Ten

AERNATH EMERGED INTO the corridor with Aethelnor to be greeted by tumult and confusion. There was enough pushing and shoving that he picked up the boy. It wouldn’t do to lose him or have him hurt at this juncture. Now where in Peneli had Jean and that Vulcan gone to? The gate was open. He began to move in that direction, wondering what all the commotion was about. Suddenly he felt a touch on his shoulder. Aethelnor slumped over tiredly as Aernath glanced around. It was the Vulcan.

“This way. Quickly, please.” They edged their way fairly rapidly toward the gate. Many people had been distracted from the queue by whatever had happened. But Jean was not waiting for them at the gate. Vaguely alarmed, Aernath turned to go back. Again the gentle touch on his neck. This time there was no warning. The Vulcan mind met his with a slamming penetration that halted him in his boots. Excuse me. Explanations later.

What in the lair of Durgath are you do—His anger and resistance were brushed aside as easily as meteors by a deflector shield. He found himself approaching the gate completely without any volition of his own. The words he heard with his ears also raverberated peculiarly in his head.

“Kindly expedite this gentleman’s, processing. The child ‘ has not been well and. is quite tired as you can see.”

Aernath felt his hand fumble in the pouch, pass over one set of documents and hand over the other two. Where was Jean? He fought to turn his head. That mental vise-grip held his eyes fixed on the pass official. His head nodded in acknowledgment as his hand received and deposited the documents back in their pouch. A quick transit to the ship—a small craft, unfamiliar design but old, space battered, more than a handful of different registry marks on her side. Aethelnor was slipped from his grasp. Climbing now, slowly, fighting every movement … apudgy beringed hand reaching for his … inside. The Vulcan coming up behind him. Whir and click of the spacelock. Release.

Aernath whirled angrily. The Vulcan moved smoothly to lay the limp form of the boy on an auxiliary jump cot. “What do you think you’re doing? Where’s Jean?” He grabbed the Vulcan’s elbow roughly. Spock snapped the restrainer belts shut and straightened to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, close to the neck …

“Yes, I must explain …” Aernath winked out.

He was awoke to a faint hum of machinery and a more immediate chitter of something non-mechnical. He was lying tightly restrained on his back while some maenadic space-sprite executed a victory dance on his chest. It was also painfully pulling his mustache. He opened his eyes to chaos.

He was fastened into an emergency jump cot that had been folded down from the bulkhead. Another one was still secured above him. A white-furred refugee from a kanish-smoke dream with long slender digits and an even longer tail ceased it’s capers to regard him curiously. He hissed warningly as it reached for his moustache again. The beast scampered away. After a few moments of fumbling with unfamiliar catches he released the restrainer belts and sat up. The room was redolent of stale food, unwashed clothing, several types of animal, and some more exotic scents he could not place even by category. One wall of this space was entirely occupied with small drawers labeled in several different tongues and symbologies, including Klingon. Bits and fragments of cloth, possibly clothing, were scattered negligently on the floor.

Aernath ran an exploratory hand over his neck, shoulder, chest, waist … his sword was gone. Swiftly he checked the flat receptacle behind his belt—empty. So was the loop in his boot. Someone had been very thorough. He eased himself to his feet and made a threatening gesture to the little animal that was creeping up to him. Then he whirled at asound in the doorway.

An astoundingly large rotund human filled it. Water-thin blue eyes shifted rapidly in that face; then the human smiled expansively and advanced upon him, arms outstretched. “Ah, my friend, you are awake. I see you have already met Agrippina. Sweet little creature, isn’t she? Arcturean chworkt, that one—quite rare. And charming company for long lonely trips I assure you,”

Aernath was engulfed in a pungent embrace. This human certainly smelled differently than Jean or the Vulcan whom Jean had said was half-human. Right now he reeked of fear just past, a heavy clogging almost intoxicating scent not at all like the piquant tang of Jean’s. Interesting.

The human continued to talk. “Well, we’re away. Gave them the slip we did. Federation space, dead ahead. Welcome to my humble home among the stars. Cyrano Jones is the name: prospector, trader, and occasional transport-for-hire is the occupation.” He clapped Aernath about the shoulders and effused, “Make yourself comfortable, at home. What is mine is yours for our brief trip together. Can I offer you a spot of something?”

Totally bemused, Aernath let himself be propelled to the opposite side of the room by this animated avalanche of goodwill. The display of hospitality was interrupted by a cool voice from the entry way. “You were coming, I believe, for a cup of coffee, Mr. Jones, which you intend to consume at your controls. I think you will find: my course coordinates satisfactory.”

