It’s a
long time, isn’t it? Lucky for us, the two opposing groups seem to have decided
to take a little time off from killing each other. That’s why we’re here. The
official government needs Federation precious metals to try and keep a tenuous
hold on the political situation. We need the magnetite. Good trade. Good
timing.” He glanced across the hall and grimaced. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. I
see our Federation diplomats are back from their break. I’ve got a briefing to
attend in”—Kirk looked at his wrist chronometer—“ten minutes.”
“Nine minutes,
forty-one seconds, captain,” Mr. Spock corrected, coming to stand next to Kirk.
He nodded at Jamie. “You are progressing satisfactorily with the Pyrrian hand speech.”
Jamie grinned. Coming
from the Vulcan first officer, this was high praise. “Thanks, Mr. Spock. Do you
suppose I know it well enough to beam down to Pyrria sometime?”
Kirk cleared his
throat.
Spock’s eyebrows went
up. “That, of course, is the captain’s decision. However”—he shot Kirk what
could only be a Vulcan’s idea of “stirring up the waters”—“I would say yes, you
are mastering the language much faster than the others on the away team. I see
no reason why you should not—”
“Spock!” Kirk
interrupted. “Please do not encourage her.”
Spock cocked his head
at Jamie. “Another time, perhaps. When you are older.” He exchanged a glance
with his captain and turned back to Jamie. “Much older,” he added
quickly.
“Let’s go, Spock,”
Kirk said. He gave Jamie a parting wave. “See you at supper.”
Jamie sighed and
nodded. Supper was a long way off.
Chapter Two
“It seems like
everybody’s making a fuss over a relatively cut-and-dried trade agreement, Mr.
Peters,” Kirk remarked, settling himself into a chair around the table in
Briefing Room Three. He gave Yeoman Rand a polite nod of thanks and reached for
a cup of coffee on the proffered tray.
Philip Peters
stiffened. “This ‘making a fuss’ as you put it, Captain, is completely normal
and expected on Pyrria.”
“It’s a lot of silly
pomp and circumstance,” McCoy groused. It was obvious the doctor resented being
pulled away from his Sickbay for another briefing about life on Pyrria.
Geoffery Stenson
leaned over the table, clutching his documents with both hands. “It is imperative,
Captain Kirk, that you honor our hosts in every way possible. They are a touchy
folk—easily offended by what they consider ‘infidels’—out-worlders who insult
an old and respected people just because we fly around the galaxy in powerful
starships. They need our metals, but not as much as we need their magnetite. If
the Klingons or Tholians offer a lower price, but serve it with more honor, the
Pyrrians will be happy to dismiss us without a backward glance.”
“Yes,” Peters broke
in. “It is vital that we secure the trade agreement before others have a chance
to outdo us in the respect department. I’ve heard story after story of trading
going on between the warring tribes of Pyrria. An offer can be challenged even
after everyone signs the agreement. Until the ‘Exchange of Trust’ ceremony is
completed, another group offering a better deal can throw us out of the game.”
Kirk shook his head.
“It’s a crazy galaxy,” he murmured softly, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee.
“Hasn’t anyone ever heard of a handshake or the idea that a person’s word is
his bond?”
“Pyrria hasn’t,”
Stenson commented. “At least not in the present situation. They have an
elaborate, confusing code of ethics—which they follow to the letter. Treachery
is common, so the Exchange of Trust is the only assurance that people on both
sides will keep their word.”
“So,” Kirk asked
casually, “What is this all-important Exchange of Trust?”
“It’s a murky and
ever-changing concept, Captain,” Stenson replied. “From what I can understand
of it, each case is different, depending on the circumstances. It could be a
precious heirloom exchanged between enemies. Many times, a prize stallion is
offered as the exchange. Some traders have been known to cut a lock of hair and
exchange that.”
Everyone glanced at
Kirk, who grinned. “Not much hair for that, I’m afraid. And I’m not about to
give away my first edition of Horatio Hornblower, either.”
Amidst the chuckles,
Peters added his thoughts. “One time, so I’ve heard, a village headman offered
his entire village as the Exchange of Trust pledge. The one with whom he was
securing an agreement was so moved he exchanged his village also. They became
fast friends and secured an alliance that has lasted to this day.” He looked
curiously at Kirk. “Perhaps they’ll ask you to give them your starship as a
pledge.”
Kirk’s eyebrows rose.
“I doubt the Federation would look favorably upon using a starship as surety of
payment, Mr. Peters.”
The diplomat
shrugged. “Why not? If we honor the agreement, we get our pledge back a few
days later—two weeks at the most.”
“How do they
determine what is exchanged?” Kirk asked.
“It has to do with
their religious beliefs, Captain,” Stenson explained. “They do everything
according to their holy days and signs of good or bad omens. In fact, the day
you actually close the trade deal will be a big factor in determining what will
be required as your Exchange of Trust.”
Peters flashed Kirk a
thin smile and took up where Stenson left off. “Not that you need worry one way
or another. Whatever they request as an Exchange of Trust, the Federation
Diplomatic Corps has authority to secure. And remember, it’s temporary. Also,
we will be receiving a pledge of equal value from them—something they do not
care to part with or put into our care.”
“What if they decide
we get a stallion, Jim?” McCoy grinned. “Better get hold of that new holodeck
program so we can make a stable for it.” He chuckled.
“Doctor,” Kirk said
with a frown, “I think you’re enjoying this.”
“As Spock is so fond
of saying,” McCoy said lightly, “It’s fascinating.”
“And this Exchange of
Trust business will be accompanied by all these hand movements we’ve been
learning?” Kirk asked.
Both diplomats nodded
emphatically. “The Exchange is the highlight of the entire agreement, and the
hand speech legitimizes the Exchange. Hand speech is very important—as
important as the spoken word. Learn it well, Captain Kirk. And make certain
whomever you bring down to the chambers knows the speech well, also.”
Peters frowned. “The
Federation needs the magnetite. It is our job to coach you in your duties and
to give you insight into an extremely unusual but proud people, who are
constantly on the verge of war within their various tribal groups. Right now
the L’plaine tribe rules the city of Taylaan. And whoever rules the city, rules
the off-world trade.”
He sighed. “The
L’plaine people are the most stable of the clans and have managed to hold on to
the government for the past seventeen years. They hope to unite the other
sixteen clans into one nation-state, but the road is hard for Tempa, the head
of his clan.”
“The clan giving him
the most trouble these days is the L’traoc tribe,” Stenson added, “whom Tempa
and his government describe as no more than a group of terrorists with
outrageous demands. Twice in the past month the L’traoc have launched
successful raids on the capital city, striking terror into the hearts of the
citizens and arousing the Ruling Council’s wrath.”
He took a deep
breath. “Every attack has been repelled, but at a high cost. The citizens of
Tavlan never know what to expect. They live in constant fear. The minerals we
are trading will strengthen their defenses and hopefully give the people a
much-needed rest from hostilities.”
Kirk raised his
eyebrows in confusion. “I thought there was a truce between these Clans.” There
was no answer. “Well, is there?”
Peters looked
uncomfortable. “Officially, yes. There is a truce. But that could change in the
twinkling of an eye.”
“This is not a
Federation world,” Kirk said. “What happened to the Prime Directive? If we
trade our metals for their magnetite, are we not interfering with the natural
course of this planet’s affairs?”
Stenson shook his
head. “No, sir. Tempa’s government is the officially recognized ruling body of Pyrria.
We’ve had a trade agreement with this planet for the past three years, and the
minerals we offer are approved by the Federation Council to be used in trade
for the magnetite.”
“Why doesn’t Tempa
petition for Federation membership?” McCoy wanted to know.
“Pyrria is too far
out on the fringe, doctor,” Spock supplied. “And a petition requires
three-fourths of all the ruling councils before a planet will be considered for
membership.”
“Yes. If Tempa could
unite his people, he would have a chance at Federation support, even if Pyrria
is off the beaten path,” Stenson added. “But for now, he is just hoping to hang
on to what he has—and hopes for more open more trade with us.”
“I thought you said
he’d be willing to trade with the folks who offer him the greatest honor. But
you also mentioned in your earlier briefs that he doesn’t trust the Klingons.”
Kirk sighed. “Are the Klingons major players here, gentlemen? I’d really like
to avoid them this time around if I can.”
Peters looked
uncomfortable, but he answered honestly—at least as honestly as Kirk could
sense. “If the Klingons have been trading with the other, lesser Clans, then
they have been doing it quietly, Captain. As far as we know, Tempa prefers to
trade with the Federation. We have been honorable with past transactions, and
so he will continue to honor us with his business.
“However”—the
diplomat spread his arms wide—“if the Klingons wish to trade, Tempa will trade
with them also. To our knowledge, Tempa’s Council has traded only with the
Federation the last three years. We, ladies and gentlemen, are the Federation
representatives to Pyrria. Let’s make it look good, shall we?”
Kirk caught the
diplomat’s gaze and held it. “Mr. Peters”—a sudden, nasty thought crossed his
mind—“what if the Pyrrians decide that weapons are the appropriate
Exchange of Trust for the occasion? Since weapons themselves are not a trade
item for this world, would they stoop so low as to request weapons to be part
of this weird ceremony of theirs?”
Silence fell. Peters
and Stenson looked at each other.
Finally, Stenson
shook his head. “Frankly, Captain Kirk, the thought didn’t cross my mind. I’ve
never heard of weapons being considered as an Exchange of Trust pledge. It
seems contradictory in the extreme to offer weapons of destruction to a trading
representative.”
“Well,” Kirk said, “I
suggest you start thinking about it. I’m sure the Klingons have. If this
Tempa-fellow gets a hint that the L’traoc terrorists—or Lesser Clans—or
whatever they’re called, get hold of some weapons from, say, the Klingons,
Tempa may expand his definition of what passes as a pledge for this exchange
business.”
With that, he stood.
“It would be a clear violation of the Prime Directive and a road I refuse to
travel. This briefing is adjourned. Mr. Peters, Mr. Stenson, I’ll see you at dinner.
1800 hours.” He glanced around the table at his officers, who had stood also.
“Dismissed.”
Chapter Three
Cadet’s Log:
Stardate 4372.4.
For the past six days the Enterprise has been on course for Eta Pyrria
IV, a planet way out in the middle of nowhere. It’s been a long and boring trip
so far. The only interesting thing has been listening to the men from the
Federation Diplomatic Corps talk around the dinner table about the unusual and
warlike people who live on Pyrria. They have a fascinating way of using their
hands to say courteous and ceremonial things. Dr. McCoy doesn’t like learning
the hand speech. Neither does Lieutenant Sulu. I, however, think it is fun—like
learning a secret language. I’m going to ask Mr. Peters or Mr. Stenson to show
me some more hand signs after supper tonight. I wish I could think of some way to
talk the captain into letting me go down to the planet. Hmmm, if I were the
captain, I’d—”
“That’s quite enough.”
Jamie heard the quiet voice from
above only a moment before she felt the command chair twirl around. She slammed
her hand-held tricorder shut with a snap and gave her father a sheepish grin.
“I bet you want your chair back, don’t you, Captain-Daddy-sir?”
Kirk motioned with his thumb, and
Jamie slid from her father’s chair. Slipping into his seat, he held out his
hand, palm up. Jamie bit her lip and handed over her tri-corder.
“Is this the original, or are you
on number two or three or . . .” His voice trailed off at the implication that
Cadet Jamie Kirk did not take very good care of the equipment she was issued. He
opened the cover, twirled a few dials, and watched the tiny screen before
shaking his head and snapping it shut once more.
“It’s the same one I’ve always
had,” Jamie assured him. “Lieutenant Tanzer gave it to me way back in—”
“I know, but please remember
that—”
“That it’s another expensive
piece of Starfleet equipment—just like the three communicators I’ve wrecked and
lost—and I’d better take real good care of it.”
Kirk handed the device back to her
with a smile. “Right. Carry on, Cadet.”
Jamie scurried away to her
favorite spot on the bridge—just to the side of the command pit. She settled
herself under the hand railing and sat cross-legged, bent over her tri-corder.
The normal sounds of a busy starship bridge during alpha shift easily drowned
the quiet whispering into her log.
