Chapter Twelve

KIRK WASN’T ANGRY with Gary Mitchell anymore. In fact, Mitchell was the farthest thing from his mind.

The lieutenant gazed at Phelana as she lay beside him, his covers pulled up to the magical sweep of her collarbone, her silver hair spread out in a fan on his pillow. She was asleep, but he couldn’t join her. He was too moved by the nearness of her, too staggered by the turn of events that had brought her to his bed.

Sleep, he mused, just wasn’t an option.

As if she had suddenly become aware that Kirk was staring at her, Phelana’s ebony eyes opened and fixed on him, and her antennae bowed in his direction. “It’s almost morning,” she told him softly.

“So it is.”

“You’ve got to get some rest.”

He shook his head slowly, appreciatively. “No, I don’t.”

The Andorian smiled. “Yes, you do. You’re the helmsman, aren’t you?”

“I can steer this ship with my eyes closed.”

“No doubt,” Phelana replied. “Still, I think I speak for everyone when I say I’d rather you didn’t try.”

The lieutenant smiled, too. “All right, then,” he said, tracing her cheekbone with his fingertips, entranced by the way her eyelashes seemed to flutter in response. “I’ll—”

His quip was cut short by the sound of a feminine voice blaring over the intercom system. “This is Commander Mangione,” it said with an unmasked sense of urgency. “All cadets are to report to their quarters immediately and remain there until further notice.”

Kirk looked at his companion. Her brow was creased and her antennae were standing up straight—signs that she was as surprised and confused about the order as he was.

“I repeat,” said the first officer. “All cadets are to report to their quarters and remain there until further notice. Mangione out.”

“What’s going on?” Phelana asked.

“Damned if I know,” the lieutenant told her. “I’ve never heard Mangione issue that kind of command.”

Abruptly, another voice made itself heard over the intercom. “Jim?” it said. “Are you awake?”

Kirk bit his lip. Of all the people he didn’t want to hear from right now …

Phelana looked at him. “Who … ?”

“Cadet Mitchell,” he told her in a whisper. Then he raised his voice. “What is it?”

Mitchell didn’t respond to the question right away. “Did I hear you speaking to someone?” he asked.

Kirk frowned. “That’s none of your business and you know it. Now, what can I do for you?”

“There is someone with you,” the underclassman concluded in a gleeful voice. “Good for you, you old fox.”

The lieutenant glanced apologetically at Phelana. “Last chance, Cadet. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“You’re not kidding there’s something I want to talk about. Didn’t you hear Mangione’s orders?”

“I heard them,” Kirk confirmed.

“And aren’t you the least bit curious about them?” Mitchell wondered.

“Of course I am,” the upperclassman replied, “for all the good it’s likely to do me. If Bannock had wanted us to know what was happening, he would have made sure to tell us.”

“But you’re a lieutenant, for godsakes. The man’s bound to let you in on this thing eventually.”

“To you,” said Kirk, “I’m a lieutenant. To Captain Bannock, I’m just another lowly cadet.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Mitchell.

The lieutenant sighed. “He confined me to quarters, didn’t he? Just like the rest of you?”

There was a pause. “So you’re just going to accept this? You’re going to go on as if nothing happened?”

“It’s probably not that big a deal,” Kirk told him. What’s more, he believed it. “Some kind of maneuvers or something. If I were you, I’d go back to sleep.”

“Easy for you to say, pal. You’ve got somebody to keep you warm.”

The lieutenant felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Sleep, Mitchell. That’s an order.”

He could hear the faint click of the intercom system disengaging. Shaking his head, he turned to Phelana.

“Sorry about that,” he told her.

She shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” As she gazed at him, her eyes seemed to lose their focus.

“What is it?” Kirk asked, sensing that something was bothering her. Dammit, he thought, if Mitchell’s ruined this for me …

The Andorian frowned. “You know, I don’t blame your friend. I’m a little curious about what happened tonight myself.”