Momentarily disconcerted, Cyrano Jones mumbled, “Yes, of course, Mr. Spock.” He dipped a pudgy finger into a welter of grimy objects in what apparently served as this ship’s galley and extracted a moderately unsoiled cup.

Turning to Aernath, he smiled ingratiatingly, “Coffee, Mr. uh …?”

“Aernath. No, thank you.”

With an edgy glance at the Vulcan, Jones quickly heated a cup of coffee and departed for the bridge under the glacial scrutiny of Mr. Spock. The Vulcan entered the room, cleared a seat and sat down. He indicated the jump cot. “Sit down, please.”

Aernath remained standing. “You forced me to come aboard, knocked out both me and the boy, and my weapons are gone. I didn’t see Jean come aboard. Who are you, mister, and what’s your game?”

“I apologize for the force; however, it was the most efficient means of getting us aboard. Considering your emotional state of mind it seemed prudent to put your weapons in safekeeping. I regret that Specialist Czerny did not make it aboard. She was apprehended by the I.S.G. at the boarding gate. It was imperative that we move quickly before we were taken also.”

“The I.S.G.? Jean!” Aernath exploded toward the door. “I can’t leave her there. I’ve got to go …”

The Vulcan caught him at the door. “Believe me, if there were any way we could have effected her release, we would have done so.”

He strugged futilely in Spock’s grip. ‘You don’t understand. I’m pledged to—”

“Klingons, like humans, I have observed, succumb to the irrational just when logic is most needed. I understand your feelings but our best chance of helping Miss Czerny is by completing our mission and sending less conspicuous help from another quarter.”

Aernath regarded the Vulcan suspiciously: smooth black hair, upswept eyebrows, pointed ears, impassive features, clean untrammeled scent—no trace of fear, anger, aggression or hostility and … no anguish. He replied carefully. “For the moment then, it would appear that I have no choice but to proceed.”

“That is correct.”

“May I see the boy?” This was Federation territory now. For the first time he was out of his own element.

“Of course. He is not yet awake. I think it would be best for you to be with him when he does.” Spock released him and then paused in the door. “Your previous experience of humans is limited to Specialist Czerny?”

“Yes.”

“A piece of advice then about the captain of this vessel. Mr. Jones is, fortunately, not typical of humans. Keep that in mind. Oh, and don’t let him sell you anything.” On that puzzling note he left.

Aernath followed him, his mind a welter of conflicting emotions. The Vulcan had reminded him of his primary duty which was to deliver Aethelnor safely for Mara. But quite apart from any consideration of how her capture might jeopardize the success of their mission was the fact that he was bond-pledged to protect her as long as she was in the Klingon Empire. Some would argue it was a fortunate stroke of Durgath to release him this way but it rankled his sense of honor. As for his other feelings toward her, best not to dwell on that. One most emphatically did not covet a fleet commander’s consort, even with encouragement. That way lay only pain, humiliation, and disaster. Strange, he mused, to find oneself welcoming bond-status because it permitted liberties that otherwise would be unthinkable. Best not to dwell on that either—a false hope. Even if the commander might somehow spare her, she was unlikely to survive long enough for Kang to get a hold of her … In the meantime, here he was being plunged at warp speed into the Federation without benefit of weapons or a trusted guide, and the responsibility to protect one small boy, a sobering prospect indeed.

Aethelnor lay just where Spock had put him when they first came aboard. His slow even breathing indicated a deep sleep but mild stimulation produced no arousal response. Aernath turned to Spock. “What did you do to him—us?”

“The Vulcan nerve pinch. If sufficient force is applied to the precise neurological junction for a brief interval, it renders most humanoid species unconscious for varying periods of time without any permanent damage. I estimate that the boy will regain consciousness in seventeen to twenty-three minutes.”

Aernath did not realize that this statement indicated a greater than usual uncertainty for the Vulcan. Accepting the statement, he looked about curiously. The human, Jones, sat at the ship’s console while the chworkt sat on its haunches beside him, its tail wrapped several times around his ankle. It busied itself by going through the lowermost set of pockets on his voluminous jacket, occasionally consuming tidbits it filched.

The human heaved his bulk from the chair, apparently satisfied with the settings. “Mr. Spock, I’d be obliged if you’d keep an eye on the controls. I’m going to give the engine room a once-over now that we are well under way. No, stay, my darlin’. Engine room is off limits to you, remember?” The last was addressed to his pet with an affectionate pat.