Cadet’s Log, Stardate 4372.4,
continued
After a brief interruption from
the captain, I am now able to continue my account of this boring trip to Pyrria.
It is perhaps necessary to record the purpose for the Enterprise’s journey here . . . oops. Scratch
that. It sounds too official. I’m just going to tell why the Enterprise has to go to Pyrria.
The Federation wants to trade for
Pyrria’s magnetite. Until six days ago, I didn’t know what magnetite was, but
now I do—unfortunately. It’s a boring rock. Just like that ol’ topaline that
caused Daddy such trouble a couple of years ago. Why does the Enterprise always get stuck carrying rocks
around outer space? Okay, anyway, once you crush it up and add it to some other
elements, it becomes a perfect sealant for coolant systems in space ships. Even
the Enterprise
depends on magnetite
for the seals on her coolant lines. It sounds like a very little thing, but
without it, the lines would crack and break, and poisonous coolant fluid would
leak out and kill the crew. So I guess it would be a good idea to do what we
can to get some more of this stuff.
Jamie glanced up to see if anyone
was listening in on her personal ramblings. No one paid her the least bit of
attention. Each crewmember was absorbed in his or her duties. The captain was
deep in conversation with Mr. Spock at his science station. As far as Jamie
could tell, Sulu and Chekov were engaged in a lengthy discussion concerning
their last shore leave. She heard Chekov say something in Russian—probably a bad word, she concluded
with a grin.
After two years of living aboard
the Enterprise, Jamie felt
right at home sitting on the edge of the command pit, either gazing at the view
screen or silently watching the bridge crew perform their tasks. Occasionally,
on a dull run such as this, she was allowed to sit between Chekov and Sulu and
learn to navigate or listen in with Lt. Uhura to the communications.
She returned to her log.
Although the Federation sent two
men to teach the Enterprise
officers how to act around the Pyrrians, the diplomats are not the ones to
secure the trade agreement. That job’s been given to Daddy . . . Oops! I mean Captain
James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise.
Jamie paused to stifle a giggle.
Recording a personal log was a lot of work. She wanted it to sound official. That
meant no giggling in the background.
I don’t think the captain wants the job. I
heard him mumbling about it in the rec hall two days ago. But he’s got to obey
orders, and Starfleet said the Pyrrians respect and honor the position of
starship commander even over ambassadors and other bigwigs. So, Daddy’s stuck. I know he’ll try his best
to get the magnetite for the Federation, because he always obeys orders. Well,
most of the time, anyway. I just wish I could go down and play while he’s at
his trade meeting.
There. I said it. I don’t mean to
complain in this log, but sometimes I get tired of running on hard decks. I’d
like to run through grass once in a while.
Jamie closed the lid of the
tri-corder and set it aside. She was about to get up and leave the bridge, when
the melodious voice of Lt. Uhura cut across the quiet chatter of the bridge
crew.
“Captain,” she said. “There’s a message
coming in from Starfleet Command. Admiral Harrison, sir.”
Jamie quickly found a corner near
the turbolift and made herself small. Although Admiral Komack had personally
conferred on her the title of Starfleet cadet and had assigned her to “duty”
aboard the Enterprise as a
commendation for her part in rescuing the Babel hostages six months ago, she
knew it was foolish to advertise the fact that she was allowed free access to
the bridge of the flagship of the fleet—even if she was the captain’s
daughter. She preferred to keep a low profile and not remind admirals and other
people in high places that she even existed. It was much better that way.
With a contented sigh, she watched
and waited as the view screen lit up with the face of Admiral Harrison—a
middle-aged, dark-haired man with a grim expression on his face.
“Admiral Harrison,” Kirk greeted
the man with a smile. “What can we do for you?”
“I want to emphasize how important
this trade agreement with Pyrria is, Captain Kirk. The magnetite refinery on
Daran V is down to its last reserves. They’re counting on restocking before
they run out. I assured them the magnetite would be delivered by the end of the
month.”
“If negotiations go as Peters and
Stenson tell me they’ll go, securing the magnetite is a certainty. I’ll beam
down with my away team and the two diplomats, and we’ll offer our load of
precious metals—which has already been judged to be the amount they will agree
to. We’ll do the formality of the ‘Exchange of Trust’ ceremony with them,
deliver our pledge and receive theirs, and begin beaming up the magnetite. It
shouldn’t take more than a few days. We’ll conclude our trade agreement, return
our mutual pledges, and ship the whole load of magnetite to Daran V.” Kirk did
a mental calculation. “Easily before the end of the month, Admiral.”
Harrison nodded in obvious relief.
“Excellent, Captain. We’ll be looking forward to the completion of your
assignment within the next week or two. Starfleet out.”
A low whistle came from Lt. Sulu’s
station. “That was a mighty big pep talk, Captain,” he commented.
“Yes, wasn’t it?” Kirk replied
softly. “How long before we enter the Eta Pyrriae System, Mr. Sulu?”
“Two hours and ten minutes, sir.”
Kirk stood up from his chair and
strode purposefully toward the turbolift. “Inform me when we are in orbit
around Pyrria, Mr. Sulu.” He turned to Spock. “I believe if we hurry, we can
make it to our final tutorial with the Federation Diplomatic Corps, Mr. Spock.”
Spock raised one eyebrow. “There
is no hurry, Captain. They will not commence without you.”
Suppressing a grin, Kirk entered
the turbo-lift and held it open for Spock. “Cadet,” he called to Jamie, who
jumped up. “Keep my chair warm for me.” He winked at her then turned to Sulu.
“Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”
“Aye, sir,” the helmsman
acknowledged smartly.
The doors closed.
Jamie climbed into her father’s
recently vacated seat, pulled out her tri-corder, and began recording a new log
entry. This time it began, Captain’s
Log . . .
Chapter Four
Two hours later, Pyrria floated
serenely in the view screen—a ball of bright greens and blues. Jamie looked at
it and sighed. Loudly. Huge, white patches of clouds swirled over much of the
land masses. It appeared to be a rich, warm world with plenty of natural
resources, space, and fresh water. Just
right for running and playing outdoors, Jamie thought. She didn’t say it aloud, of course.
“This is the Federation starship Enterprise, in orbit
around Pyrria,” Lt. Uhura spoke into her comm unit. “Come in, Pyrria space
traffic control.”
“This is Pyrria central,
Federation craft. Your arrival has been noted. Please establish your orbit
according to the coordinates being sent in the next transmission.”
“Acknowledged, Pyrria,” Uhura
replied. She turned to the captain. “Sir, our orbit plan is confirmed.”
Kirk looked up from signing a fuel
consumption report and nodded. “Proceed. Maintain standard orbit in accordance
to their planetary regulations.” He punched a button on his armrest. “Kirk to
Federation Diplomatic Team. Please report to the Bridge. We have assumed orbit
around Pyrria and will shortly be contacting the Ruling Council. Kirk out.”
He caught sight of Jamie hanging
around on the quarterdeck and motioned her off the bridge with his thumb.
“Ship’s business. Scoot.” When she hesitated and gave him a pleading look, he
frowned. “I mean it, Cadet. Off the bridge. Now.”
The turbo-lift doors opened just
then. Peters and Stenson brushed by Jamie and looked anxiously at the screen.
“Have you spoken with Tempa’s advisors yet, Captain?”
It was the last interesting thing
Jamie heard before the lift doors whooshed shut and spirited her away to the
lower decks.
***
“I was waiting for you,” Kirk
explained to the diplomats. He made sure his daughter had obeyed orders and was
long gone, then turned to Uhura. “Notify Pyrria that we are ready to receive
their transmission.”
The view of Pyrria was instantly
replaced with the scene of a room with a large table and seven chairs. Each
chair was filled with a man dressed in robes of resplendent shades of yellows
and oranges. A turban encircled each of their heads. Most of the men wore
beards. Their eyes were dark and brooding. They sat stiffly in their seats,
looking respectfully toward the middle chair, where the tallest and most
splendidly dressed man sat, hands folded and lying on the surface of the shiny
black table top.
When his gaze met Kirk’s, he
smiled. “Welcome to Pyrria, Captain James Kirk,” the man greeted him warmly, in
spite of his cold, dark eyes. “I am Tempa, ruling head of the council.” His
hands moved quickly, and with such expression that Kirk knew he was being
welcomed with all honors. He was grateful for the hours he’d spent learning to
give and receive the hand speech.
Kirk forced his hands into the
motions that gave a message of receiving the honor of the Pyrrian’s welcome,
along with a sincere expression of his honor of serving as the Federation’s
representative.
As he spoke, the rest of the
council members broke into cautious smiles and appeared to relax. “As the
Federation’s representative, I bring you greetings from the president, and
thank you for this opportunity to trade with you. I trust all our negotiations
will result in mutual satisfaction and bring honor and wealth to both our
governments.”
Tempa was nodding. He dropped his
hands to the table, where they remained folded, and spoke enthusiastically.
“Captain Kirk. I am impressed. You have taken the time and effort to acquaint
yourself with our protocol. This is a good beginning for our meetings tomorrow
morning.”
“I’m afraid I must give all the
credit for learning your hand speech and etiquette to the representatives of
the Federation Diplomatic Corps.” He indicated the two men. “Philip Peters and
Geoffery Stenson. These two have been tireless in the pursuit of excellence in
our instruction.”
“Indeed?” Tempa’s eyes turned to
see Peters and Stenson, who had stood quietly off-screen until taken notice of.
“I must see to it that Captain Kirk mentions your names in his report to his
government. Your instruction is good. I look forward to speaking with the two
of you more thoroughly before the trade meetings commence.”
Then he turned back to Kirk.
“Before we meet, I request a complete dossier on you, Captain, and on those you
plan to bring down with you. From past experience, we have found that many have
hidden things from us, and we demand honest and open communication between our
two groups. In exchange, I have prepared documents containing complete personal
and professional information on all our negotiators, including myself. We have
nothing to hide, and I assume you do not, either.”
“Not at all, sir,” Kirk agreed
with a nod. “Uhura, call up the Starfleet files on myself, Mr. Spock, and Dr.
McCoy for immediate transmission to the coordinates of the Council Room.” He
turned back to Tempa. “These records are public knowledge. You are welcome to
read them to acquaint yourselves with us.”
Tempa turned to one of his council
members and spoke with a few quick hand signs. “Ronal is transmitting our files
now, Captain,” he said. Then he began a complicated series of hand movements,
which Kirk immediately recognized as polite dismissal. “Until tomorrow, then,
Captain James Kirk of the Federation. We meet at the appointed time—two hours
before sunset, in these council chambers. You may transport directly here if
you like.”
Peters and Stenson gave Kirk a
look of astonishment. “You have indeed been honored, Captain,” Peters remarked.
He gave Tempa a flurry of hand signals that caused the ruler to smile.
“You are very good at our
ceremonial hand speech, Mr. Peters,” Tempa commented. “I look forward to
meeting you all in person very soon.”
The screen went dark.
Kirk let out a breath. “Well, that
went well,” he remarked to no one in particular.
“I’ll say it did, Captain.”
Stenson looked ecstatic. He was grinning from ear to ear. “The Federation chose
wisely when they asked you to represent them in this venture.” He cocked one
eyebrow. “Yet, you give the impression of a man reluctant to engage in
diplomatic undertakings.”
Kirk chuckled. “You’ve got that
right, Mr. Stenson. I generally despise all this political stuff.” He shook his
head. “But more often than not, I get plunged into the middle of a situation
that requires careful diplomacy. So far, it’s worked out all right. I don’t
enjoy it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it properly, and do it to the
Federation’s credit.”
“Captain,” Uhura reported from her
comm station. “The Ruling council’s profiles are now uploaded into the
computer. Do you wish a hard copy?”
Kirk frowned, thinking of all the
reading he’d have to do today—and probably late into the evening. Would it have
been too much trouble to have received these files a week ago? He could have
read them all on the week trip to Pyrria, instead of cramming tonight. He
sighed. It was probably another quirk of these odd people. “No, Lieutenant. I
think I’ll just call them up on a screen from my quarters. No use wasting the
paper for a brief overlook on what sort of folks I’ll be dealing with
tomorrow.”
