"I made no such request."

 

"Lieutenant Whitehorse, I have here a

 

transfer request from someone who looks and sounds like

 

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

 

fact I have not asked for a transfer.

 

Furthermore, it would be futile to request a

 

transfer 68

 

merely to escape my mother. I could not leave the

 

ship before this mission is finished."

 

Exasperated, Kirk played the message.

 

Whitehorse watched it with detached interest. About

 

halfway through the recording, Kirk glanced from the

 

screen to her impassive face. Puzzled, he

 

looked back at the screen, then froze the image.

 

The face on the monitor was as skinned and bruised

 

as the woman facing Kirk, but where Whitehorse's

 

left eye was swollen nearly shut, the image on

 

the screen showed a blackened right eye. "My

 

apologies for disturbing you, Lieutenant," Kirk

 

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

 

I wanted."

 

She turned and left the room. Kirk studied his

 

screen a little longer, then dropped a tape in the

 

slot and copied the message. Brady, Tenaida,

 

and Layton could examine another mysterious

 

recording while they were analyzing the extracts from the

 

ship's log.

 

Janara Whitehorse stared at her computer

 

screen, trying to make sense of the paragraph she had

 

read five times. Her head ached abominably, in

 

spite of the painkillers Dr. McCoy had given

 

her-and the medication interfered with her concentration.

 

She shuddered as a crewman, still upset from a fight

 

with his lover, passed her door. When she tried

 

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

 

to respond, as if her brain had been packed with

 

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

 

tried to sleep with her mental barriers down, she

 

knew the random thoughts of other crew members would

 

induce nightmares of monumental proportions.

 

She picked up the bottle of boretelin and

 

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

 

texture of the glass. The drug offered a

 

temporary escape from unwanted telepathic

 

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

 

Tenaida was right; she should seek additional

 

training-on Delta Four or, perhaps, 69

 

even on Vulcan. However, the requirements of

 

her job left few opportunities to take the

 

extended leaves she needed to pursue her study of the

 

Deltan mental sciences or the Vulcan

 

disciplines for mind control. There had to be an

 

answer to the problem, but today it seemed more elusive

 

than usual. Her computer screen went blank, and

 

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

 

rubbed her forehead, trying to clear away the fog.

 

Her mind was too sluggish to work on

 

technical material, but perhaps she could review the

 

beginner's vari-grav gymnastics routine that she had

 

promised to teach Uhura.

 

Vari-grav gymnastics was a Deltan

 

elaboration on the human sport of gymnastics.

 

Moves from similar activities originating on a

 

dozen Federation worlds had been synthesized into a

 

coherent whole, with challenge added by performing in a

 

changing gravity field. Vari-grav gymnastics

 

was an ideal form of exercise for spaceship crews

 

because it provided maximum physical conditioning for the

 

space and equipment used. Beginning routines were

 

uncomplicated, with moderate shifts in gravity and

 

clear-cut musical cues, but advanced routines

 

became extremely complex and forced the performer

 

to rely on subtle clues to signal the changes.

 

For Uhura, Janara had chosen a simple

 

routine called "Birds in Flight." The gymnast

 

worked between two sets of uneven parallel bars; with the

 

gravity drops, the performer soared upward as if she

 

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

 

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

 

good beginners' routine because it used a few basic

 

moves to excellent advantage and gave the student

 

an immediate sense of accomplishment. Also, it

 

was easy to modify as the gymnast's skills

 

increased.

 

After forty-five minutes, Janara decided her

 

coding was correct and stored the program. She

 

crossed the room and stretched out on the bed, allowing

 

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

 

 

following the swoops and dives of her mental

 

gymnast when she drifted to sleep.

 

Brady, Tenaida, and Layton entered the

 

bridge and crossed to the captain's chair.

 

Layton, a tall, angular woman in her

 

midfifties, stopped half a step ahead of the other

 

two. "Captain, we have finished analyzing the

 

computer log extracts."

 

Kirk searched Layton's face for clues.

 

Her expression was neutral, but behind her, both

 

Brady and Tenaida appeared tense. "All right,

 

Commander. What have you got?"

 

"I think we should discuss it in a more private

 

location."

 

"Very well." Kirk bounced to his feet and

 

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

 

conn. Layton, Brady, Tenaida, come with

 

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

 

signaled his backup and took the command chair as the

 

senior officers left the bridge.

 

Kirk controlled his impatience until they were

 

seated around the computer console in his quarters. "All

 

right. Let's have it."