Whatever his unredeeming qualities, Jones was a crack pilot and meticulous about the maintenance of his craft’s vital functions. Were this not so, the galaxy would have been rid of one Interstellar trader and general nuisance (as Kirk once labeled him) long ago. Numerous individuals in four arms of the galaxy had vied for the honor—unsuccessfully, to date. Like an eccentric comet, he wandered the galaxy peddling his wares and leaving chaos in his wake.

All of this Aernath was to learn later. For the moment his mind was on other things. Satisfied that Aethelnor was in no distress, he slipped into the auxiliary chair next to Spock, “How soon do we reach our destination? And how soon can help be sent to Czerny?”

“Traveling at top speed, which is habitual with Mr. Jones, we should arrive at Space Station K-seven in two-point-seven standard days. From there we should be able to contact suitable persons to send help to her. The Enterprise will pick us up at K-seven.”

“I have a suggestion to make.”

“Yes?” Aernath noted curiously that the Vulcan seemed unperturbed by the fact that the little white beast was now seated at his knee busily plucking lint from his trousers.

“If Czerny is still alive by the time you reach your agents, which is dubious, her best hope might be for Commander Kang to learn of her whereabouts. Otherwise you’ll never spring her loose from I.S.G. alive.”

“At this point what advantage would she have with Kang compared to the I.S.G.?”

“If Mara succeeds in her plans, she may be able to have some influence with the commander.”

“Logical. We shall pass that suggestion along for consideration.”

“Did you see exactly what happened at the gate? How did they discover her?

The Vulcan half-turned to face him. Suddenly Spock gave a gasp and for a second his face was contorted with agony. It passed as quickly as it came and his face was impassive again. “It was an unfortunate coincidence, I believe. Some high-ranking official chose that moment to be escorted past our gate and one of his guards’ scanners apparently registered her as non-Klingon. They seized her immediately. There was no way I could intervene successfully.”

“There must be something I could have done if I’d been there.” Aernath brought his fist down on the console.

“No, Czerny and I agreed there was no feasible plan to …”

“Agreed? She spoke to you?”

“No.” Spock spoke more slowly now as if reluctant. “We had maintained a mind-link since the meeting in the botanical gardens. She communicated to me through that. She asked me to get you two out and—”

“You mean you’ve been in mental contact all this time? Are you in contact now?”

“No.”

“When? How long? I mean, did you lose contact when we left Tsorn?”

“No.”

Aernath was severely frustrated by the Vulcan’s reticence. He fairly seethed. “Well, if not then, when. When did you lose contact with her?”

Spock glanced atthe control panel. “Approximately one point three-five minutes ago.”

Aerath sat immobilized by icy premonition for a moment before he asked the obvious question. “Why?”

“I believe they used the agonizer.”

Aernath rose and moved unsteadily over to Aethelnor. He did not want anyone to see his face for a few moments. When he finally looked back the Vulcan was bent over the console with his back to him. Without looking in Aernath’s direction, he spoke again. “She asked me to give you two messages. The first was to do everything in your power to get Aethelnor to Starfleet regardless of any consequences to her. The second was an answer to your question.”

“My question?”

“She said she never answered the question you asked her on Peneli. The answer is, “Yes, it is important. It matters a great deal to me.’”

Aethelnor chose that moment to wake up and promptly began to cry. Aernath was grateful for the excuse to pick him up and console him. At least one of them could cry and be comforted. He and Jean had both known the risks, and duty was duty, but, for the moment, that was no balm.

Just then Jones came ambling back munching on some unfamiliar item. “Motor’s purring like a baby with a fresh diaper change,” he announced with cheerful disregard for the scrambled metaphor. He beamed at Aethelnor. “Ah, the young man is awake. How do you do, chappie? What is your name?” He bent over until his face was level with Aethelnor’s and enveloped the boy’s hand in one of his.

Aethelnor, his composure barely restored, stared roundeyed at the trader, then whispered to Aernath, “What is that, Korin?”

“This is Mr. Jones, a human, who is captain of this ship we’re on.

Suddenly shy, Aethelnor pulled back and buried his head in Aernath’s neck. Then he whispered in Aernath’s ear, “But he doesn’t smell like Thelsa Jean.”

“Of course not. People are different. Now turn around and say hello properly.” But Aethelnor simply shook his head aid buried it even more firmly.

Undeterred, Cyrano Jones tacked slightly. “Now there’s a good fellow. Here, would you like some ndalj? It’s really very nice stuff.” He offered a piece of his snack. Aernath sniffed appreciatively. The aroma really was quite enticing. Tempted, Aethelnor peeked dubiously at the looming human.

Spock spoke sharply, “Are you certain that is suitable, Mr. Jones?”

“Ah, now, Mr. Spock. Surely you’ll not begrudge the little fellow a small sweet just because it might spoil his supper?”