Peters nodded his agreement.
“Captain, reading up on all these negotiators is optional. Stenson and I
already know most of what you’ll find in the files.”
“And why are they so interested in
knowing everything about me and my command crew?” Kirk wanted to know.
Peters shrugged. “It’s a holdover
from a darker time. Remember, captain. Treachery is not uncommon, and I suppose
“know thine enemy” is taken literally here.” He raised a hand at Kirk’s
quizzical expression. “You’re not the enemy, of course. But if Tempa doesn’t
want to feel like he’s being cheated, it will help if he knows the man with
whom he’s trading.”
“In that case,” Kirk decided. “I’d
best know Tempa, also.” He stood up. “I’ll be in my quarters, Mr. Spock.
Reading. You have the conn.”
“Acknowledged, Captain,” Spock
said quietly. “I shall do my reading at my station.”
“Oh, and please inform Dr. McCoy
that I expect him to do a little reading before tomorrow evening, also.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter Five
Cadet’s
Log, Stardate 4374.2
The Enterprise is in orbit around
Eta Pyrria IV, otherwise known as Pyrria. It’s a pretty planet, all greens and
blues and white swirls. I wonder what the people are like. I wonder if the air
smells like strawberries or lilac trees. I guess I’ll never know. I’m under
strict orders to stay put and don’t leave the ship—no matter what.
I think the captain is
remembering the time I beamed down to the fair on Starbase 9. He didn’t
actually say I couldn’t leave the ship that time, and he had promised I could
go to the fair. However, he hadn’t meant I could go by myself—which I did. It
is not a good memory, and I think he wants to make sure nothing like that
happens again.
Jamie snapped off the tri-corder
and tossed it on her bunk. This was shaping up to be a most unsatisfactory
afternoon. Her father had eaten a quick lunch with her, reminded her to get her
schoolwork finished while he was planet-side, and was out the door before she
could say two words. She’d followed him to the transporter room, where Mr.
Spock, Dr. McCoy, and the two Federation diplomats waited on the transporter
platform.
“Wish us luck, Jamie,” McCoy had
requested.
Jamie complied by giving him a
long string of hand signs the doctor could make neither heads nor tails out of.
Geoffery Stenson, on the other
hand, laughed out loud and winked at her. “Very nice send-off, Cadet Kirk,” he
complimented her. “Perhaps you should be beaming down in place of the good
doctor.”
“Please, sir,” Kirk said with a
loud sigh, “I’ve troubles enough without half my landing party thinking the
same thing. Cadet Kirk’s assignment is aboard ship. Isn’t that so, Cadet?”
Jamie had started to beam a smile
at the diplomats, but it faded halfway through her father’s words. “Yes, sir,”
she mumbled.
She had already decided she liked
this young man from the Diplomatic Corps. But now she knew why. He liked kids.
He liked her. She told him how nice he was in her new “secret hand
language.”
Mr. Stenson returned his own form
of “you’re a great kid” in the sign language, to which Jamie laughed aloud.
Kirk frowned then turned to Lt.
Kyle. “Energize.”
Mr. Stenson was grinning at her as
he dissolved into a million twinkling lights and disappeared.
***
Captain James Kirk had seen many unusual
things during this five-year mission to explore strange, new worlds, but the
trade meeting in the council chambers of the city of Taylaan threatened to rank
as one of the most bizarre. The first ten minutes were silent. Only the rapid
fluttering of hands from the various members of the Pyrrian Council moved. Kirk
watched, straining to catch the meaning, but he had to leave most of the
interpreting to Peters and Stenson, who seemed enchanted by the whole affair.
“Now, gentlemen,” Tempa’s voice
sounded like a crack of lightning on an otherwise eerie day. Kirk noticed McCoy
jump slightly at the sound. He suppressed a grin.
Tempa continued speaking. “I have
read everything about you and your people, Captain, and it has been most
enlightening.” He smiled. “Most enlightening, indeed. Your accomplishments, the
esteem with which you hold your treaties, even your spoken word tends to be
your bond among your honored Starfleet. I am impressed and encouraged by this.
I believe we will see a satisfactory end to our mutual desires in this trade.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kirk said
politely, moving his hands in a gesture to emphasize his gratefulness.
Tempa nodded. “Noted. Now, let us
get right to the heart of the matter. Your files indicate you prefer
straightforward and open, honest dealings. So be it. The magnetite is being
processed as we speak at many of our plants around the city. They are under
heavy guard, as just this morning we received reports of unrest in the hills
surrounding Taylaan.”
Kirk stiffened at this news. “Is
your city in danger, Tempa?”
“Not at the moment. Thank you for
your concern. However, I think it would be wise not to give the L’traoc rebels
an opportunity to raid the magnetite processing plants just when your
Federation is about to take possession.”
“I agree. That would be most
unfortunate. What is required to bring this trading to a close, then?”
Peters cleared his throat in a
warning sound.
Kirk knew he was pushing hard, but
he wanted to get the magnetite and leave orbit before this planet erupted into
another civil uprising. He turned to Tempa and made a hand motion expressing
his regret. “Forgive me, Tempa, for my haste. I know these things take time.”
Tempa waved Kirk’s comments away.
“I understand. Your files gave me much insight into your personality, Captain.
I recognize you are primarily an explorer, not a trader. You would prefer to
hand over the precious metals we desire, beam up the magnetite, and leave
orbit—preferably within the hour.” He smiled.
Kirk smiled back. “Perhaps not that quickly, sir.”
“Indeed not.” He made a series of
hand motions, and a young scribe came forward with a document in his hand. In
his other hand, he carried an ancient writing stylus. Tempa nodded to the young
man, who set the items before his ruler. “Very well, Captain Kirk of the
Federation. We will sign the trade agreement, invoke the Exchange of Trust, and
conclude it all with a banquet in honor of our agreement.”
He passed the document to Kirk.
“Read this, if you will, to assure yourself that the trade is according to the
arrangements: weight, price, method of receiving the goods, all that the
negotiators from both our peoples determined weeks ago.”
“Before I do, sir,” Kirk said, “I
must ask you a question which may offend you.”
The two diplomats groaned, but
Tempa merely nodded. “Proceed.”
“What, exactly, is this Exchange
of Trust business? It seems vague. May I know what we’re exchanging before I
sign these documents?”
“Captain,” Peters warned. “I
thought we made it clear that—”
Tempa raised a hand to silence the
man. Then he looked at Kirk. “No, I’m sorry. Protocol must be followed. That is
part of the trust itself.”
“I see,” Kirk replied softly.
“However, I’m afraid I must insist on knowing one thing. Does the Exchange of
Trust involve any exchange or request for weapons?”
Tempa seemed relieved. “That
question I may answer. No
indeed, Captain. You have our word on that. Rest assured that weapons never
have been—or ever will be—part of our Exchange of Trust.”
“Thank you.” Kirk took the
document in relief. It was written in Federation Standard, and he read it
carefully. Then he handed it to Spock, who also looked it over. Down the line
of officers it went, until everyone on the away team had read it and agreed it
was exactly as promised. Peters smiled at Stenson before handing the document
back to the captain.
“We are all in agreement then?”
Tempa asked, fluttering his hands carefully.
Kirk recognized an official
statement when he heard and saw it. He’d seen Peters using this very signal.
The official acceptance of the magnetite in exchange for the precious metals
was about to begin.
“We are,” Kirk said with his hands
as well as his voice. He handed the document to Tempa and continued his pre-practiced
speech. “I accept your terms and agree to honor the pledge of our Exchange of
Trust, and to return it as it was given when our trading has been completed. We
will begin beaming the precious metals at your convenience. At the same time,
we will begin transporting the magnetite to our cargo holds. All will be done
in an orderly fashion.”
The rest of the council members
nodded solemnly. Their hands intoned the words Kirk had just spoken.
Tempa smiled. “I accept your terms
and also agree to honor the pledge of our Exchange of Trust, and to return it
as it was given when our trading has been completed.” He lifted his stylus, and
with a flourish of his hand, scrawled his name on the bottom of the page. Then
he held out the instrument to Kirk.
After signing his name, Kirk
shoved the paper across the table.
“It is done.” Tempa brought his
hands together in a symbol of completion.
Kirk recognized these as the last
three words that would be spoken concerning the magnetite and the precious
metals trade. It was sealed as firmly as it possibly could be. According to
Peters and Stenson, nothing short of interplanetary war could break the
agreement now. Starfleet would be happy about that. The magnetite was nearly on
its way to the refineries on Daran V. But
what a lot of pomp and ceremony, he thought, all
for a couple million metric tons of rocks.
Suddenly, all seven men stood and
fluttered their hands together. Peters and Stenson quickly rose to their feet,
indicating Kirk and his officers should join them. Kirk brought his attention
back to the present and stood with the others. Now what? He’d missed the hand signs this time.
“The Exchange of Trust ceremony
will begin,” Tempa intoned solemnly. “To show we agree to abide by the terms of
our agreement.” He turned toward an alcove and made two quick hand signals to a
slight figure waiting in the shadows.
Slowly, the shrouded figure
approached Tempa, the council members, and the Enterprise officers. Kirk could see little but the shimmering head-to-toe
garment that must be concealing the person underneath.
Kirk inclined his head toward
Tempa.
Tempa disregarded Kirk’s puzzled
glance and addressed the cloaked figure. “Are you ready, my daughter?”
Two slender hands rose and shoved
back the golden veil, revealing the lovely face of a girl perhaps fourteen
years of age. “I am ready, Father,” she intoned in a light, musical voice. She
turned and gave Kirk a polite bow and an intricate greeting with her hands. “It
is an honor to meet you, Captain Kirk.”
Kirk returned what he could
remember of the hand motions and said, “The honor is mine.” Then he turned to
Tempa.
“My daughter, Tami,” Tempa
supplied in answer to Kirk’s confused look.
“I see,” he replied, not seeing at
all. He threw a questioning look at Stenson and Philips, but they shook their
heads slightly and returned their attention to Tempa. Finally he frowned. “Am I
missing something here?”
“The Exchange of Trust,” Tempa said,
as if it was obvious.
“And . . .?” Kirk wasn’t sure what
this girl had to do with the ceremony. Perhaps she would announce what they
were exchanging, or present it somehow, or . . .
He lifted his hands, palms up, in
the universal sign of not understanding.
“The Exchange of Trust is about to
be completed,” Tempa explained patiently. Then he looked at Kirk in
expectation. “My daughter is the Exchange of Trust for my people—as is your daughter for
the Federation.”
Chapter Six
Kirk gaped at Tempa’s daughter as
sudden, horrible understanding slammed into his mind. “My daughter?” No way. This
was not going to happen here. Not on this war-threatened, backwater planet. Not
when the Prime Directive tied his hands and prevented him from interfering with
their petty outbreaks of rebel violence and retaliation.
What kind of barbarians are these
people? he wondered. Trading children back and forth like some kind of slave
auction? To secure nothing more than a pile of rocks? Ridiculous! He heard McCoy make a startled sound, but he didn’t
turn around to acknowledge it.
Instead, he stared at the still,
small form standing in front of him and shook his head slowly and deliberately.
They don’t need fancy hand signals to translate my emphatic “no!”
“Captain!” Stenson whispered desperately. He caught Kirk’s look of
fury and frowned. His meaning was clear—don’t do anything to dishonor our
hosts.
Kirk ignored Stenson and turned to
Tempa. “I’m sorry, sir, but what you ask is out of the question.”
Tempa’s look turned dark, and his
hands fluttered furiously. The signals came too fast for Kirk to follow, but
Peters and Stenson caught their breaths at the same time.
“Captain Kirk,” Peters broke in,
coming to Kirk’s side. “Be extremely careful. Our negotiations are teetering on
a dangerous precipice right now. Your rash words may have a disastrous effect.
We could lose the magnetite. Calm yourself.”
Kirk turned on the diplomat. “Calm
myself?” He was incredulous. “I’m supposed to give my daughter away, and
you’re telling me to calm myself?”
“No one is asking you to give her
away. It is a temporary exchange, simply a pledge, a promise to fulfill the
terms of the trading agreement.” Peters shrugged. “They are a trustworthy
people. I don’t see the problem.”