 

Layton dropped a tape into the input slot and

 

stepped back, gesturing for Tenaida to explain the

 

analysis. Kirk moved his chair closer to the

 

screen. The image of Brady ordering the course

 

change appeared. Tenaida cut to another block of

 

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

 

crimson and scarlet sine curves filled the top

 

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

 

overlapping curves, "is the identity pattern the

 

computer generated from the recording." He entered a

 

command and the computer superimposed a group of blue

 

sine curves over the red curves. "The blue shows

 

the identity pattern stored in the computer's memory

 

for Commander Patrick Brady."

 

Kirk studied the two templates. Large

 

sections of pattern were identical, indicating how

 

closely the

 

double resembled Brady, but other parts of the

 

composite degenerated into a random assortment of

 

lines.

 

"There is an 81.7 percent correspondence between

 

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

 

almost a monotone, as he recited his statistics.

 

Brady propped his chin on his hand and stared at the

 

screen with a look of intense concentration, as if he

 

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

 

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

 

resemblance to be chance or a good makeup job. But

 

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

 

recording."

 

"That's correct. Given normal

 

circumstances."

 

Kirk brushed his hair off his forehead. The

 

temperature in the room seemed to have jumped

 

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

 

does it do with your double?"

 

Tenaida called up similar information for the log

 

extract that showed him recommending the course

 

change. The random, nonoverlapping areas were more

 

pronounced and appeared more chaotic to Kirk. "The

 

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

 

the orange and green curves on the screen for a

 

moment.

 

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

 

we found an interesting correlation when we

 

combine the two files." Tenaida ordered the computer

 

to merge the two sets of composite identity

 

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

 

mind work ed its way beyond his initial impression of

 

technicolor spaghetti, he saw a chilling

 

pattern in the data. The parts of the curves that

 

matched neither Brady's nor Tenaida's

 

identification patterns were nearly identical.

 

"Could the same person be responsible for both

 

course changes?"

 

Although he maintained an outward calm,

 

Brady's fingers tapped a complex rhythm on the

 

table. Tenaida stared at the screen, refusing

 

to look toward the 72

 

captain. Kirk realized he had just put his finger

 

on the problem. Lieutenant Tenaida responded,

 

"There is a 96.4 percent correlation in the parts that

 

don't match either Commander Brady's or my

 

personnel records. However, the computer needs a

 

larger data sample to determine with certainty that

 

both recordings were made b the same person."

 

Insufficient data. Kirk cringed, realizing how

 

much risk to his ship might be involved in

 

collecting sufficient data. "What about

 

Lieutenant Whitehorse's transfer

 

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

 

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

 

to control his impatience. Tenaida always presented his

 

data in a detailed, logical sequence, building

 

an incontrovertible chain of evidence to support his

 

conclusions. That slow approach was fine for abstract

 

scientific results, but just now, when the safety of

 

his ship was involved, Kirk found it difficult

 

to endure.

 

Tenaida displayed the composite identity

 

profile made from the recording and from

 

Whitehorse's personnel file. Miniature

 

reflections of the screen shone in the Deltan's dark

 

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

 

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

 

Kirk leaned closer to the screen to get a better

 

view.

 

Tenaida combined the Brady/tenaidastintruder

 

profile with the image of Whitehorse and her double.

 

The divergent sections merged with the composite intruder

 

profile.

 

"Analysis, Tenaida?" Kirk straightened,

 

feeling his tension wind tighter as he waited for the

 

answer.

 

"Still insufficient data to reach a

 

positive conclusion about the impostor. However, this

 

lowers the probability to 1.7 percent that the

 

correlations are caused by chance."

 

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

 

isn't good

 

enough to meet your professional standards, but if the

 

captain insisted, you'd say those recordings were made

 

by the same person."

 

Tenaida weighed the statement to make sure he

 

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

 

reasoning. "Correct."

 

"Would you speculate about this individual?"

 

Kirk asked. Tenaida stared across the room,

 

frowning slightly as he considered the confidence

 

limits he could place on conclusions drawn from such

 

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

 

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

 

answer."

 

When he heard that, Kirk felt himself relax.

 

In spite of Spock's lessons on never

 

revealing conclusions until they were proven facts, the

 

Deltan had convinced himself to share his conjectures.

 

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

 

we wouldn't need speculations."

 

The tension in Tenaida's shoulders

 

eased. "Very well. Commander Layton, Commander

 

Brady, and I discussed the possibility of the

 

recordings being made by someone skilled in

 

biocosmetics and image projection. Commander

 

Layton believes this adequately explains why

 

we can appear to be in two places

 

simultaneously. However, I must point out the

 

extreme difficulty in bringing the necessary

 

biofabricator aboard undetected, and of tapping

 

into our restricted databases to obtain the

 

high-quality voice patterns required for the

 

vocal enhancer.