“I was asking, Mr. Jones, if you had checked its compatibility with Klingon physiology. I was not referring tothe human proclivity for indulging their juvenile offspring in foolish and unnutritional dietary propensities.”

“Oh. Um, yes I see what you mean. I guess I better check that. An honest mistake though, we humans are fond of giving kids candy.”

“As I have just observed,” Spock rejoined expressionlessly.

A quick check showed that this Arcturean delicacy was indeed toxic to Klingon physiology, even potentially fatal to the young of the species. Cyrano Jones hastened to mollify Aethelnor with a suitable Klingon sweet but Aernath was left with a gnawing uncertainty.

This human seemed a model of friendliness and good will but he recalled the numerous stories told of humans. This was one of their most dangerous traits. They would appear deceptively friendly but they used this as a camouflage for their devious and cunning machinations. It is true that certain Penelian xenopsychologists argued that this was a fundamental misperception of human nature and Aernath had been prepared to accept this. But that, after all, was academic theory. Those with combat-contact experience told very different stories, if they survived. His observations of Jean tended to support the hypothesis of Mara’s theoreticians but Jean was a human outside her natural habitat. Now this human in his own setting had very nearly killed Aethelnor. Obviously the duty Mara had assigned him was a heavy one indeed. He would have to proceed most cautiously and guard against letting his fascination with this species lull him into a false sense of trust.

He returned to Spock’s cryptic warning. Certainly there might be factions among humans as there were among Klingons. Was Spock trying to warn him that this human was one who would try to sabotage any negotiations with the Empire? Certainly this Jones would bear careful watching.

Cyrano announced he would “rustle the vittles” if Spock would stay at the controls. This, Aernath gathered, meant Jones would fix something to eat. He followed the trader into his living quarters and observed his meal preparation scrupulously but could detect nothing alarming. It was all standard Klingon fare. Aernath noted that Spock ate only fruits and vegetables just as Jean had reported. Jones directed, with substantial success, considerable efforts at charming Aethelnor during the meal. After the meal they adjourned to the control room to rejoin Spock. Jones became even more expansive. “Now then, chappie, how would you like to have me tell you a bedtime story before you go off to sleep?” Still roundeyed but fascinated, the boy nodded. “Well now, up we come. Have a seat here on Uncle Cyrano’s knee.” He scooped the boy up and placed him on his lap. “Let’s see what would I have here for such a handsome little boy?” He patted the pockets of his voluminous jacket. “Ahh. Why don’t you try this one?” He indicated a pouch.

Watching from the auxiliary seat, Aernath felt as if he were sitting on activated agonizers. What was this human’s next move likely to be? He glanced surreptitiously at Spock. The Vulcan seemed unconcerned. But then he had evinced no emotion over Jean’s fate either. Aethelnor was poking in the indicated pocket and giggled when the human responded with feigned ticklishness. Finally, he brought out a smooth flat object. Unable to contain his concern, Aernath crossed to look at the toy. It was a flat container filled with some substance that responded to temperature and pressure changes by producing a coruscating kaleidoscope of colors from orange to kalish. It seemed harmless enough.

Cyrano rumbled on. “Tell me, Aethelnor, do you like true adventure stories? You do? Well, I’ve scoured this end of the galaxy and had more than my share. Suppose I tell you one … Once upon a time I found myself on a rather nasty planet—natives weren’t too friendly. Sales were pretty slow, too. I was about to give it up as a poor choice when I happened on the nicest little creature. A glommer it was called. Stood about this high and had a fee-rocious appetite. Poor little fellow really needed a good home and a steady diet, so I took him to my bosom.” He matched deed to word and swept Aethelnor into a hug. “It just so happened I knew a place where he could feast to his heart’s content. Excellent commercial possibiilties, too. So off we set. Now alas, some of the inhabitants, as nasty a set of Kli—” he stammered in mid-phrase at a sudden glance and raised eyebrow from Spock, “er … set of Kli … ver rascals as you’d never want to meet, resented my kindness to this poor little creature and began to chase me with their big spaceship.”

“How big?” Aethelnor demanded.

“Why, oh … as big as a Klingon battle cruiser. Do you know how big those are?” Aethelnor nodded. “Well, so here was uncle Cyrano being chased across the galaxy by this huge ship and they were shooting at me …” He went on to describe incredible pyrotechnics and battle maneuvers culminating in a brilliant pincer movement accomplished with the help of his dear and beloved life-long friend, Captain Kirk of the Enterprise, by which means they utterly routed the dastardly villains.