“Do you have any children,
Peters?” McCoy asked.
The man shook his head.
McCoy snorted. “I didn’t think
so.”
“I thought this Exchange business
dealt with valuables—heirlooms and things. Jamie has nothing to do with these
trade agreements. How would they even know about her?”
“Our Starfleet files, Jim,” McCoy
offered quietly. He laid a hand on his friend’s arm. “These people obviously
know everything about us.”
“Yes indeed, Doctor McCoy,” Tempa
agreed. “Your records were very helpful. From them I was able to ascertain the
perfect Exchange of Trust.” He looked at Kirk. “The ceremony deals with
valuables, as you said. Is there anything more valuable than our children?
Nothing will secure the agreement better than this.”
Kirk set his jaw. “My valuable stays
aboard the Enterprise.
Choose
a different Exchange of Trust. Or better yet, take my word that the trade will
go according to the agreement. We don’t need any of this foolish—”
“Captain!” Stenson nearly choked. He
turned to Tempa. “Forgive the captain’s impetuosity. He is merely surprised at
the proceedings and means no disrespect.”
Tempa nodded. “I’ll forgive
you—this once, Captain Kirk. As I stated earlier, the choosing of the Exchange
of Trust is our prerogative. You are the initiator of the trade agreement. Your
Federation needs our magnetite. If it were reversed, you would choose
the Exchange of Trust pledge and we would be pledged to honor it—as you have pledged to honor ours.”
These last words were spoken with
the barest hint of impatience. “Once you spoke the sacred words, you cannot
take them back. What you have pledged, you have pledged. To break the pledge
would be to incur our extreme displeasure. It is possible that further trade
with the United Federation of Planets would be impossible.” The veiled threat
caused the two diplomats to hold their breaths.
Kirk stood silently. His mind
raced. How was he going to get himself and Jamie out of this mess? He cursed
his willingness to sign anything without knowing all the facts. But would they
have told him what the pledge was before he signed? No, he remembered. He had
asked. They had refused. I was so relieved that the Exchange didn’t involve
weapons that I dived right into this! I
should have told them at that point to take their magnetite and shove it.
“My daughter is only ten years old,” he said
aloud, squashing the temptation to pull out his communicator and get the heck
off this planet. He saw Peters shaking his head vigorously. The last thing he
wanted to do was beam Jamie into the middle of a political mess, but how could
he say that aloud?
“He’s just surprised, Tempa,”
Stenson finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
“That’s an understatement,” McCoy
muttered softly.
Stenson shot the doctor a
dangerous look and continued his explanation. “The captain’s daughter is young.
Naturally, he wishes to protect her from unknown situations.”
Tempa appeared to relax. “Ah. I
understand completely. I have had all day to resolve the conflict I feel within
myself to allow my Tami to go aboard a strange vessel and live among
aliens—even for a few days. I imagine my shock and surprise would equal yours,
Captain, if I were on a strange planet and I was told such plans with no
warning.” He nodded. “Forgive an old man for his impatience.”
“Of course,” Kirk replied. His
heart rate returned to normal. Maybe these people could be reasonable. After
all, it was rocks! “I would like to offer myself as the Exchange
of Trust in place of my daughter,” he said.
Tempa shook his head, his good
humor rapidly dissolving. “Impossible, Captain. The negotiator never uses
himself as a pledge. It is quite offensive.” He frowned. “I will forgive your
impudence because of your ignorance, but do not speak of this again. Proceed
with the Exchange of Trust.”
McCoy sidled up next to his
captain. “I don’t like it, Jim,” he whispered.
Kirk stared at him. “What do you
suggest, Doctor?”
“She’s on the ship. They can’t
drag her off. She’s safe there.” He shrugged. “Just say no.”
Kirk glanced at Stenson and
motioned him over. “What happens if I refuse?” His voice was a harsh whisper in
the man’s ear. “Are they serious about never trading with us again?”
The man’s eyes grew huge. “Yes, of
course they are, Captain. You mustn’t refuse. You have no idea how serious they
consider the breaking of the pledge at this point.” He shook his head. “From
what I observed aboard ship, your daughter is anxious to beam down and see the
sights. Jamie doesn’t strike me as a timid child. On the contrary, she appears
bursting with curiosity and the desire to learn. I believe she adapts quickly
to new situations—a must if she lives aboard a starship, wouldn’t you agree?”
Kirk was forced to agree. Jamie
would probably jump for joy at the opportunity of beaming down. Why was he so
against it? Why was a little voice screaming in the back of his mind to keep
her aboard the ship? Maybe
because this planet is a civil war just waiting to explode?
“Spock?” he asked.
Spock’s look was unreadable. “I
see no logical reason not to allow her to beam down. These people, as our own
diplomats have assured us, are honorable. I have seen no sign of the unrest
that plagued these Clans three years ago. The city and the palace are secure.”
Kirk sighed. “All right. I’ll beam
up and have a little chat with her. Perhaps—”
Tempa shook his head. “I’m sorry,
Captain. You may summon the girl, but you only return to your ship with Tami,
and then only after the banquet.”
Kirk held back his frustration
with difficulty. He was not happy with this unexpected situation. Small, icy
fingers of uncertainty crawled up his spine. With a jerk, he pulled his
communicator from his belt and flipped it open. “Kirk to Enterprise.”
“Scott here, Captain.”
“I have an unusual request for
you, Mr. Scott. Find Jamie and have her beamed down to these coordinates—on the
double.”
“Sir?” Scott’s voice was one of
mystification. “I thought she—”
“It’s all right, Scotty,” Kirk
said. “She has permission to come down for a visit.”
There was a moment of silence from
the communicator. Then, “Aye-aye, sir. Scott out.”
***
Jamie was just finishing up her
supper in the mess hall when the announcement came over the speaker. At first
she paid no attention. Ship-wide announcements weren’t often meant for her. She
pointed to Lt. Riley’s black chess piece and advised, “Riley, I think you’d
better move this one to—”
“Hey, Jamie,” Todd Matthews called
from across the room. “You’re being paged.”
Jamie’s head snapped around. “Me?”
she asked incredulously. Todd nodded.
She slid from her seat and ran
over to the intercom just as it repeated its message: “Jamie Kirk, report to
the transporter room, on the double.”
Jamie punched the button. “Sure,
Mr. Scott. But why?”
“Dunna know, lassie. But you’d
better hurry. Captain’s orders.”
Suppressing a squeal of delight,
Jamie secured her tri-corder over her shoulder, waved a cheerful good-bye to
Riley and Tyler, and hurried from the rec hall. As she waited for the
turbo-lift, she punched her tri-corder into “record” position.
Cadet’s Log, supplemental
The most marvelous thing just
happened. The captain ordered me to the transporter room. I don’t know why he
did, but I do know that anybody who goes to the transporter room usually beams
somewhere!
The doors slid open, and Jamie
skipped into the lift. Five minutes later she walked through the open doors of
the transporter room and greeted Lt. Kyle. Less than a minute later, her atoms
dissolved into a million twinkling dots.
It was a tingly, unpleasant
feeling to be reformed in a strange place. It nearly always made Jamie feel
disoriented, so she usually closed her eyes the second the transporter chief
touched the controls.
Now, she opened her eyes. The
first thing she saw was a tall, dark-bearded stranger robed in clothes of
yellow and orange. He was standing only a few feet away, and she had to glance
up high to see his face. On either side, more men dressed in similar clothes
stood staring at her. Next to the landing party, a girl some years older than
herself waited. She was dressed like a princess—all gold and shimmery.
Jamie blinked in surprise. Then
her hands went up and she gave the men a respectful greeting in the Pyrrian
hand speech.
The tallest man broke into a
toothy smile. He repeated the hand speech and added in words, “Most welcome
indeed, child. Your greeting warms my heart. You have studied well.”
“Jamie, come here.”
She whirled around and saw her
father, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy standing around, looking uncomfortable. She
broke into a run. “You changed your mind!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms
around her father’s waist. “Thank you!”
Kirk pulled Jamie from him and
smiled down at her. It took all his training to pretend everything was fine. “Yes,
indeed, Cadet. You’ve been invited to spend a few days here—right in the
palace—as a special guest of the ruler’s family.”
Jamie’s eyes opened wide in
surprise and pleasure. “Really?” She turned to Tempa. “Are you the ruler?”
Before he could answer, she chattered on. “Thank you! I kept asking my dad to
let me come down, but he said ‘no.’ I’m glad you invited me. You must’ve worked
hard to change his mind, ’cause he was pretty set on making me stay put and—”
“Jamie,” Kirk warned.
Tempa bowed and moved his hands
quickly.
Jamie giggled.
Tempa gave a nod of approval. “I
see you’ve been busy, child, learning our hand speech.”
“It’s very interesting, and Mr.
Peters and Mr. Stenson are good teachers,” Jamie replied, pointing to the two
diplomats. “I learned it really fast. Dr. McCoy, well, he doesn’t—”
“Belay your chatter, Cadet,” Kirk
said softly.
Jamie whirled and saw a sudden, strange
look in her father’s eyes. Her stomach fluttered. “Is something wrong, Daddy?”
Kirk shook his head, put on his
everything’s-fine mask, and reached for Jamie’s hand. He turned to Tempa. “You
were saying something about a banquet to close the Exchange of Trust?”
Squeezing Jamie’s hand, he continued. “If you don’t mind, it’s getting late and
I have a ship to run. If we could proceed?”
Chapter Seven
As everyone entered the grand
hall, Jamie got her first inkling that something was not exactly right. Instead
of seating her with the Enterprise crew, two
attendants led her into an alcove. Once out of sight of the people, the women
quickly pulled off her uniform and replaced it with a soft gown of swirling
orange and yellow.
Jamie was so surprised, she didn’t
even protest. She kept a tight hold on her tri-corder and wondered what in the
world was going on. But her father was right in the next room, and he wasn’t
saying anything, so it must be all right.
When Jamie returned to the banquet
hall, the meal was in full swing. She glanced around and saw her father and the
crew sitting across the room on huge floor cushions, eating and visiting. She
took two steps off the cushions and started to hurry over to join them, when a
large, rough hand encircled her arm.
“You will sit with Tempa for your
meals, as Tami is doing with the captain.”
Jamie stopped short and looked.
Indeed, the small, strange figure sat close to her father. The girl was eating
quietly, a contented smile on her face.
Jamie looked up at the attendant.
“Why? I want to eat with my father.”
“It is not allowed.”
“Why not?” She pulled her arm free
of the grasp and leaped across the cushions. With the attendant in hot pursuit,
Jamie scurried across the shiny, patterned floor and slid to a stop in front of
the Enterprise officers.
“Daddy!” she gasped, throwing
aside all pretense of being a Starfleet cadet. “They say I can’t sit by you.
And who’s that girl?” She pointed to the brown-haired girl.
Just then, the attendant reached
Jamie and gripped her arm.
“Let me go!” Jamie demanded. Her
heart skipped a beat. Why was this stranger holding on to her? This was not her
idea of an enjoyable visit to Pyrria. She didn’t want to sit with strangers.
Kirk rose to his feet. “Let her
go. I’ll explain.” He paused. “Please.”
The woman let up on her grip.
Jamie rubbed her arm and glared at
the woman. Then she turned to her father. “Explain what?”
“For a few days, you’re going to
stay with Tempa and the royal family.”
Jamie was nodding. “You told me
that already.”
“But I didn’t tell you that
Tempa’s daughter is going to stay on the Enterprise. And . . . that you’re going to stay here by
yourself.” The words sounded horrible, even to him.
Jamie’s stomach turned over. She
gripped her father’s tunic. “Alone? Why?”
“You wanted to beam down and visit
the planet, Cadet.” He forced a smile. “Now’s your chance.”
Jamie bit her lip. “All week you
said, no, no, no. Now, you’re saying yes. What happened?”
McCoy snorted from Kirk’s right
side. “Good question, Jim.”
He whirled on McCoy. “That will
do, Bones.”
“Why don’t you just tell her?”
“Tell me what?” Jamie whispered. Her
heart skipped a beat.