 

"Given these difficulties, I believe the

 

evidence suggests that we are dealing with someone who can

 

control the minds of others so completely that they are not

 

even aware of what is happening. The person

 

behaves so close to normal that it is virtually

 

impossible to distinguish the individual who is being

 

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

 

major weakness in the intruder's system is that the

 

person's identity pattern while under the intruder's

 

control corresponds in significant

 

percentage to the intruder's identity pattern."

 

"Is that possible?" Kirk murmured, trying

 

to accept the Deltan's conclusion. "And

 

doesn't Lieutenant Whitehorse's recording

 

contradict your idea?" "My hypothesis does

 

seem improbable." Tenaida frowned. "However,

 

I see no other way to explain how these recordings

 

can come so close to our identity patterns without

 

achieving complete correspondence. As for

 

Lieutenant Whitehorse's recording, I

 

believe the image reversal occurred when the

 

message was being transmitted. The recording was

 

made against a neutral background, which eliminates

 

the visual clues that would identify the error. Our

 

analysis revealed no other way to explain the

 

discrepancy." Kirk nodded. He had been thinking

 

along the same lines, but hearing Tenaida's

 

deductions reassured him that there was no major

 

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

 

"None, Captain. Inadequate information."

 

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

 

Brady's tone was grim. "Unauthorized course

 

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

 

"Agreed." Frustrated, Tenaida shuffled his

 

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

 

the person's motives are."

 

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

 

drew a deep breath, feeling the weight

 

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

 

our intruder?"

 

"There are several possibilities."

 

"Rank them by probability."

 

"Given that the trouble started after we left

 

Starbase 15, it seems likely the intruder is

 

among the Kaldorni diplomats or the Federation

 

negotiating team."

 

"Admiral Chen can send us the records for

 

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

 

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

 

to bet that the intruder is hiding among the

 

Kaldorni,

 

probably disguised as the person Admiral

 

Chen's security personnel found on Starbase

 

15," Kirk said.

 

"That is a distinct possibility. We'll have

 

Admiral Chen send us the identity files for the

 

Federation negotiators and the Kaldorni

 

diplomats, of course, but someone could have altered those

 

records or transmit the wrong data. We will have

 

no way of knowing if the information we receive has been

 

corrupted." Brady leaned back in his chair,

 

frowning. He drummed his fingers against his leg, a

 

random motion that matched the skittering of his

 

thoughts.

 

"Let's also examine the alternatives,"

 

Tenaida said. "If the intruder is in the

 

commissioner's party, he might have spent many years

 

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

 

to consider members of the ship's crew as possible

 

suspects."

 

"However, we do have the files for everyone assigned

 

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

 

of those files." Brady leaned forward and tapped the

 

screen to emphasize his point. "The computer can

 

search those records for anything that matches our

 

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

 

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

 

spite of the disparity in their backgrounds, Tenaida and

 

Brady gave Kirk the feeling that he was listening

 

to one person talking in stereo. As Tenaida

 

talked, Kirk could see Brady taking the

 

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

 

operations. Kirk found himself envying the lucky

 

captain that had either Brady or Tenaida

 

permanently assigned to his command. With that thought, he

 

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

 

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

 

any good. Call it a hunch, but I

 

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

 

Kirk looked at the screen again and shrugged,

 

deprecating his reasoning even as he presented it.

 

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

 

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

 

betting this 76

 

person-whoever he is-came aboard with our

 

passengers, probably with the Kaldorni. But who

 

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

 

How are we going to catch him before he does something

 

else? And, for that matter, where does Lieutenant

 

Whitehorse fit into this? Requesting a transfer for

 

her is hardly what I would call disrupting

 

important ship's business. So why take the

 

risk?"

 

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

 

read the message, the intruder had released

 

Lieutenant Whitehorse and was far from the terminal

 

where the recording was made."

 

"True."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

weariness born of frustration settle over him. If

 

he had something concrete to go on, some solid

 

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

 

been ready for action. But the waiting, the efforts

 

to accumulate enough information to guide his actions, really

 

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

 

to start. Tenaida, did you recheck where the course

 

changes were taking us?"

 

"Yes. The projected destination is in an

 

uninhabited region of space." "What planets

 

are closest to that heading?"

 

"I had the computer compile a list. The nearest

 

habitable planet has a 52.7 percent

 

probability of being the intended destination."

 

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

 

rubbed his forehead. Such a low probability demanded

 

an explanation.