Spock greeted the conclusion of the story with both eyebrows raised. “That is undoubtedly the most unabashed flight of fancy it has been my mischance to listen to in a good many years.”

Cyrano grinned modestly. “One of my more minor adventures, really, but I admit it was a lot of fancy flying.”

“I have no doubt whatsoever that this was one of your lesser contretemps,” Spock replied energetically.

The remaining two nights and days aboard Jones’s craft passed without incident unless one wished to quibble over such minor things as twenty-seven sales pitches for items ranging from Spican flame gems to the white-furred chworkt, or the escape of Juliette.

The second night out, Aernath went into the personal quarters to check on Aethelnor who was sleeping on the upper jump cot. As he approached the cot he accidentally struck a soft, yielding mass with his foot. Instantly he was assailed by a maddening screech and a sensation analogous to that produced when a nail is scraped across a school child’s slate. With an exclamation of loathing and revulsion, he gave a reflexive kick that sent the object tumbling into the far corner of the room. Though the sensation abated somewhat, the screeching did not. Both Jones and Spock appeared in the entryway. “How in the name of Durgath did this get aboard?” he demanded.

Jones crossed hastily to the object of Aernath’s ire and picked it up, uttering comforting noises as he did so. “There now, poor Juliette …” The creature ceased screeching and began to trill softly under his ministrations.

“Mr. Jones, you know tribbles don’t like Klingons and Klingons don’t like tribbles. That, is a tribble. Our agreement specified no tribbles aboard this trip. I, too, would like to know what it is doing here.”

The look Jones gave Spock was wide-eyed, injured innocence. “Mr. Spock, do you think I would abrogate our agreement? I have no stock tribbles on this trip, but they did say I could bring. along personal effects. Juliette is practically a member of my family.” He looked down at the tribble. humming contentedly on his arm and said reproachfully, “I couldn’t leave her behind, now could I?”

“Are you certain that is the only one?” Spock demanded with unwonted vehemence. “May I remind you that payment of your fee depends in part upon your meeting the stipulation of our contract that this trip not be disturbed by any tribble incidents. I suggest you ensure that.”

“Of course, Mr. Spock, of course.” Then he added plaintively, “I did have her caged. It must have been Agrippina—they’re great friends you know.” Jones replaced the tribble in its cage and took pains to keep the cage in his sight for the rest of the journey but Aernath slept uneasily nonetheless.

Spock was in the pilot’s seat when they established subspace contact with K-7. After initial exchange pertaining to identification and docking clearance, he turned to Jones and asked, “Mr. Jones, what did you do with your tribble stock beforeyou left on this trip?”

“Deep hypothermia storage on K-Seven, Mr. Spock. Less expensive than boarding them.”

“Did you label your container as to contents?”

“Why, ah, I don’t believe I did. It’s optional, you know.”

“In this instance, you’d have been well-advised to exercise that option. It seems that that particular hypothermia unit became temporarily inoperative and so it was dumped. Unfortunately, the tribbles seem to have survived. Station Manager Lurry is most insistent on meeting with you as soon as we dock.”

Jones muttered something under his breath about mishandling of valuable merchandise but nonetheless his face assumed a worried expression as the final docking maneuvers were carried out. As the space lock cycled open they emerged to face a harried looking white-haired man in an orange uniform, an ominously grim Starfleet captain, and several dozen tribbles of varying sizes. Kirk took in Spock and the Klingon with a quick glance but his interest was in the trader.

“Cyrano Jones! You miserable, fleabitten excuse for a Federation citizen. You’re a free-floating cosmic recipe for disaster. I just wish I could figure a way to keep you off my menu. This time you won’t leave until every last tribble is accounted for.”

“Captain Kirk, my friend, your attitude is most bewildering. I really must protest. It is not my fault if you have er … an abundance of tribbles because someone foolishly dumped them loose. As I have remarked before, you really should get more competent help. I, on the other hand, have just undertaken a patriotic and perilous mission for the Federation virtually singlehanded and, I might modestly add, completed it successfully. Really, my friends, I think an apology is due me for your bungling ineptitude which has er … scattered my valuable cargo.”

Kirk turned a delicate shade of purple and Mr. Lurry bid fair to match him. Taking a deep breath, Kirk proceeded firmly. “Mr. Jones, I am aware of the service you have rendered. For that reason, and that reason alone, I am prepared to recommend to Mr. Lurry that he extend to you the hospitality of this station until every tribble is accounted for and removed. If and when that is accomplished, your ship will be released to you again. If not, I find there is still the matter of citations for violations of three Federation mandates and several dozen local laws still pending … by the way, how did you wriggle out of that the last time I turned you over to the authorities?”