Kirk glared at his friend. “You’re
not making this any easier. Now, belay your remarks, Doctor. That’s an
order.”
McCoy looked ready to burst. “Aye,
aye, Captain. After all, she’s just your kid. The Federation’s magnetite
is so much more important.”
Jamie’s heart started to race.
Something was definitely not right. When her father and Dr. McCoy started
calling each other by their titles, instead of ‘Jim’ and ‘Bones,’ she knew they
were angry about something—usually something important.
Jamie shot a worried glance at Mr.
Spock. He raised one eyebrow at her and said nothing. There was no way she
could read his expressionless face. She’d tried often enough. She could never
guess what he was thinking or—in this case—what he knew that he wasn’t telling.
“Daddy?” Jamie returned her gaze
to her father, who was still arguing quietly with McCoy. She swallowed. She
tightened her arms around Kirk’s waist and whispered, “I changed my mind. I
don’t want to visit Pyrria. I want to go back to the ship.”
Kirk put a protective arm around
Jamie and hugged her tight. “Dr. McCoy is just being his usual, cynical self,
honey. Don’t listen to him.”
Jamie didn’t know what ‘cynical’
meant, but she didn’t miss the glare her father sent the good doctor. He leaned
into McCoy’s ear and whispered. Jamie strained to listen. “. . . supposed to
do? . . . no way out . . . I might as well . . .” The rest was whispered gibberish. It
made Jamie more frightened than ever.
Kirk picked Jamie up, as though he
didn’t want to let her go. “Whoosh, you’re getting heavy, Cadet,” he said with
a smile.
Jamie looked into his eyes and
said nothing.
Kirk sighed. “I’m sorry, honey.
This is my fault. As part of the trade agreement, I pledged to exchange you for
Tempa’s daughter—just for a few days, mind you—while the magnetite is being
loaded and while we’re getting the metals ready for transport. I didn’t know
when I signed the agreement that you were part of the deal.”
Jamie gasped and wriggled free of
her father’s hold. She thumped to the ground. “You traded me away for some
boring rocks?”
“No. Of course not! It’s
complicated, but I promise it’s just for a few days. Tempa is entrusting his
only child to me and I’m doing the same for him. He’ll treat you well, and
you’ll have a wonderful time.”
Jamie blinked back tears. This
whole shore leave thing always ended in disaster. Why had she thought it would
be different this time? She crooked a finger, and her father bent down. “I’m .
. . I’m sorry I kept asking to beam down,” she whispered in his ear. “Is this
my punishment for not saying ‘okay’ right away? Like ‘be careful what you ask
for, because you might get it’?”
Kirk cringed and gripped Jamie’s
shoulders. “Of course not, Jamie. I promise it’s just for a few days.” He pulled
her into another hug. “Now . . . they’re waiting for you on the other side of
the room. Give me a kiss, then go over to your temporary family and show them
how a Starfleet cadet behaves.”
Jamie sniffed back her uncertainty
and straightened up. Then she offered her father a half-hearted salute. “Aye,
aye, C-captain,” she managed to whisper. Then the words got stuck in her
throat.
Kirk released her and kissed her
on the forehead. “A few days. I promise.”
Jamie turned away from the crew
and headed back to Tempa’s family. Beaming down to Pyrria suddenly seemed like
the worst idea she’d ever had.
The woman attendant reached out to
guide Jamie’s return, but she pulled away her hand. “I can do it,” she
insisted. Her back straight, she stepped across the tiled floor as bravely as
she could. Inside, her heart beat furiously. Only a few days. Only a few days.
When she reached the other side of
the room, she went straight to Tempa. “Will I be allowed to talk to my father
by communicator?”
Tempa shook his head. “We follow
the traditions of the old time. When family members were exchanged, there was
no way to report on their well-being. So it is now. Your father must trust me,
as I must trust him.”
He gave Jamie a sympathetic smile.
“You are in good hands, child. I will treat you as I treat my own daughter—my
heir, my delight.” He reached out and took hold of Jamie’s small, cold hands.
“I assure you, the time will go quickly. These things have happened to our
people countless times. Everyone is returned safely.”
He drew Jamie gently onto the
pillow between him and his wife, Sera. “I believe you will go home with good
memories, daughter,” he
whispered. “Come now, and have something to eat. Later, your attendants will
show you a bathing pool that will delight you. Tomorrow you may choose whatever
you would like to amuse yourself in the palace grounds. Then perhaps, if the magnetite
is transferring well, I will personally accompany you into the city to see the
sights and purchase souvenirs for your shipmates.”
Jamie knew she should say something.
She lifted her head and caught her father’s gaze from across the room. He
winked at her. Jamie settled down and picked up what looked like a cookie.
“Does this mean I get to have dessert, even if I don’t finish my meal?”
Tempa laughed.
Chapter Eight
Cadet’s Log, stardate 4372.9:
Last night
was perfectly horrible. It’s not very fun to find out you’ve just been given
away like some kind of prize—and with no warning. I guess there was more to
buying magnetite than my dad thought. At first I was scared and furious. I
wanted to go right back to the ship. But I saw how upset Daddy was about the
whole thing, and I decided I didn’t want him to worry about me. I’m getting
used to the palace now, and my attendants do anything I tell them. That’s
right. Anything. This morning I had strawberries and whipped cream for
breakfast—as much as I wanted. I think I may like it here, after all.
Jamie listened to her old log
entry with a contented smile. Indeed, the past two days on Pyrria had been the
very best shore leave she’d had since coming aboard the Enterprise over two years
ago. The days were filled with pleasant activities, wonderful entertainment,
and delicious food—all she could eat. She’d ridden a pony, taken a bath in a
huge indoor pool, and played outside running games with the other court
children, who had accepted her as one of their own.
Only the nights were unpleasant.
The first night was the worst. She had lain, shivering, in a huge canopied bed
meant for a princess and wished she were in her own quarters, across the
corridor from Daddy. She didn’t like being alone in a strange place. It had
taken every bit of courage she could muster not to start crying.
Last night had been better. “And
now there’s just one night left,” Jamie comforted herself. But right now it was
mid-day, the sun shone brightly outside, and her attendants were calling her
name and asking permission to enter her room.
The days had passed quickly. Not
once had she spoken to her father or anyone from the ship. She wondered how
Tami was getting along with the crew. She hoped the girl was having as great a
time as Jamie was. Perhaps, after this, she and Tami could become friends and
send messages back and forth across subspace.
Jamie snapped her tri-corder shut
and rose to greet the young women. As she did, a sudden sneeze caught her by
surprise. Before she took a step, another sneeze grabbed her. She shook her
head and sniffed.
“Are you well, Jamie?” Kayla, one
the attendants, asked with concern.
Jamie nodded. “I’m fine. Must be
dust in my nose.” She wrinkled her nose and shut her eyes as another sneeze
started tickling her.
Kayla laughed and held out a hand.
“Come along. It is your last day with us. We will show you the city
marketplace, where you may purchase gifts for your friends aboard the
starship.”
“Thank you!” Jamie shouted in
excitement.
Unfortunately, the trip into the
city was cut short. No sooner had Jamie and her attendants begun to shop, when
the palace guards tracked them down and urged them to quickly return to the
palace grounds. There passed between the adults a series of hand movements so
fast that Jamie had no hope of understanding what was being said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Kayla shushed her and hurried her
into the covered vehicle. “Nothing you need worry about, child,” was the only
answer she was given. “It is council business.”
The rest of the day did not pass
as pleasantly for Jamie. A sudden, strained atmosphere seemed to settle over
everyone. Jamie wandered around the grounds, suddenly wishing she were home.
The children of the court had disappeared, leaving the huge fields around the
palace strangely silent. She heard a whispered mention of “L’traoc” and
“terrorists,” but no one would explain anything to her. Finally, she sought out
Kayla, who had been friendly to her the past two days.
“When can I go back to the Enterprise?”
Kayla looked startled at the
question. She shook her head. “Not yet. Not today, certainly.”
“Then when? Tomorrow?”
Kayla shook her head and placed a
finger in front of her lips. “Don’t bother the ruler with such questions now.
He has heavy matters facing him this evening. Many decisions.” From that point
on, Jamie was forgotten.
By evening, Jamie was thoroughly
frightened. She curled up in the large bed, pulled out her tri-corder, and
began recording.
Cadet’s Log, stardate 4272.12:
Something’s
not right. All of the adults look worried. They won’t tell me when I can go
home to the Enterprise.
Lots of people are hurrying here and there, and the other children are gone. I
don’t know where. I didn’t get a chance to buy anything from the market, on
account of Kayla being summoned back to the palace for unknown reasons. I don’t
like the nights in the city. I want my own bed, especially now, because I don’t
feel very well. My throat is scratchy and I’ve sneezed all day long. I hope I
fall right to sleep and wake up tomorrow, when I can go back to the ship. It
has been a fun shore leave, but I’m ready to go home.
Jamie
tossed and turned for more than an hour before she finally fell into a fitful
sleep.
***
The sound of explosions and loud
screams woke Jamie up and sent her heart racing out of control. She pulled the
covers over her head and curled up into a ball, throwing her hands over her
ears in terror. What was happening?
The next explosion was nearby. Too
frightened to stay in one place, Jamie threw back the covers and crept to the
window. The city was all lit up. Jamie opened the windowpanes and leaned out.
The sounds of crowds in a panic rose to greet her. Just below and to the left,
a group of about a fifty armed men were crashing against the palace doors. It
would be only moments before they gained entry.
“What should I do?” Jamie
whispered, shaking in fear. She ran to the chamber doors and cracked them open.
People hurried down the hallways, crying and pounding their chests. One of the
attendants saw Jamie standing in the doorway.
“Quickly, child! The terrorists
have made their boldest attack yet! Hundreds have been wounded. The L’traoc
will soon gain the palace. Tempa and his advisors have fled. I have been sent
to see you safely to Tempa and his family. Let us go quickly!” A sudden
explosion in the hallway caught the woman and sent her flying straight at
Jamie, where she fell at her feet and lay still.
Jamie shrieked at the sight of the
dead woman crumpled in front of her. She glanced up at the open doorway. There
was no movement in the corridors. All seemed dead or dying.
Jamie leaped for the door and
slammed it shut. Her breaths came in short, panicked gasps. She scanned the
room quickly for hiding places, but there were none. She raced across the room
and carelessly threw a tunic over her head. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to
pull up the leggings and slip on her boots. There was no time for anything
else. She heard the swift pounding of many feet below her and knew it was only
a matter of time before they exploded into her room, looking for her.
Jamie ran to the window and
climbed onto the sill. Shoving the panes open completely, she peered out into
the darkness. Only the explosions from the city gave any light. Dark,
threatening clouds covered the three small moons of Pyrria.
Just across from her—maybe three
or four feet away—the branches of an old, prickly evergreen tree waved in the
night breeze. Jamie bit her lip. It was a long jump to the safety of the trunk,
and if she missed…
Jamie looked down. The ground was
a good twenty or thirty feet below. Cautiously, she sat down and scooted
herself to the edge of the ledge. From there she could touch the ends of the
evergreen’s branch, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold her. She would have to
jump.
Jamie swallowed hard and glanced
back into the warm, inviting room. The footsteps were nearer now, running down
the hallway. Any minute, the enemy would come crashing through the doorway. She
had no time to consider her options. Taking a deep breath, she crouched on her
heels, reached out her hands, and leaped for the tree.
For what seemed like an eternity,
Jamie hurtled through the air. When she started to fall, she groped desperately
for something solid to grab. She felt her hands close around something rough
and scratchy. It slipped through her fingers, and she felt herself falling
helplessly through a tangle of prickly, sharp limbs.
Her fall was checked by a branch a
few feet below. Jamie fell against it and wrapped both arms around it, banging
her chin into the rough surface. Blinking back tears of pain, she scrambled to
steady herself on the limb. Her feet touched something solid and she stood up
and hoisted herself onto the thick branch. Then she scooted carefully toward
the huge trunk of the evergreen and leaned against it, not caring that the
rough, scaly surface bit into her back like the sharp teeth of a saw. She was
too frightened to notice.