 

Tenaida shrugged. "I have too little information

 

to answer your questions properly, Captain. I

 

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

 

understand, Tenaida. You may return to your

 

duties."

 

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

 

can extract any more information from these recordings." The

 

Deltan collected the data cassettes and left

 

the room.

 

"Well, Mr. Brady? What

 

next?"

 

The acting first officer propped his chin in his fist.

 

"I recommend we choose passwords so we can

 

catch the intruder if he tries to masquerade as a

 

command officer again."

 

Kirk nodded. They discussed what the intruder

 

might do next and tried to cover each contingency.

 

Finally, realizing how long they had been talking,

 

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

 

hasn't done something else while we've been

 

busy?"

 

"An excellent idea, Captain. I'll be

 

on the bridge if you need me." Brady bounced

 

to his feet and strode from the room.

 

Kirk turned to Layton. "You've been

 

amazingly quiet through all this, Commander. What are

 

your thoughts?"

 

Layton slid into the chair Brady had just

 

vacated. "It was obvious you assigned me to watch

 

those two. In case."

 

Kirk nodded. "A commanding officer has to consider

 

every possibility." "Agreed." Layton paused,

 

considering. "I watched them run the analysis, and

 

I checked the tapes. Everything there tests out fine.

 

And both Brady and Tenaida seem like

 

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

 

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

 

"Of course." Kirk gave Layton a long,

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

hypothesis. Neither of them recalls any mental

 

lapse where the incidents could have occurred. That bothers

 

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

 

able effort to implant false memories to cover

 

his manipulations. Both Brady and Tenaida were

 

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

 

changes. From the activity records on their computer

 

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

 

Layton paused, breathing deeply. Kirk felt

 

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

 

In all the old mystery novels he had ever read,

 

the suspects always had alibis-and the alibis were always

 

worthless when examined carefully. were Tenaida's and

 

Brady's alibis equally worthless?

 

After a moment, Layton continued. "The

 

hypothesis they presented could have happened,

 

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

 

make myself believe it. Unfortunately, I

 

don't like my ideas much better.

 

"Tenaida mentioned his reservations about the use of

 

sophisticated bioenhancements. However, I still think

 

someone with good equipment and enough time could produce the

 

biocosmetic appliances to impersonate Brady

 

and Tenaida. I've even heard that Intelligence

 

has developed vocal enhancers that allow for very

 

accurate sound duplication. I'd prefer to think that

 

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

 

of the technology being in the wrong hands."

 

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

 

trying to balance Layton's opinion against everything

 

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

 

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

 

explanation for what had occurred. All he could do

 

now was hope he could find an answer before something

 

serious happened. "Thank you for sharing your opinions,

 

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

 

moment, would you keep a discreet eye on both

 

Brady and Tenaida? Until we get some solid

 

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

 

proven innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt."

 

"Understood, Captain."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Commander." After Layton left, Kirk stared at his

 

computer screen, wishing Spock and his logic were

 

available to help solve the mystery. Cer- tainly,

 

Spock was much more suited to the role of Mycroft

 

Holmes. The thought of Holmes reminded Kirk of

 

some questions raised by the previous discussion.

 

"Assistant, digest discussion of past hour.

 

What other possibilities could explain this

 

intruder's ability to impersonate command officers?"

 

"There are approximately 374 hypotheses that

 

could, under the right circumstances, explain all the

 

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

 

the most probable ones."

 

"The intruder could be one of the Fendarwi of Zeta

 

Pictoris IV, who are never seen unless

 

surrounded by a mental glamour that shows them to others

 

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

 

using a holographic projector to create the

 

image he wants you to see. The intruder may

 

possess the ability to rearrange his body at will.

 

The intruder may be similar to the Mellitus of

 

Alpha Majoris I, differing in that it

 

solidifies when it is ready for action. The

 

intruder may be-was

 

"Enough. I was hoping you would suggest some

 

viable possibilities." "Given the information

 

available, all hypotheses are equally viable at this

 

time."

 

"What about biocosmetics? What information can you

 

locate on that?" "Biocosmetics is an

 

expensive and delicate process that requires a

 

biogen incubator with a dedicated computer. Each

 

appliance is grown from organic materials according to a

 

programmed template. In theory, it is possible

 

to recreate any person for whom sufficient information

 

exists to build a suitable template.

 

Enhancements such as advanced speech synthesizers will

 

allow duplication of vocal characteristics within the range

 

of normal human hearing. Also, memory chips can

 

be programmed to remind the person of appropriate

 

behaviors and mannerisms. The major

 

disadvantage to use of biocosmetics is that the

 

disguises are not reusable; when removed from contact with

 

human flesh, the appliances disintegrate within

 

minutes. Also, private possession of this

 

equipment is against Federation law."