“I volunteered for hazardous duty like any good patriotic Federation citizen would in the time of need,” Cyrano offered blandly. “In return, they suspended sentericing.”

As Mr. Lurry escorted Cyrano Jones from the room with the spirited assistance of two security guards, Captain Kirk turned his attention to the remaining passengers. “Welcome back, Mr. Spock.” For the first time he registered Aethelnor’s presence. The boy had been standing behind Aernath. Kirk gave Spock a questioning look. “This is the, uh … expected delivery—all of it?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I see.” But his expression indicated otherwise.

Aernath was surprised that Aethelnor remained calm in the face of the plenitude of tribbles. He was controlling his own reactions with difficulty. A tribble that had crept behind them now began to shrill insistently. Aethelnor glanced back uneasily and clutched Aernath’s leg tightly with his free hand. Aernath bent to pick him up. He addressed Captain Kirk. “if possible, sir, could we arrange to have these tribbles removed?”

Kirk nodded. “Better yet, let’s go over to the Enterprise. There aren’t any tribbles there, I hope.” He gestured to the two remaining security detail, and the party made its way to the transporter.

As the materialization process finished, Kirk stepped down briskly to face chief engineer Scott. “Thank you, Scotty. No sign of tribbles here I take it?”

“No, sir!” the engineer replied in his faint Highland burr. Then he caught sight of Aethelnor. “By the holy Stone of Scotland! ‘Tis a wee Klingon bairn. What’s he doing here?”

“I expect Mr. Spock will explain that to us shortly. Get hold of Dr. McCoy and both of you meet us in the conference room.

“Aye, sir.”

With a gesture to the security guards, Captain Kirk headed for the door. A preemptory prod from one of them induced Aernath to follow him, still carrying the boy. As they walked, he tried to assimilate the myriad new sights, sounds, and smells of the microcosmic human society that was a Federation starship. There were numbers of blue-, gold-, and black-uniformed humans in the corridor. Many looked at him curiously as they passed. He picked up occasional scents of fear, several of anger or hostility. One of the guards behind him was particularly hostile. Aernath moved very carefully. Most of the crew carried no weapons. Mara had reported this but he hadn’t really believed it. Perhaps they carried them concealed in some way … Mr. Spock was addressing the captain.

“How long have the tribbles been at large in K-Seven, Captain?”

“We discovered them yesterday. As near as we can reconstruct, they were dumped four standards days ago and got into the ventilator conduits. McCoy has been over there supervising the spraying of neoethylene aerosol into the ventilating system for the last seventeen hours but it’s a slow process.”

They entered a turbolift and Kirk directed it to the conference room. Then he turned his attention to Aernath. “My apologies for not introducing myself. Captain James Kirk, U.S.S. Enterprise. Welcome aboard. Oh, you may put him down now if you like. No danger from tribbles here.” He extended a hand toward Aernath.

Aernath hesitated in an agony of indecision. The threat he feared now was not from tribbles. He had been attempting unobtrusively to body-shield Aethelnor from the hostile guard behind them. He sensed his own fear scent climbing well above detection level. He looked warily at the extended hand. What did that gesture signify? This man’s anger was fading rapidly: no hostility evident, merely curiosity. Then he remembered: oh, yes, the hand-clasping ritual. Awkwardly he freed one hand and extended it. “Agricultural Specialist Aernath, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you. And your little friend?”

He could not restrain a sidewise glance at the threatening guard. “Aethelnor, from our planet Peneli.”

Kirk assessed his state accurately. He gestured to the guards. “At ease, gentlemen.” To Aernath’s immense relief they put away their weapons. The turbolift door opened. He put Aethelnor down and taking him by the hand followed Spock and Kirk into the conference room. The security detail remained outside.

Kirk waved at the table. “Sit down, please.” Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he crossed to a small inset at the side of the room. “Coffee, Mr. Aernath?”

Aernath directed an inquiring glance at Mr. Spock. The Vulcan gave a faint nod. “It is similar to your khizr and as harmless to Klingons as it is to humans which is to say it is a moderate stimulant that also has the long term effects of—”

“Mr. Spock, I was offering him some refreshment, not a lecture on physiology,” the Captain interrupted with gentle amusement. “How about cocoa for the boy?”

“That is equally acceptable, Captain,” Mr. Spock replied.

As Kirk was still looking at him, Aernath replied,. “Yes, thank you.” Spock, he noticed, took neither. He wondered if it was a breach of protocol for an inferior to accept service from a captain in this way. If so, Kirk gave no indication. Just as he set their cups in front of them the doors opened and two more men joined them. One was Mr. Scott, the sturdy dark-haired chief engineer whom he had seen in the transporter room. The other was a slender intense figure in a blue and black uniform. Right now he wore a harried look and was in need of a shave.