Jamie took three or four huge,
sobbing breaths and looked up. She could see a square of light where her window
was, but she was concealed by the profuse amount of dark green needles. Against
the light, the shadows of two large men leaned out across the ledge. They
peered into the gloom, cursing loudly and pointing to the ground. Then they
whirled away from the window and disappeared from view.
Jamie bowed her head and allowed
her sobs to come in great heaves of relief at not being discovered. She was
well hidden and knew she must, under no circumstance, leave this tree tonight.
Perhaps in the morning, the terrorists would be gone. Then she could climb down
and survey the situation. But for now she must stay awake so she didn’t fall
out of the tree. No problem there, she decided. She was fully awake and
intended to stay that way.
She shivered. The night was cold.
A stiff breeze blew through the branches, whipping them into Jamie’s face every
few minutes. Then, as if determined to make her miserable, it started to rain.
Not a gentle spring rain, but a torrent of chilly, needle-sharp droplets, only
slightly softened by their trip through the branches.
Jamie sneezed and rubbed her nose.
This is going to be
a long night.
Chapter Nine
“Captain’s Log, Stardate 4372.12: In orbit around
Eta Pyrriae IV. The magnetite has been successfully beamed aboard and secured
for shipment to the Daran V refinery. As soon as the Ruling council of Pyrria
receives the remainder of our precious metals, her highness, the Princess Tami
of Pyrria, will be returned to her family. The Enterprise is scheduled for
departure at 0900, ship time, tomorrow morning.
“On a personal note: I look forward to seeing a
close to these trade proceedings. Princess Tami, while no doubt a fine young
lady held in high regard by her own people, is wearing out her welcome aboard
the Enterprise. And frankly, I miss Jamie and hope to see her soon. No
communication between Tempa’s family and myself has been allowed. Princess Tami
does not seem to be affected by this short absence from her family, but I have
concerns about Jamie.”
Kirk punched the intercom off and
frowned. It had been a long three days.
Princess Tami had done more than “wear out her welcome”. She had shown herself
to be the spoiled, only child of an important ruler, used to getting her own
way. The VIP quarters had been rearranged four times during the first two days
of her stay. She had complained continuously about the food, and she was quite
verbal in her demands for attendants to serve her. The captain had drawn the
line at turning his crew into personal servants for one girl.
Tami spent most of her days
lounging around the Olympic-size pool. She had proved herself to be a fine
swimmer, and seemed to enjoy the water. Kirk was pleased about that. He allowed
the young lady to sit at his table at meals, and he had personally escorted her
on a thorough tour of the Enterprise, but enough
was enough.
The captain glanced at his
chronometer and stifled a yawn. It was well past alpha shift—hours into beta
shift. It was high time he turned in for the night. He wasn’t sure why he
hadn’t left the bridge when his shift ended.
“Mr. Arwin,” he said to Chekov’s
redheaded relief navigator, “You have the con. I’m turning in.”
“Aye, sir,” Arwin replied
automatically. “Good night, Captain.”
Kirk nodded and made his way to
the lift.
Suddenly, Ensign Davis whirled
around in her chair at the communication’s board. “Captain Kirk!” Panic seemed
to edge her voice. “I’ve been monitoring the local airwaves, and there are
reports of a terrorist attack on the city of Taylaan.” She pulled the earphone
from her ear. “It’s…awful, Captain.”
Kirk returned to his chair and
nodded at the screen. Pyrria floated in the center of the screen, all blues and
greens. Quiet. Still. “Patch me through to Tempa or one of his aides, Ensign.”
“I’ll try, sir.”
A few minutes later, the form of a
weary, soot-covered man appeared. He appeared disheveled. He turned and stared
at Kirk.
“Captain!” he croaked. “The
L’traoc terrorists broke through the gates and into the city tonight! There
have been dozens of explosions, hundreds have been wounded. They are demanding
we sit down with them and negotiate a treaty.” The man’s face hardened. “But
that we will never do—not while they terrorize and attack us in such a manner.”
Kirk stood up. “Where is Tempa and
the Council?”
“Safely away, Captain. He will
contact you in the morning. He thanks you for keeping his daughter safe aboard
your ship and he will soon bring an end to this latest uprising.”
“Where’s Jamie?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t
know. Tempa sent one of his most trusted servants to take her to safety, so she
must be with him by now.”
“I want her aboard my ship—right
now!” Kirk demanded. “What are the coordinates of your place of refuge? I’ll
beam down and get her myself.”
The man shook his head. “I don’t
know the coordinates off-hand, Captain. But under no circumstances should any
member of your crew beam down. The terrorists could easily gain an important
Federation hostage with which to try and put pressure on your government to
meet their demands against us. Don’t beam down, Captain!”
The view screen suddenly exploded
in a display of color, then returned to the view of Pyrria floating serenely in
a sea of black.
Kirk backed up and sat down in his
chair. “Get him back!” he demanded.
“I’m sorry sir,” Davis apologized.
“The signal was cut off at the source.”
Kirk stared at the view screen,
aghast.
“Captain?” Davis’ voice broke in.
“Captain? Shall I inform Starfleet of the present situation?”
“By all means, Ensign,” Kirk
agreed, too quickly. “Message as follows: ‘City of Taylaan, Eta Pyrriae IV,
under heavy attack by L’traoc terrorists. Request permission to intervene and
investigate. Kirk, commanding Enterprise, out’. Send
that as quickly as you can, Ensign Davis. I want a reply as soon as you get
it.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
“Cadet’s Log, Stardate…unknown.”
Jamie mumbled her words into the
cold, damp air. She peered through the branches into a gray, dismal dawn. She’d
thought morning would never arrive, but here it was—cheerless and soggy. With a
great effort to keep her shivering to a minimum, Jamie began her long, slow
descent through the prickly branches to the ground below. Each movement brought
the sting of hot tears to her eyes. Her chin hurt from where she’d banged it
the night before, her legs ached, and her arms felt like rubber. To top it off,
her throat burned and her head felt full of cotton.
When she finally dropped from the
lowest branch onto the wet grass, her legs crumbled beneath her—sending Jamie
to the ground in a heap. The hard landing brought on a fit of coughing, which
hurt as much as the rest of her body.
She looked up at the palace. It
was dark and silent. She wondered if she should try to sneak back in and see if
she could find anyone she knew. Taking a few careful steps to steady her
shaking legs, Jamie made her way toward the shattered palace doors.
She had gone no more than twenty
paces, when a huge, dark man leaped out at her and snatched her by the wrist.
“Here’s another one!” he cried
with obvious glee. “I found her sneaking around the shrubbery under the palace
windows.”
Another soldier approached. “Is it
the Federation child, Garsh? She’s got to be around here somewhere. I’d stake
my life on the fact she didn’t get away with the others.”
Garsh looked Jamie over with a
critical eye. “She doesn’t look Pyrrian to me.” He narrowed his eyes and bent
down to Jamie’s height. “Are you the girl from the starship? The one exchanged
for Princess Tami for the Exchange of Trust ceremony?”
Jamie nodded. At least someone
knew who she was. That was much better, in her opinion, than to be considered a
complete stranger to everyone she met.
Garsh smiled. “Excellent.” He
snatched her up. “Rue! This is the kid. Let’s go.”
With quick, light steps, the two
men jogged through the city with Jamie slung over a broad shoulder. Each step
made Jamie gasp in pain and fear.
“Where are you taking me?” she
demanded between breaths.
“Don’t worry, you’ll find out!”
The jogging pace quickly brought
the men and Jamie to the outside of the city walls, where she was tossed
roughly into the back of a vehicle. The vehicle powered up and roared off
towards the hills. Within minutes, the smooth rolling motion put Jamie to sleep.
***
“I’m sorry, Captain Kirk,” Tempa
mourned. “You cannot imagine my grief upon hearing the news. The city is in
shambles, hundreds—”
Kirk cut him off with a wave of
his hand. “I don’t want to hear anything except the fact that my daughter is
safely in your custody. I want to see her—right now—and beam her up to the Enterprise. Your daughter
is free to stay aboard until this whole mess is cleared up, but I want Jamie
home. Do you understand?”
Tempa nodded and bowed his head in
shame. When he raised his head, Kirk saw the answer in the man’s dark eyes.
“She’s not with you, is she?” The accusation was like a slice of a knife.
Tempa winced. “I’m afraid not. I
sent someone for her, but the woman never returned. I can only guess my servant
never found your daughter or that she was killed trying to search for her.”
“What are you doing about it?”
“We’ve regained the palace and my
people are conducting a thorough search of the ruins. We take our Exchange of
Trust very seriously, Captain, and will not give up our search until we find
your daughter. I promise you that on my very life.”
“And if Jamie is injured or…dead?”
Kirk ventured softly.
“Then Tami’s life is forfeit to
you. That is the law.” The ruler’s face was ashen, but his expression firm.
“That is no comfort to me
whatsoever, Tempa.” Kirk turned to Spock. “Do you have the coordinates of
Tempa’s current position?”
“Affirmative.”
Kirk turned back to Tempa. “I will
have the princess beamed down to your location in a few minutes, sir.”
“But captain!” Tempa’s expression
turned horrified. “You cannot. The Exchange of Trust is sacrosanct. You must
wait until we find your daughter. Only then can the Exchange be completed to
both our satisfactions.”
“I think it’s safe to say you have
more important things on your mind right now than the conclusion of a trading
agreement, sir. And I would prefer to have the princess with you in case…”
Kirk’s voice trailed off.
Tempa nodded in defeat. “In case
the terrorists find your daughter and desire to complete the Exchange of Trust
with you. I understand. That is a most generous and high-minded gesture,
Captain.”
Kirk sighed. “I’m afraid my
motives aren’t so generous. If the worst-case scenario occurs, I want to make
sure the princess is beyond reach. Otherwise I might be tempted to exchange her
for Jamie.”
He leaned forward. “Find her,
Tempa. Return her to me and I’ll forget this entire Exchange of Trust farce.
According to our Prime Directive, I cannot intervene in your private political
affairs—not even to rescue my daughter. If it were not for the Exchange of
Trust that was forced upon me, the Enterprise
would
be breaking orbit right now.”
Without waiting for a reply, Kirk
slammed his fist on his armrest. The screen went back to the view of Pyrria.
The captain buried his head in his hands and took a long, deep breath. Now what?
Chapter Ten
The rocking motion of the
petroleum-powered, wheeled vehicle came to an abrupt stop, and Jamie found
herself being slung over the shoulder of the huge Pyrrian, Garsh, once again.
She groaned and hung on, wishing only to be left in peace.
“Where are we going?” she pleaded.
“I’m thirsty, and my head hurts.”
Garsh grunted and didn’t answer.
He shoved open the door to a large complex of buildings and jogged down the
corridor into a central meeting place. Once inside, he lowered Jamie to the
floor and straightened up. A pleased expression covered his rough face. “Got
her, Jove,” he said proudly, giving Jamie a shove with his booted foot.
A younger man with a head full of
reddish hair and the beginnings of a ragged beard glanced up from his desk.
“Got who?” he demanded shortly. “You’re always bursting in on
important business, Garsh. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I got Tempa’s precious Exchange
of Trust,” Garsh responded with a grin. “Though I admit she’s not much to look
at.” He shook his head. “She’s banged up some, but she’ll work out okay.”
Jove slowly rose from his chair
and shoved it back. Coming around to the front of his desk, he squatted down
next to Jamie and peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Do you know who I am,
girl?”
Jamie shook her head, mystified.
“I am Jove Janklen T’raan,” he
announced, as if Jamie should be awed by such an important name. “My people are
the L’traoc of Pyrria, and we are tired of being treated as outcasts—beaten and
abused dogs not good enough to be granted a say in Tempa’s ruling circle. Our
attack on his city last night is a blow from which he will take a long time to
recover.” He stood up and pulled Jamie to her feet.
“What’s that got to do with me?”
she whispered, trying hard to catch her breath. The room seemed stuffy and her
chest felt like someone was trying to push all the air out. She coughed, loud
and deep.
Jove frowned. “Are you ill?” He
reached out a hand and raised Jamie’s chin so he could look into her eyes. “You
look fevered, child.”
Jamie said nothing.
“All the better,” Jove decided.