 

"I see. Nowhere near impossible. Just

 

extremely inconvenient to use." "That is what the

 

available information would suggest."

 

"Can you make a logical evaluation of

 

Lieutenant Tenaida's and Commander Brady's

 

alibis?"

 

"Logic dictates that an alibi is of no

 

value unless an impartial witness was watching the

 

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

 

the case, the alibi can only be used in general

 

terms to assign probability of suspicion.

 

Judged by this criterion, 95.34 percent of all

 

alibis are of no value in exonerating the

 

accused."

 

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

 

your evaluation of this specific case."

 

"There is a 95.34 percent probability that

 

each of the alibis is valueless." "Assistant,

 

I want a logical assessment of the problem, not a

 

list of statistics."

 

"My logical assessment of the problem is that there

 

is a 95.34 percent probability that either or both

 

Lieutenant Tenaida and Commander Brady omitted

 

pertinent facts from their alibis."

 

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

 

might these pertinent facts be?"

 

After a noticeable pause, the computer

 

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

 

time."

 

With a sigh, Kirk flipped off the switch and

 

stood. It 81

 

was high time he made an appearance on the

 

bridge to make sure nothing untoward had happened

 

in his

 

absence. And, when his duty shift ended in half

 

an hour, he was looking forward to spending a relaxing

 

evening showing Kris Norris around the ship. He

 

hoped his mind would solve the mystery, if he

 

relegated the problem to his subconscious for a few

 

hours.

 

Kituc's Pr.arrs for his evening lasted until

 

dinner time. He spent an extra half hour in the

 

gym, practicing unarmed combat maneuvers under

 

plus-normal gravity until his muscles

 

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

 

day shift had finished eating. He glanced around the

 

room, but saw neither Brady nor Tenaida.

 

As the synthesizer delivered his meal, he felt a

 

twinge of uneasiness. He needed to mull over the

 

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

 

quiet he wanted here. The premonition seemed

 

silly, but he considered taking his dinner and eating in

 

his quarters. Laughing at himself for the irrational

 

impulse, he chose a table away from the

 

main group of diners. He did not really want

 

to eat in solitary confinement, and no one would

 

interrupt his thinking, since his crew would not disturb

 

him without cause.

 

"Do you mind if we join you?" Commissioner

 

Montoya's voice intruded on Kirk's thoughts.

 

"Not at all." Kirk looked up to see

 

Montoya and Simons standing across the table from him.

 

He forced a smile. Polite conversation with

 

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

 

he didn't want to

 

talk to Cecilia Simons again for any reason.

 

Nevertheless, the couple took the chairs opposite

 

him.

 

Simons favored him with a smile calculated

 

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

 

keeping yourself, Jimmy? I was so looking forward

 

to talking over old times with you."

 

Kirk felt the smile freeze on his face.

 

Simons' words made it clear that she intended

 

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

 

after him until she got what she wanted. "A

 

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

 

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

 

eye." "Surely your crew can run the

 

ship without you watching them every minute, Jimmy."

 

Her voice, low and throaty, played his nerves

 

like guitar strings. Her musky perfume evoked a

 

torrent of long-buried memories and feelings.

 

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

 

to struggle to keep his response neutral. "There

 

are certain decisions the captain must make."

 

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

 

officers more carefully than others."

 

Knowing what she was implying, Kirk felt her

 

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

 

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

 

officers are extremely competent, and I have

 

absolute confidence in their abilities." "But,

 

Jimmy, you know-was

 

Hoping to sidetrack the discussion, Kirk turned

 

to Montoya. "Commissioner, if I may change the

 

subject, how are the negotiations coming?" Montoya

 

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

 

I think we're doing quite well. There are

 

substantial differences between the parties in this dispute,

 

but we are making progress in outlining the areas of

 

difficulty and establishing the protocols for the formal

 

discussions."

 

"One of your aides said she was bothered

 

because you weren't using the Universal Translator."

 

Montoya raised an eyebrow in surprise, as

 

if questioning how Kirk had managed to become

 

acquainted with his staff so soon. "Ms. Norris

 

depends on her equipment more than necessary.

 

Ambassador Klee doesn't speak our

 

language fluently, but he has a fair grasp

 

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

 

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

 

had an excellent tutor."

 

Simons ducked her head and developed an

 

intense interest in rearranging the food on her

 

plate. Kirk watched her obliquely, trying

 

to guess what she was hiding. She seemed

 

uncharacteristically relieved when McCoy entered the

 

room.