The lieutenant brought his face closer to hers, drinking in the perfume of her skin and her platinum hair. “And I guess there’s nothing I can do to take your mind off it.”

Phelana grinned playfully. “I’m not sure I’d say that, exactly. …”

It seemed to Mitchell that he had just drifted off to sleep when he heard the first officer’s voice fill his quarters again.

“This is Commander Mangione,” the woman said. “All cadets are free to move about the ship and resume their duties. I repeat … all cadets are free to move about the ship and resume their duties. Mangione out.”

Thanks a lot, Mitchell thought sourly.

Growing up, he had always hated kids who kept secrets from other kids—him, in particular. Now Bannock and his officers had done the same thing to him. He had applied to the Academy so he could plumb the deepest mysteries of the universe, not remain chained to his bed while Starfleet added some mysteries of its own.

Worse, there was no way he could go back to sleep now. Having been woken up twice already, his body was too ready for a third time. Acknowledging the fact, he swung his legs out of bed and sat up.

A glance at the chronometer told him it was later than he had thought. How about that, he mused. I would have woken up in a few minutes anyway.

So why do I feel so lousy? he asked himself. Could it be because I’ve been tossing and turning ever since Mangione made her announcement? Could it be because my brain’s been buzzing all night, trying its best to figure out what Bannock was up to?

Yeah, he thought, answering his own question. It sure could be.

Getting up, the cadet made his way to the bathroom. Once he arrived there, he showered and shaved. Then he threw on a fresh gold-and-black uniform and made his way out into the corridor, hoping to find a clue or two to what had gone on during the night.

Just as Mitchell emerged from his quarters, he saw the Andorian woman he had admired in the lounge the day before. She was coming out of a door just down the hall. But it wasn’t her door, he realized.

It was Kirk’s.

Kirk’s … ?

As the plebe considered this, the Andorian glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of him. For a moment, their eyes met and they just stared at each other, wondering what might come next.

After all, she seemed to know that he was Kirk’s friend—and now, just as surely, he knew that she had a stake in the lieutenant as well. Mitchell smiled in recognition of the situation.

After a second’s hesitation, the woman smiled back at him. Then she turned around and walked away, headed for whatever assignment the captain had seen fit to give her.

Will wonders never cease, the underclassman mused approvingly. Not only does that devil Jim Kirk wangle a girlfriend, he snares the prettiest woman on the ship.

He had barely completed the thought when the lieutenant himself emerged from his quarters … only to find his friend leering at him. He reddened, then walked over to Mitchell and spoke confidentially as other cadets passed them in either direction.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he said in little more than a whisper, “whatever off-color comment is brewing in your cesspool of a brain, I’d be grateful if you kept it to yourself.”

Mitchell pretended his feelings had been hurt. “Is that what you think of me? After all we’ve been through together?”

Kirk looked at him. “Unless I missed something, we haven’t been through anything together. And we’re not going to get the chance to go through anything together if you wreck my relationship with Phelana, because I’m going to kill you the first chance I get.”

The underclassman nodded. “I see. This is serious, then?”

“It could be.”

Mitchell could sympathize with that. “All right. I mean, it’s my nature to interfere, but I promise not to screw it up for you. And maybe you can do something for me in return.”

The lieutenant seemed to have an idea what that might be. “You want me to find out what happened last night.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“But I told you,” said Kirk, “I can’t.”

The plebe shook his head. “What you said was Bannock wouldn’t tell you. But there are other ways to find things out.”

The lieutenant looked at him askance. “Such as?”

“Leave that to me,” Mitchell told him.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“And I don’t like being kept in the dark,” said the underclassman. “See you after first shift.”

Leaving a frowning Kirk standing there in the corridor, Mitchell walked away. He was halfway to the forward weapons center, where he would be working that day, when a plan began to formulate in his mind.

He chuckled to himself just thinking about it.

Kirk stared at his friend Mitchell. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked with utter sincerity.