“Perhaps it will motivate the Federation representatives to listen to our
demands, knowing one of their citizens is not feeling well.” He turned a sharp
look on her. “You are the Federation’s Exchange of Trust, correct?”
Jamie nodded.
“Excellent. Your name, please?”
“Jamie.”
“A fine name. Since you are here,
Jamie, it stands to reason that Princess Tami is with your people, aboard the
Federation starship.”
Jamie shrugged. “I don’t know. I
guess.”
“We want to do an Exchange of
Trust of our own,” Jove continued, smiling slightly. “We will offer you to the
Federation representatives in exchange for the princess. Once we have her here
with us, Tempa will be more than willing to sit down and negotiate. Tami will get a
unique education during her stay with us.” He reached out and brushed away a
lock of hair that had fallen into Jamie’s face. “Don’t worry. Very soon you
will be going home.” He turned to Garsh. “Put her with the others, Garsh.”
“With our wounded, Jove?”
“Of course,” Jove snapped. “And
see that she’s made comfortable. I don’t want her dying on us before we do the
exchange.”
Garsh grumbled his reply and
lifted Jamie to his shoulder once more. As they left the room, Jove called out
from behind. “Tell Rue to see me as quickly as he can. I’d like to take care of
this matter soon, before Tempa has time to recover and amass his troops. We
have the upper hand right now, and I’m not about to give it up. The Federation
starship couldn’t have arrived at a better time.”
He chuckled. “To think that fool
of a Federation diplomat actually agreed to exchange a child!” He shook his
head. “Tempa must have used every trick and ancient law in the book to get the
princess safely away to the starship. Sorry, Tempa,” he whispered gleefully.
“It’s not going to work.”
***
“Another patient, Merle,” Garsh
announced, tossing Jamie onto a makeshift cot.
“Caught in a crossfire?” a low
voice asked. “Missing any limbs?” The voice was that of a young man’s. He
sounded weary and resigned. “I’ve lost four people this morning already—two of
them just youngsters.”
He turned and regarded Garsh and
Jamie with undisguised disgust. “What does Jove think he’s accomplishing here?
We lose ten people for each one of Tempa’s, every time we launch an attack—and
he has thousands!”
“Just take a look at this girl,
Merle,” Garsh ordered. “And stop sniveling.”
Merle sighed and glanced down at
the girl huddled on the cot. “Where did she come from?”
“The starship. Jove’s got plans
for her—if she lives long enough for him to carry them out. He plans on
exchanging this girl for the princess.”
Merle’s eyes opened wide.
“Princess Tami? That would certainly give Jove clout. It may even get Tempa to
the negotiation table.” He nodded thoughtfully at Jamie. “Who is she?”
Garsh shrugged. “Don’t know. The
important thing is, she’s a Federation citizen and as such, can be used to
bargain with the Federation diplomats on the starship.”
Merle laid a hand on Jamie’s
forehead and shot the soldier a concerned look. “This kid’s sick, Garsh. I
don’t know the normal body temperature for a human, but according to Pyrrian
standards, she’s burning up.”
“I know she’s sick. That’s why
she’s here, Merle. Do what you can.” Garsh turned on his heel and marched away.
Merle sighed and sat down next to
Jamie. “Little girl,” he whispered. “Little girl, can you hear me?”
Jamie opened her eyes and stared
at the strange face looming just above her own. The blue eyes looked kind, in
spite of the fierce red color of the Pyrrian’s hair and beard. She tried to
talk, but each breath felt like fire. She coughed, deep and harsh. “I want to
go home,” she finally managed to whisper. “I don’t feel good.” Hot, silent
tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. Against her will, she
started to cry, which brought on a fit of coughing she could not stop.
Merle lifted Jamie to a sitting
position and held her until the coughing spell passed. Then he lowered her
gently to the cot and frowned. In spite of the girl’s fever, her skin felt
clammy. Her face was gray, her eyes listless and without light. This kid’s in bad shape, he thought. Does Garsh expect me to keep her
alive? I know nothing about human physiology!
***
“We are receiving a hail from an
unusual source,” Uhura announced with a frown. “A Jove Jakleen T’rann from the
L’raoc tribe?”
Kirk swung his chair around and
gave his communications’ officer a puzzled look. Then he shrugged. “We might as
well hear what the terrorists have to say. Open a hailing frequency,
Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.”
The screen shifted from a view of Pyrria
to a fuzzy, static-filled picture of a young man in casual and worn clothing.
He looked tired and battle-worn, nothing what Kirk expected from a terrorist.
There was no arrogance in his expression, no threatening demeanor.
“I’m Captain James T. Kirk,
commanding the Federation starship Enterprise. What can I do
for you, Mister…?”
“Jove Jakleen T’raan, Captain. Of
the L’raoc people.” He folded his hands and laid them on a shabby desk strewn
with papers. “I know you’re used to dealing with Tempa of the High Council of
Tarlaan. He would not like the fact you have agreed to speak with me. To him, I
am only a murdering terrorist, unfit to consider myself a Pyrrian with needs
and desires like himself and his city-dwellers. We are outcasts, beneath the
council’s notice, fit only to be hunted down and wiped from the face of this
planet.” He paused.
When Kirk said nothing, the man
continued. “We want what is due us—a voice on the Council, the rights of all Pyrrians,
medicines, schools for our children, dignity, a place of our own within our
ancient boundaries.” He frowned. “And, Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation,
you are going to help us secure the means by which we obtain our goals.”
Kirk leaned back in his chair,
surprised at the sincerity in this young terrorist’s voice. “I’m afraid our
Prime Directive prevents us from interfering with your internal political
process, Mr. T’raan. It must be worked out between your own opposing forces.
If, however, both sides request it, the Federation would be more than happy to
send a team of negotiators to sit down at the table with you. We have two
representatives on board with us now who are familiar with Pyrrian customs.”
Jove threw back his head and
laughed. “Tempa? Sit down with us? In the same room? He will never do that
willingly, Captain. Of that you may be sure.” Then he sobered and leaned
forward. “However, I have a proposition for you—one that will bring Tempa scurrying
to the bargaining table in record time. It is daring to do what I am about to
suggest, but it will perhaps bring our peoples together for the first time in
over two hundred years.”
“What is your proposition?”
“I know all about your trade
agreement with the Council,” Jove quickly explained. “I also know about Tempa’s
Exchange of Trust arrangement with your Federation.” Kirk’s ears pricked up.
“The Federation diplomats were foolish to fall for Tempa’s choice, Captain
Kirk. He was desperate to get the princess away from Tarlaan. He knew tensions
were building, and he obviously heard rumors that we were planning a raid on
the city itself. Why you would allow the representatives to exchange one of
their own children without being aware of the extreme danger is beyond my
ability to comprehend.”
He waved a careless hand to the
side. “No matter. It has worked out quite well for us. I would complete your Exchange
of Trust now. Today. Transport Princess Tami to these coordinates and I will
immediately allow you to transport the young girl in our care. Once Tempa
realizes I have Tami, he will scurry to the bargaining table.” Jove smiled.
Kirk swallowed. “Jamie’s . . . all
right?”
Jove shook his head. “No, sir, she
is not all right.” He
raised his hands at the look on Kirk’s face. “No fault of mine. She is ill. How
ill, I do not know. She is with our own sick and wounded, but our medic knows
little about human illnesses.” Jove gave Kirk a puzzled frown. “What is the
matter, Captain?”
“Jamie’s my daughter. If she’s
sick, she should be here, not in some strange care facility on a strange
planet.”
“Your daughter?” Jove’s eyes opened wide. Then he let out a
breath. “I’m sorry, Captain. But it should take only a few minutes to arrange
the transfer. Then the child will be safely back in your own medical facility.”
Kirk shook his head. “I’m afraid I
can’t do that, T’aarlan.”
Jove narrowed his eyes. “Can’t? Or
won’t? Do you not value your own child’s life?” He brought a fist
down on the table. “I tell you, Kirk, she is sick. I don’t know
how to treat her.” He seemed sincerely concerned. “She could die.”
“I can’t return someone who is no
longer aboard my ship, sir,” Kirk said. “I returned the princess to her father
several hours ago—much to his many protests.”
“No!” Jove rose from his chair in
helpless anger. He smacked his fist into his palm and swore. “Then, Captain
Kirk, since it is your
daughter
lying sick down here, I expect you will be sufficiently motivated to make the
arrangements to bring Tempa to the bargaining table. When that is arranged, we
will talk about returning the child.”
Kirk felt his stomach knot up. The
Prime Directive tore at his insides. “I . . .” He swallowed. “I can’t interfere
in your government by putting pressure on Tempa. Those are my orders from the
Federation. General Order Number One—non-interference in a planet’s internal
affairs.”
“The child is very ill, Captain,”
Jove said quietly. He was not smiling. “I suggest you redefine the
interpretation of your Prime Directive.”
If I do that, my career
is over, Kirk thought, clenching his teeth. “May I at least beam down and see my
daughter?”
“No.”
Kirk opened his mouth to protest.
“But,” Jove continued before the
captain could speak, “I will allow you to send down a medic.” The man sighed. “I
am not a monster, Captain. I do not wish to see the child die. However . . .”
His eyes narrowed into a dangerous expression. “No tricks. Your doctor will be
under guard the entire time he is here. Understood?”
Kirk nodded. “Clearly, sir. I
don’t plan to take any chances with Jamie’s life. My CMO will beam down in ten
minutes. Enterprise out.”
Five minutes later, Kirk stood in
the transporter room with McCoy.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” McCoy said. He
patted his medical kit. “I’ll do everything I can to help Jamie.”
Kirk forced a smile. “I know you
will. That’s not what I’m worried about.” Then he reached out and took his
friend’s hand and gently dropped a small, flat square into his palm.
“What’s this?” McCoy demanded.
“A viridian patch.”
McCoy sucked in his breath.
“You’re taking an awful chance with Jamie’s life, Jim, if they discover it and
figure out what it’s for.”
“If Jamie’s as sick as that Jove
fellow is carefully not saying, she might die anyway. Just stick it on her and
let Scotty do the rest.”
McCoy dropped the viridian patch into
his medical pouch. “If I get the opportunity, I’ll do it. But I have a feeling
I’m going to be watched as closely as the cat who watched the mouse hole.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The he gripped
his friend’s arm. “You were right, Bones,” the captain whispered. “I should
have just said ‘no’ and to blazes with the Federation’s magnetite.”
McCoy nodded his acknowledgement.
“I’ll do everything I can, Jim. Maybe she’s not as sick as they think.” He
pulled away from Kirk and strode up to the transporter platform.
“Energize,” Kirk murmured.
Chapter Eleven
Jamie curled into a tight ball and
pulled her knees up to her chest in order to get warm. The thin blanket
covering her didn’t seem to be doing the job. She shivered and stuffed the
blanket around her neck, then closed her eyes and lay still. Another harsh
cough wracked her entire body, and she felt tears prick her eyelids. It hurt so
much to cough! All she wanted to do was lie still and feel warm and rested, but
her whole body ached and her head pounded.
She felt someone’s strong arms
lift her for a moment. She protested weakly. It hurt to move.
“You must drink something,” Merle
insisted. He put a cup to Jamie’s mouth. She squirmed and protested, but the
medic managed to coax a few drops of water down her throat before she started
crying. “I’m sorry, child. I have nothing to give you to reduce your fever or
stop the pain.”
Jamie didn’t answer. She was too sick
and too weak to say more than a few words. “I want my daddy,” she murmured. Hot
tears trickled out from beneath her closed eyelids.
Merle stroked her damp hair away
from her fevered brow. “I’m sorry, child. I really am.”
A minute later, she collapsed and
fell into a restless sleep.
***
Bones McCoy stalked angrily among
the wounded and sick L’traoc people—the “terrorists.” There were women and
children here—sick, wounded. Young boys no older than sixteen earth years with
limbs missing or long, open gashes. McCoy felt sick to his stomach as he
followed Jove past rows of dirty cots to a corner, where a young, red-haired medic
leaned over a small bundle.
“This is the Federation doctor,
Merle,” Jove announced. He turned to McCoy. “There’s the girl.”