 

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

 

want to talk to the doctor about my dear little

 

Janie's condition."

 

Kirk watched her retreat. She seemed very

 

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

 

upset about her daughter," Montoya said, his

 

expression softening as he watched Simons cross

 

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

 

out what happened? Ceci told me the

 

girl had an argument with your science officer."

 

Kirk studied Montoya's face, trying

 

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

 

seemed reasonable and intelligent on most issues,

 

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

 

his wife blinded him to her faults. Under the

 

circumstances, discretion seemed the wisest course.

 

"According to Lieutenant Whitehorse, she ran into a

 

wall."

 

"That sounds like she's protecting someone."

 

"Probably. But prying information out of stubborn

 

Deltans isn't exactly my specialty. The

 

only thing worse is trying to get something out of a

 

Vulcan." A puzzled frown crossed

 

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

 

talking about Cecilia's daughter. Where do

 

Deltans come into that?" "Lieutenant

 

Whitehorse's father was a Deltan."

 

"Deltan? Are you sure? Cecilia never

 

mentioned

 

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

 

way she feels about Deltans-I don't mean

 

to sound unduly skeptical, Captain, but are we

 

talking about the same person?"

 

"We are." Kirk ran a hand through his

 

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

 

you."

 

"She hasn't, and that possibility never occurred

 

to me. Cecilia has always been quite irrational on the

 

sub tilde ect of Deltans."

 

Kirk smiled at the aptness of the description.

 

"I gathered she found her association with

 

Whitehorse's father somewhat-confining-and developed her

 

dislike of Deltans from that. His

 

"That explains a great deal. Thank you for telling

 

me. Captain. It's been difficult trying

 

to cope with her prejudices, but at least now I

 

see where they come from."

 

"I'm glad to be of assistance."

 

"Captain?" Montoya a took a deep

 

breath, then

 

plunged ahead, "May I ask you a personal

 

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

 

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

 

Kirk took a mouthful of vegetables and chewed

 

slowly, stalling for time. He suspected that the full

 

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

 

that well, I suppose. She calls me her

 

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

 

time, and that was over fifteen years ago. I

 

hope you don't think I would use the acquaintance

 

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

 

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

 

impression on her."

 

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

 

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

 

relieved to see Simons returning from her discussion

 

with McCoy. She dropped into her chair, a disgusted

 

expression on her face.

 

"Dr. McCoy has completely forbidden me

 

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

 

to hide his amusement at Simons' feigned

 

display. If he had not known better, she might

 

 

have convinced him her feelings were real. "The

 

doctor's orders were fairly inclusive, Ms.

 

Simons. He let Lieutenant Whitehorse out

 

of Sickbay on the understanding that she would spend the

 

next few days resting. With no visitors

 

allowed."

 

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

 

family." Montoya straightened in his chair,

 

ready to challenge anyone who would deny Simons

 

what she wanted. "The distinction is meaningless in this

 

context, Commissioner. Dr. McCoy

 

felt Lieutenant Whitehorse shouldn't do anything

 

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

 

and needs time to recuperate." As he paused,

 

Kirk felt inspiration strike. "Think of it this

 

way, Commissioner. If you had a bad hangover,

 

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

 

thought, Montoya relaxed and a smile spread across

 

his face. "Your point is well taken,

 

Captain." He turned to Simons. "Cecilia,

 

love, perhaps the doctor should have been more

 

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

 

It sounds like your daughter needs her rest."

 

Simons heaved a theatrical sigh. "If you're

 

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

 

haven't seen Janie in so long-was Montoya

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

proper degree of resignation. "It just seems so

 

unfair."

 

Kirk glanced at his chronometer and was relieved

 

to note it was almost time to meet Kris Norris.

 

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

 

to leave such charming company, but I have an

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

that accompanied Montoya's words made Kirk

 

realize 87

 

that the commissioner's professional charm was beginning

 

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

 

chance to talk again later."

 

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

 

sight of Simons' molten farewell smile. It

 

promised many things, but he preferred not to explore

 

any of those possibilities.

 

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

 

ship." Simons let her annoyance show in the

 

petulant tone of her voice. She had hoped to have

 

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

 

sure Captain Kirk's duties don't allow

 

him to be a tour guide for every diplomat that

 

travels on his ship." Montoya gave her hand a

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Montoya's attempt to mollify her. From her

 

perspective, the day was going from bad to worse.

 

Unless she found a way soon to weaken

 

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

 

Enterprise would be severely limited. The thought

 

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

 

diplomatic interpersonal relations. Montoya

 

looked at Simons in surprise. He had not

 

seen this sulky aspect of her personality before. A

 

cold shiver took him as he realized he had

 

contravened her expressed wishes more often in the past

 

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

 

known her. The implications of the thought disturbed him.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

manners."