They were standing in the anteroom of Mitchell’s quarters, where no one in the corridor outside could eavesdrop on them. Still, the lieutenant didn’t want to raise his voice any more than he had to.

The underclassman shrugged. “I thought we’d established that fact a long time ago.”

“I’m serious,” said Kirk, in no mood for jokes.

“So am I,” his friend responded. “And if we do this right, no one needs to be the wiser.”

The lieutenant shook his head emphatically. “You don’t get it, do you? We’re not talking about just another prank here, like the one you pulled with the helm monitor.”

“We’re talking about an action with potentially serious consequences,” Mitchell shot back. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“One wouldn’t think so,” Kirk remarked.

“Dammit,” said the underclassman, “so I’m taking a chance. Taking chances is what life is all about, Jim. It’s what going out into space in a metal shell is all about.”

“That’s different,” said Kirk.

“Is it?” asked Mitchell. “If you don’t learn to take risks now, you may never learn. You’ll wind up in some first officer’s chair and play it safe all the time, and never live up to all that potential everybody says you have.”

The lieutenant felt the sting of that last remark—just as his friend had no doubt intended. Still, he kept his feet on the ground.

“Being a captain isn’t about gambling,” he pointed out. “It’s about sound, rational decision making.”

“When you’re lucky,” Mitchell countered. “But what happens when there are no rational decisions left to make? What happens when none of your choices are safe ones?”

Kirk shrugged the question away. “I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“That’s probably what General Korrgar said before his defeat at Donatu Five.”

That caught the lieutenant off-guard. “What?”

“Korrgar, the commander in chief of the Klingon forces. He cursed his inability to improvise on the field of battle, attributing it to the rigid principles he had been taught by his military elders.”

The underclassman was right. Korrgar had made the comment … just prior to issuing the self-destruct order that annihilated his ship and crew. But how the blazes … ?

“I read on ahead,” Mitchell confessed. “Don’t look so surprised. After all, those who do not learn from history are doomed to be embarrassed in class by their instructor.”

As angry as he was, Kirk was tempted to smile. He resisted the impulse. “I’m glad I made an impression on you.”

“Yes,” said the other man, “but the question is … have I made an impression on you?”

To his surprise, the lieutenant found himself wavering ever so slightly. It scared him. Sure, Korrgar’s comment was a powerful argument for taking chances. But the Klingon had been talking about life and death. Mitchell was just trying to satisfy his curiosity.

“You make a good case,” Kirk said at last. “But this isn’t Donatu Five. All that hangs in the balance is some privileged information that probably wouldn’t interest us anyway.”

The underclassman’s nostrils flared. “And you can’t justify risking your career for that,” he added.

“In a nutshell, no.”

Mitchell nodded. “Okay. Sorry I brought it up.”

The lieutenant eyed him suspiciously. “That’s it?” he asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“That’s it, pal. I gave it my best shot and you turned me down. Period, end of story.”

Kirk chuckled nervously. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You’re still going through with it, aren’t you?”

Mitchell returned his scrutiny. “What business is that of yours?”

“You made it my business.”

“And if I were planning to go through with it? What would you do … report me to Bannock?”

The lieutenant swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to betray his friend. But if he let Mitchell pursue his plan alone, he would almost certainly get caught … and wouldn’t that be another form of betrayal?

There was a third option open to him, of course. A way to ensure that his friend wouldn’t get caught. In the beginning, it had seemed like the most onerous course of action, the one tack Kirk wasn’t prepared to take.

But the more he thought about it … the more he considered what Mitchell would do in his place, were their positions reversed … the more justifiable it seemed to him.

“Well?” the underclassman prompted.

“Quiet,” said Kirk, having resigned himself to his fate. “I’m trying to plan our getaway.”

Mitchell looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. It’s going to be a hell of a ride.”

As Mitchell rested the back of his head against the wall of the lift compartment, he acknowledged an insistent ache behind the bridge of his nose. But then, he always felt that way when he missed too much sleep.