“Well, Bones, how goes the tribble treatment?”

The doctor groaned. “Jones! Blast that ring-tailed renegade from whatever swamp that spawned him I’d like to put him in deep freeze, permanently. It’s the only way to make this galaxy safe for sanity. We’ve stopped their multiplication before it reached the danger point, but Jim, those critters are everywhere!”

“I know, Bones. I’d like to throw the book at Jones myself. Unfortunately, we can’t this time Just so long as they don’t get on the ship.”

“Dinna worry, Captain. Security in the transporter room couldn’t be tighter if we were expecting an invasion of Klingons,” Scott replied with nice disregard for Aernath’s presence.

“Well, speaking of Klingons, at least this time Jones seems to have brought. along only two and one of them a rather small one at that,” Kirk observed as Dr. McCoy set down a cup of coffee in front of Scott, then rounded the table to slip into a seat next to Aethelnor. “Agricultural Specialist Aernath and Aethelnor from Peneli. This is Montgomery Scott, our chief engineer, and Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer.” Scott nodded brusquely at the introduction, neither friendly nor hostile. McCoy leaned over Aethelnor and extended a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Aernath.”

Aernath took the proffered hand. “Thank you. Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Gravely, McCoy then offered his hand to Aethelnor. “And how do you do, young man?”

Aethelnor looked at him wide-eyed over his cup of cocoa. “Do what?”

McCoy smiled gently. “What I mean is I’d like to be friendly. Do you want to be friendly to me?”

Aethelnor looked at Aernath who nodded permission. So he returned McCoy’s gesture. “Sure. I’ll be your friend. I like your koko.”

Kirk brought them down to business. “Well, Mr. Spock, we’re all here now. Suppose you and Specialist Aernath fill us in on the situation. I thought Czerny was to come with you also.”

Spock quickly and concisely outlined the course of his mission since he had left the Enterprise some three weeks earlier, including the contact on Tsorn, Jean’s capture in the spaceport, and their escape. Then he gave a nod across the table. “I’ll let Aernath tell you himself about Aethelnor and Mara’s plans.”

Aernath started to speak, then hesitated. “What I have to say is known to only one or two persons in the Empire. Mara instructed me to inform as few people as possible in the Federation. Secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

Kirk responded quietly, “These men are my trusted senior officers. I have very few secrets from any of them. You may rely on their discretion.”

“But …” Aernath floundered.

Spock came to his rescue. “Federation starships are not routinely wired for silent surveillance. It is customary to inform anyone if they are being electronically monitored. Your words will not go beyond this room.”

It took Aernath an astonished moment to grasp the implications of that statement. Then he plunged into a brief explanation of Aethelnor’s identity and Mara’s strategy.

Scott gave an appreciative whistle at the revelation. “Kang’s son! Och, you’ve got to hand it to the lady. That’s as neat a caber toss as ye could ask for.”

The object of their discussion, having finally finished his cocoa, was sliding sleepily out of his chair. McCoy gently gathered the boy onto his lap where he drowsed off comfortably.

“Possibly, Scotty. Obviously Mara thinks so. But tell me, Aernath,” Kirk’s eyes fastened on the Klingon’s face. “Kang has never laid eyes on his son from what you say. Might he not just write him off as an unfortunate casualty? And even if he does come, what sort of weight can we give to his word? Mara’s asking the Federation to make significant gestures of negotiation with Kang. Even assuming he’s willing, can he deliver? How does he stand in the Empire?”

Aernath stared at the human across the table from him for a long moment, wondering where to begin. What did these humans know of more civilized emotions? With their barbarous family structure, how could they appreciate the discipline that balanced the deep parental instincts evoked by their firstborn against the demands of societal duty, relinquishing him forever from their Theld in just a few brief years? How could they understand the importance of the sibling relationship, or the care with which a man helped his parents select his sister’s mate as well as his own?

Even his association with Jean had not yielded much insight into how humans balanced their breeding and rearing instincts with the demands of organized society. They obviously had both but … He decided to start with the political answers. Political power balances seemed to be something humans understood. “In the normal course of events, Commander Kang will succeed his uncle as emperor of Tahrn, the most ancient and therefore highest position in the Council of Rulers. His son, Aethelnor, is next in line to succeed Mara’s brother, Maelen, as regentof Peneli. This puts Kang in extremely powerful position …” He went on earnestly drawing the complex picture of political power balances that moved the Klingon Empire. Beside him, McCoy’s head nodded down toward the small one on his chest.