 

She sighed and gave him a lost, helpless look.

 

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

 

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

 

had the plague."

 

"People change." Montoya tried to put as much

 

 

reassurance in his voice as he could muster. "A

 

captain's responsibilities must alter the way

 

he looks at the universe. The old friend you

 

remember may not exist any more."

 

Simons' use of the diminutive "Jimmy" seemed

 

incongruous when Montoya compared it with his own

 

perceptions of Captain Kirk. He was beginning

 

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

 

his wife's imagination.

 

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

 

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

 

But Captain Kirk's duties dictate many of his

 

actions ...." Montoya gave her an

 

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

 

or are you going to spend the evening feeling

 

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

 

bother. . ."

 

He clasped both her hands in his. "This

 

assignment is extremely important, and it's

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Simons allowed his pleading to soften her mood.

 

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

 

frustrations get the better of me."

 

Relief softened the tense lines around

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

and a quick, passionate kiss. "Apologies

 

accepted, Mister Commissioner. I promise,

 

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

 

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

 

Madame Commissioner?"

 

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

 

She gave him a smile of rainbows and starflowers as

 

she linked arms with him.

 

Kirk met Kristiann Norris in the

 

corridor outside her quarters. She was leaning

 

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

 

evident interest.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

don't." Kirk felt an answering grin spread

 

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

 

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

 

She wrinkled her nose when he said the word resting.

 

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

 

body was just sitting in a chair. Do you

 

suppose I could talk to the recreation officer about a

 

temporary locker assignment for the gym?"

 

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

 

we start with the bridge?"

 

Although he made no effort to hurry, Kirk

 

finished the tour in an hour. Long experience had

 

taught him that most visitors liked to look at the

 

engineering section from the doorway, but did not

 

appreciate it if he took them inside and allowed

 

Scotty to explain the intricacies of the warp

 

drive engines or the structure of the dilithium

 

crystals and their role in power generation. For that

 

matter, Kirk himself was sometimes lost when his chief

 

engineer became involved with the details of his

 

favorite subject. Kirk was pleased when

 

Norris showed an aboveaverage interest in the

 

traditionally boring parts of the ship, but he did not

 

tax her patience with a complete tour of the support

 

services. Instead, he showed her the library

 

lounges, the gymnasium, and the swimming pool, and

 

they strolled through the botany section and the

 

hydroponics lab.

 

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

 

He waved his hand at the plants surrounding them.

 

"It makes them feel more like they were on a

 

planet."

 

Norris looked at the vines spilling off their

 

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

 

I've never seen so much vegetation concentrated in one

 

place in my life."

 

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

 

born in Iowa, and the plants there grow outward across

 

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

 

haven't quite got enough space on the Enterprise for

 

cornfields. We have to fit the plants into the

 

smallest space we can."

 

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

 

section. Kirk opened the door for Norris and

 

guided her to the turbolift. "Deck Eleven,"

 

Kirk ordered, giving Norris a warm smile.

 

"I saved my favorite part until last." The

 

forward observation lounge on Deck Eleven was

 

called the Captain's Lounge by the crew of the

 

Enterprise because it was Kirk's favorite location

 

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

 

observation lounges, so Kirk felt less as though

 

he were intruding on the off equals duty

 

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

 

bigger lounges. They stepped out of the turbolift and

 

Norris froze, her eyes widening at the

 

panorama presented by the viewports. Kirk

 

stopped beside her, enjoying her awe-struck expression

 

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

 

against the black of space. With the ship on warp

 

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

 

holographic projection of what the

 

normal-space view would be. However, the computer

 

took the information for the projection from the main sensors,

 

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

 

Kirk into momentarily thinking the ship had dropped out

 

of warp drive.

 

Kirk pointed out a half dozen major star

 

systems, then allowed Norris to enjoy the

 

spectacle without commentary. When her senses could

 

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

 

the viewport and sat beside him.

 

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

 

magnificence of the scene. Kirk felt the

 

peacefulness of the starscape soothe away the day's

 

worries. "Whenever I wonder why I'm in

 

Starfleet, I come up here."

 

Norris gazed dreamily toward the viewports.

 

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

 

Where's the dotted line for my signature?"

 

"Talk to the recruiter at your nearest

 

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

 

details."

 

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

 

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

 

than yeoman."

 

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

 

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

 

his chair, enjoying Norris' companionship and the

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Kirk's reply was covered by the opening of the

 

turbolift door. Footsteps crossed the

 

lounge, and two people approached their seats. Much

 

to Kirk's annoyance, it was Montoya and

 

Simons.