The night before, Commander Mangione had woken him with her announcement that all cadets had to stay in their quarters. And after that, of course, he had been unable to fall into a deep sleep again.

But the plebe couldn’t blame tonight’s missed slumber on Mangione. This was entirely his own idea … this waking up in the wee hours to sneak down the corridor and slip into an empty turbolift, which could then carry him to his ultimate destination.

After all, if he was to be successful in his mission, it was important that he execute it when most of the crew was in bed. Mitchell had believed that from the beginning—and once his accomplice had joined in the plot, he had thought so too.

Abruptly, the lift doors opened. The cadet roused himself and took a peek outside. The corridor was empty.

He turned to his confederate. “Ready?”

Kirk took a breath. “Ready.”

Together, they emerged from the turbolift, made a left, and followed the curve of the corridor. Before too long, it brought them to a set of sliding doors. The sign to one side of them identified the facility beyond them as the sensor control room.

Mitchell looked around. There was no one in sight, no one to question them or wonder what they were doing. Just as he had hoped.

“Here goes nothing,” he said.

The plebe approached the doors and watched them open for him. They revealed a room about four meters square, with overhead lighting that picked out tiny iridescences in the duranium bulkheads.

There was only one piece of equipment in the room—a large, gray bank of controls that vaguely resembled a transporter console, but was actually the ship’s main sensor board. In a way, it was a little disappointing. Mitchell had expected something more imposing, more impressive, considering it ran every bit of sensor equipment on the Republic.

“Come on,” said the underclassman, leading the way inside.

Kirk took a last look around, satisfied himself that there were no witnesses present, and followed Mitchell in. A moment later, the doors slid closed behind them.

Working quickly, Mitchell brought up the sensor logs for the night before, knowing they would go a long way toward telling them what they wanted to know. At the same time, Kirk punched in security-baffling sequences that would cover their tracks instantly, ensuring that no one on the bridge would be aware of their intrusion.

If someone happened coincidentally to run a diagnostic, they might detect a glitch in the system, but they wouldn’t suspect it was two cadets sticking their noses in Starfleet business. And by the time they got down there to check it out, Mitchell and Kirk would be gone.

Anyway, that was the plan.

“What’s taking so long?” asked the lieutenant.

The underclassman spared him a glance. “Nothing. I’m getting it.”

“Get it faster,” Kirk urged him.

“Your wish,” said Mitchell, “is my command.” He turned to the blue screen near the center of the console. “Here we go.”

A moment later, the screen lit up. But, to the underclassman’s surprise, it had nothing on it. No graphics, no text … no information at all.

He stared at it, dumbfounded. “I don’t get it.”

“You must have done something wrong,” the lieutenant told him.

Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t think so. Unless …”

The alternative occurred to them at the same time.

“They’ve erased the logs,” said Kirk.

It was an extreme measure—a measure Bannock and his staff would never have undertaken unless they were concealing something so vital, so sensitive, they couldn’t take the least chance of its being discovered.

Mitchell swallowed. He hadn’t anticipated this. Cursing sharply under his breath, he deactivated the monitor as quickly as he could. Then he turned to his companion.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Kirk didn’t answer, but his expression was desperate. Clearly, he wanted to be out of there as much as Mitchell did. Maybe more, considering everything he had to lose if he was caught.

Naturally, the doors seemed to take an eternity to open for them. Finally, they began to slide aside, giving the cadets access to the passage outside. Unable to wait any longer, they slipped through the opening sideways.

But before they could go anywhere, before the cadets could even draw another breath, they realized they weren’t alone in the passageway. In fact, the underclassman thought, they were surrounded.

The barrel-chested Commander Rodianos was blocking the corridor to the right of them, while the unusually solemn-looking Chief Brown occupied the corridor to the left.

For a second or two, no one spoke. But then, no one had to. Clearly, Mitchell and his friend had been caught dead to rights, with no hope of concealing the fact.

Finally, it was Rodianos who broke the silence. “I believe Captain Bannock would like a word with you two,” he said.