Finally, Kirk held up a hand. “Thank you, Aernath, I think that’s enough to give us the picture, at least for tonight. He reached over and pressed an intercom button. A lovely brown-skinned face appeared on the table viewscreen. “Lieutenant Uhura, you’re working late tonight.”

She smiled affectionately. “No later than yourself, Captain. What can I do for you?”

“Secure appropriate quarters for our guests and send … umn … Ensign Tamura up to conference room, please. Then I’m going to call it a day. I suggest you do too and let your relief earn his pay.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight, Captain.” The screen went blank and Kirk stood up signaling the close of the meeting.

McCoy rose still cradling the sleeping Klingon boy in his arms. He shook his head as Aernath made an offer to relieve him. “That’s all right, I don’t mind carrying him. Interesting, isn’t it? It seems to be a universal rule that the young of a species, especially when they’re sleeping, exert a powerful appeal. I guess that’s how we survive.” Aernath regarded the doctor thoughtfully. Maybe there was something about human instincts after all. Different certainly, but something he must explore. After all, it was their differences as much as their similarities that had fascinated him in the first place. There seemed to be so much variation among them though, maybe that was why they were so unpredictable.

The door opened and a young woman entered. Her somber uniform marked her as a member of Enterprise Security. “Ensign Tamura, this is Agricultural Specialist Aernath and his charge, Aethelnor. They will be our guests for a while. I’m detaching you from regular duty and assigning you full time to them. It’s a matter of top priority that the boy be protected from any harm. Requisition any additional help you need. Don’t hesitate to call on me or Mr. Spock if you have any problems. Questions, Ensign?”

“No, sir.” She turned demurely to Aernath. “Follow me please.”

Aernath looked at her with profound respect. Petite, shiny black hair, eyes to match, golden skin, basic scent reminiscent of the spicy Penelian kalimbok bush, she vaguely resembled Jean. A deceptively fragile impression he knew. He had seen Jean in action and besides, any female that was a member of Security … Captain Kirk may have intended to lend a casual air to his detention but he was not deceived. Very clever, these humans.

Speaking of which … he turned to Captain Kirk. “Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?”

“When we boarded Mr. Jones’s craft, M. Spck took my weapons for … uh … safekeeping. I’d like to ask they be transferred aboard for me.”

Kirk nodded. “They’ll be brought aboard but let me make one thing absolutely clear from the outset. On a Federation ship no one carries weapons of any kind except Security when they’re on duty. No one. But we’ll hold them for you.”

“Of course, sir.” Aernath didn’t believe for a minute that the whole crew was really unarmed but it did make his status very clear. He thought longingly of his dagger. He was slow to use it and it wasn’t of much use against a phaser or tactics such as Jean had displayed, but nonetheless the press of cold metal against his calf was comforting somehow. With a resigned shrug, he followed Tamura and McCoy down the coridor to the turbolift.

They emerged in another corridor and the woman directed them to a door. Aernath looked around, startled, as the doctor laid the boy on one of the beds. Immense by Klingon standards, the room contained two large beds, two desks with computer video consoles, numerous bookshelves and some items he did not immediately recognize.

Doctor McCoy yawned as he shook Aernath’s hand again. “Good night. I’ll plan to see you both sometime tomorrow for your physicals. Sleep well; I know I will.”

The woman closed the door behind him and turned back to Aernath. “My name is Keiko Tamura. You may call me Keiko if you wish. Let me show you how things work. I hope this will be satisfactory. It’s the only double we have available at the moment and we assumed the boy would be more comfortable if he wasn’t separated from you.” She showed him how to control the lights, use the bathroom fixtures, and work the intercom. “My own quarters are just down the hall so don’t hesitate to call if you have any problems. Also, there will be a sentry on duty at night or any other time one of you is in the room. I’ll come by for you in the morning before breakfast. Any questions?”

Aernath shook his head.

“Oh, one other thing. You’ll find standard issue outfits for you in the closet. I’m afraid we don’t have anything for Aethelnor tonight, but we’ll see what we can do tomorrow. Good night.”

Aernath stood where she had left him in the middle of the room. If these were detention quarters what must regular crew quarters be like? And why have double rooms in detention? The door opened and Tamura popped back in. “Two more things I forgot.” She beckoned him to the door. “This in Ensign Sakarov who’s on sentry duty tonight. And I also forgot to show you how to open the door.” She demonstrated the mechanism to him.

Aernath went back inside and carefully closed the door, shaking his head. They certainly were going to a lot of trouble to make the whole thing look innocuous. The bed was another surprise. It was outrageously soft. It took him a long time to go to sleep.