Merle stood up, obviously
relieved. “I’m glad you’ve come, Doctor. She’s very ill.”
McCoy dropped to his knees and
pulled back the blanket covering Jamie. She didn’t move. Her eyes were closed;
her breath came in small gasps.
McCoy’s face didn’t change, save
for the clenching of his jaw as he brought out his portable scanner. With a
whirling, clicking noise, he ran it up and down the small figure. Red lights
flashed from every indicator. McCoy sucked in his breath in astonishment. Then
he turned a desperate look at the medic.
“This is bad,” he said softly.
“Very bad. It’s advanced pneumonia. I can’t begin to guess how it progressed so
quickly. Perhaps a strain of bacteria indigenous to Pyrria managed to get a
foothold.” He turned to Merle. “Where are your lab facilities? I want to
identify the strain of bacteria before starting treatment.”
Merle shrugged. “We have no lab,
Doctor. We have no medicines. We have no—”
McCoy grasped the medic by the
shoulders and shouted, “No equipment or supplies to treat these suffering
people?” He couldn’t believe it!
Merle tore free from McCoy’s grasp
and took a step backward. “No, Dr. McCoy,” he answered bitterly. “Tempa’s
council hopes to exterminate us by any means at his disposal. Occasionally, we
manage to steal a few medical supplies or equipment in a successful raid, but
we’ve been unsuccessful for over seven months. We have no antibiotics, no fever
reducers, no pain-killers, no—”
McCoy waved his words away and
turned back to one very sick little girl. He laid a cool hand on her forehead
and bent close. “Jamie, honey, wake up. Can you hear me?”
Jamie coughed, long and hard. Then
her eyelids cracked open and she stared, bleary-eyed, at the friendly face
inches away. “D-doctor . . . McCoy?” she whispered. Each word was accompanied
by another cough and shortness of breath.
McCoy grinned and reached into his
medical pouch. “Yep, it’s me, sweetie. I’m going to give you something to lower
your fever and help you breathe better.” He pressed a hypospray against her
shoulder. “No worries. I’m taking you home quick as a bunny.” He laid a gentle hand against her cheek. “Your dad
misses you so much. He’s going a little crazy, worrying about you.”
Jamie didn’t answer, but McCoy
already saw a bit of color return to her cheeks. He checked the readings on his
diagnostic scanner and shook his head. “Not good enough,” he muttered. Then he
turned to Jove. “I need to take her back to the ship. I can’t treat her
properly here.”
Jove pointed to the hypospray.
“Looks like you did plenty, Doc. She looks ten times better than she did two
minutes ago.” He was shaking with frustration. “How about you treat Merle’s
patients with some of the same?”
McCoy paused. “Let me talk to my
captain.”
Jove nodded tightly. “No beaming
out.”
“Agreed.” He flipped open the
communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise”
“Kirk here.”
“McCoy here. We have a real
problem down here, and Jamie is only a small part of it. The situation with the
sick and wounded is abominable—no medicines, few pain relievers, no lab
facilities. It’s the dark ages for these people, and the medic told me it’s
intentional.” He paused. “All is not as it seems, Captain.”
A pause. Then, “What about Jamie?”
“She’s very sick. I don’t know if
I can pull her through down here. My gut feeling is she’s picked up a bacteria
or virus for which she has no immunity. That would explain the speed at which
her condition has deteriorated. It’s comparable to the Native Americans who
fell like flies to Smallpox the Europeans brought with them to the New World.”
Silence as Kirk digested the news.
Then, “Is she awake?”
“That’s a negative, Jim.”
“Are they willing to let her beam
up to the ship?”
McCoy turned to Jove, who shook
his head. “Not until Tempa agrees to meet with us.”
“Did you get that, Jim?” McCoy
asked.
“Yes.” A pause.
McCoy turned to Jove. “Listen. You
let me beam Jamie up to the ship. In return, I’ll send a medical team of
doctors and nurses down here, with all the medicine and lab equipment you need
to help these people.”
Jove looked at Merle. The young
medic’s face was red; he looked itchy to get his hands on the Federation
supplies. Jove turned back to McCoy. “Isn’t that a violation of your prime
directive?” he sneered.
“Not in the least,” McCoy said at
once. “Humanitarian aid is our specialty.”
Jove pondered. Then he sighed.
“Merle, what do you think? Is it worth letting a valuable playing piece go in
order to—”
“Yes!” Merle shouted. Then he
calmed down. “If the little girl dies, she’ll be no use to us at all. If the Enterprise’s medical team
can save lives, then I say it is worth it a thousand-fold. And”—he
smiled—“we’ll give them an education while they’re here about the real state of our
people and the nation.”
* * *
Kirk hovered over the small form
on the diagnostic bed and blinked back his horror. Slowly, he lowered himself
onto the bed next to his daughter and gently scooped her up in his arms. “Jamie,”
he whispered, pressing her close to his chest, “wake up, honey. You’re safe
now.”
Jamie didn’t stir. She lay, almost
lifeless, in her father’s arms.
“What’s the matter with her,
Bones?” Kirk’s agonized expression scanned the readings above her bed. They did
not look encouraging. They registered the bare minimum needed to sustain life.
McCoy shook his head and turned
away. “I don’t know, Jim.”
“What do you mean you
don’t know? You’re the doctor.”
McCoy looked down at his captain
and his friend. “I’m sorry. I’ve given her the highest doses of antibiotics I
dare. They seem to have brought the infection to a halt, but she’s too weak to
come around. Only time will tell.”
“Time? That’s one
thing I haven’t got, Bones. It’s been two days. Sure, she’s not coughing any
longer, but her fever is still sky-high and her life signs continue to drop.
It’s as if . . .” his voice trailed off.
“As if she’s lost the will to
live,” a new voice spoke up.
Kirk and McCoy both turned as one.
Spock stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, his expression
sober.
“Yes, Spock,” McCoy agreed with a
nod. “I’m afraid you’re right. Jamie’s been through the ringer. Her fear during
the night of the terrorists’ attack, hiding out in the weather, contracting a
near-fatal infection . . .” He shook his head.
“I believe I have an idea,” Spock offered.
He glanced over at the small figure in the captain’s arms. This was not
something he would try on just any human. Only the desperation he sensed from
his friend caused him to even consider his next words.
“What is it, Spock?” Kirk asked.
“A mind-meld,” Spock stated
simply. “Her spirit is fading so quickly, there seems to be little life left in
her. I propose to meld with her and try to show her the way back.”
McCoy and Kirk looked at Spock in
astonishment. “Don’t you think that’s a bit chancy, Spock?” the doctor
ventured.
“Yes,” the Vulcan agreed quickly.
“In fact, the odds are five to one that it will not work at all.” He glanced at
Kirk. “But as you humans would say, what have you got to lose?”
“Won’t it be unpleasant for you,
Spock?” Kirk asked quietly.
Spock considered it. “A mind
teeming with emotional distress would be most unpleasant, true, captain. But a
small child? Especially this young girl?” He raised one eyebrow. “I think not. Jamie and
I know each other well. I believe I can calm her terror and show her how to
conquer it herself. All she needs to do is trust me.” He paused. “And I believe
she already does. I . . . wish to try this, for her sake and for yours, Jim.”
Kirk closed his eyes and nodded.
When he opened them, he caught his friend’s dark gaze. “Do it.”
* *
*
“Jamie.”
The word was as soft as a spring
breeze. Jamie ignored it.
“Jamie Kirk.” This time the voice
was more insistent. “Are you here?”
Jamie paused. She knew that voice,
or at least she thought she did. She wanted to answer, but it hurt too much. And
she was afraid. It was safe here in her cozy, dark corner. Nobody could find
her here.
She waited and kept very, very
quiet.
“Jamie. Don’t be afraid. It is I,
Spock. I want to talk to you.”
Mr. Spock? No! Maybe it was a
trick. A trick to find her hiding place. She slunk deeper into the corner.
“No, Jamie,” Spock’s voice was a
whisper in her mind. “Don’t be afraid. It is truly I. Come out. Just for a
moment. I just want to talk to you.”
Before Jamie could catch herself,
she asked, “Why?”
“You are deep inside yourself,
Jamie. You are fluttering like a small butterfly testing out its new wings. You
need to come with me.”
Jamie shook her head. “It’s safe
in here. I don’t want to go back. I’m scared.”
“Take my hand,” Spock’s voice
urged her. “I won’t let you go. No one can hurt you if you are with me. If
anyone tries, I will”—a pause—“give him a nerve pinch.”
Spock felt what could only be a
whispered giggle. “Truly, Mr. Spock?”
“Assuredly.” Encouraged, Spock
pressed further. “Your father misses you, Jamie. The crew misses you. I miss you.”
“You miss me?”
Spock felt the mental equivalent of genuine surprise.
“Indeed.”
“But I’m not logical. Not like the
kids on Vulcan. I know I drive you crazy sometimes.”
Spock felt the stirrings of hope.
The child’s mental voice had grown stronger. “You are mistaken, Jamie Kirk.”
Spock’s voice was adamant. “You do not—as you say—drive me crazy. You are
extremely intelligent yet refreshing innocent of the fact. Life is an exciting
adventure for you, and I”—another pause—“wish to be a part of that. I see in
you a great capacity for logic and order. I desire to continue tutoring you.
Your potential is great. And, I am quite fond of you.”
Jamie considered. Mr.
Spock likes me?
Spock felt her spirit strengthen.
“Your father is my friend,” he admitted. “It distresses me to see him so
worried about you.”
“Where is he?” Jamie asked. It was so dark.
But she saw in her mind a small, yellow light. It looked like Mr. Spock was
holding up a lamp.
“He is near. Come here, take my
hand, and I’ll take you to him.”
“It’s too dark,” Jamie said,
suddenly fearful again.
Mr. Spock held the light higher.
“Just follow the light. Take my hand.”
Jamie sighed. “I’m so tired.”
“You may rest when you complete
the journey. Now, come here.” He made his words a gentle but firm command.
“Promise I can rest? Nobody will
scare me?”
Spock nodded. “Most assuredly.” He
held out his mental hand farther. “Take my hand, Jamie. Trust me. Your father
loves you. He wants you back.”
Jamie reached out as far as she
could. She could almost reach Mr. Spock’s fingers. Then a howling noise came
from another dark corner, and she drew back.
“No, Jamie!” Mr. Spock insisted.
“Ignore it. Just look at the light and clasp my hand.” When she hesitated, he
said, “Do it now.”
Jamie took a step from her safe,
warm, dark corner and touched Mr. Spock’s hand. Then she felt the Vulcan’s
strong hand curl around her small one, warm and tight. She sighed and opened
her eyes.
And gasped.
Inches from her face, Mr. Spock’s
dark eyes bored into her own hazel ones. She felt his fingertips resting on the
sides of her face and tried to move her head. “Daddy,” she whispered, closing
her eyes. The pressure immediately left her cheeks. She took two deep breaths
and was surprised to find she could breathe. It had been so long! Or had it?
McCoy whistled. “Look at those
readings now, Jim,” he said. “All within normal ranges. What in the world did
you do to her, Spock?”
Spock stepped back, suddenly
fatigued. He shook his head and steadied himself against the diagnostic bed
next to Jamie’s. “I did exactly what I said I would,” he said softly.
“Jamie?” Her father’s voice
sounded in her ear. She opened her eyes again. Kirk was leaning over her,
smiling. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” Jamie confessed. She
glanced over to where the Vulcan first officer stood to the side of the bed.
“Mr. Spock said I could rest when I got here.” She frowned. “Where am I,
anyway?”
“You’re home,” Kirk assured her.
“In sickbay. You’ve been very sick.”
Jamie nodded. “I . . . I remember,
sort of. And I remember—” She clutched Kirk’s arm and started to cry. “Some
men. They grabbed me and threw me in some vehicle. And I was so scared. And I—”
“Jamie,” Spock said above her
sobs. “You are to rest now, remember?”
Jamie nodded. Then she frowned.
“But, Mr. Spock. Where was I? You came and got me, but I don’t remember where I
was.”
“It’s not important,” came the
Vulcan’s reply. “It’s enough to know you are home.”
No comments:
Post a Comment