 

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

 

looking all over for you. A crewman said you were

 

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

 

Kirk rose, feeling his body stiffen as

 

Simons' words reminded him of all the day's

 

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

 

ship. I would have arranged for a guide."

 

"But the captain's tour would have been so

 

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

 

a private party with little Krissy Norris.

 

She's hardly your type." Simons' tone

 

implied that she knew exactly the kind of woman

 

Kirk wanted.

 

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

 

return to my quarters." Norris stood, shoved

 

past Montoya, and rushed from the lounge.

 

"As a matter of fact, it was a private

 

party." Icicles dripped from Kirk's words.

 

Simons stepped in front of Kirk, blocking

 

his attempt to follow Norris, and hung her head

 

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

 

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

 

Kirk heaved an exasperated sigh. He wanted

 

nothing more than to be rid of Simons, but the

 

available methods for removing her from the ship were

 

likely to have unfortunate repercussions.

 

"Permitting" her to take a space walk without a

 

life support belt contravened both the spirit and the letter

 

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

 

pleasant fantasy. And imagining potential

 

violence made it easier for him to hold his temper in

 

check.

 

"Captain." Montoya's voice

 

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

 

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

 

apologies to my aide for the interruption."

 

"I'd be most grateful, Commissioner."

 

Montoya turned to his wife. "Cecilia,

 

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

 

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

 

few minutes."

 

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

 

quick kiss and nodded a farewell to Kirk.

 

The moment the turbolift doors closed behind

 

Montoya, Simons flowed into Kirk's arms.

 

Pressing her body against his, she covered his face

 

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

 

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

 

is for me to control myself."

 

What she really wanted to control, Kirk thought

 

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

 

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

 

her charms could melt his resolve, he grabbed her

 

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

 

another place, Deirdre." He emphasized the

 

name to remind her of the negative side of

 

their former relationship. "Whatever was between us in the

 

past is dead and over. And I want no more

 

attempts to revive it."

 

She returned to him, slipping her arms around his

 

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

 

Kirk's anger flared. He pushed her away

 

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

 

tolerate any of your tricks on my ship.

 

Especially not that one. Did I not make myself

 

clear?"

 

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

 

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

 

only thought-was

 

"Did I make myself clear?" he repeated.

 

Her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Very

 

clear, Captain."

 

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

 

"Now, before you start rehearsing a major case of

 

wounded pride, let me remind you that you are

 

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

 

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

 

said she pitied his innocence. "Marriage contracts

 

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

 

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

 

to be a party to your adulteries."

 

"Jimmy, you have such a restricted view of

 

things." She examined his body knowingly, and a

 

sultry smile spread over her face. Kirk

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

She turned her back on him. Strolling to the

 

wall, she leaned against the viewport and stared out at

 

the stars. Her black hair blended into the darkness before

 

her. Kirk studied her, deciding her surrender would

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

She propped her chin on her arms and stared at the

 

starscape. Her voice sounded as cold and empty as

 

intergalactic space. "I married him because he had

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

. He insisted on a perpetual contract, but that

 

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

 

better, I'll leave him."

 

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

 

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

 

but he did not expect she would tell him

 

anything approaching the full truth.

 

Simons stepped away from the viewport. The

 

light fell across her face, emphasizing her heavy

 

makeup. She gave Kirk a smile that told him

 

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

 

Joachim is a decent enough sort. But I like

 

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

 

Kirk recognized her performance for the work of art it

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

her eyes, and the lines around her mouth were deeply

 

etched.

 

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

 

Kirk felt a brief flash of pity for her

 

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

 

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

 

a daughter on my ship. I have access to her

 

personnel records." "Oh." She turned away

 

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

 

this."

 

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

 

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

 

rekindled Kirk's anger, and he had

 

to struggle to keep his voice level. "But your

 

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

 

this evening."

 

He brushed past her, headed for the turbolift.

 

Halfway across the room, he looked back. She

 

was slumped against the wall, looking small and

 

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

 

monumental mistake. "Remember what I told

 

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

 

She did not move, but he heard her muffled reply

 

anyway. "Understood, Captain."

 

He entered the turbolift. The solitude of his

 

quarters promised a welcome escape from his

 

tiresome passengers.

 

Kirk looked up from his reading when the door

 

buzzer signaled. "Come." McCoy entered. He

 

crossed the room and set a bottle of Saurian

 

brandy before Kirk. "If I'm not interrupting

 

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

 

bet."

 

Kirk turned off the viewer. "I was just

 

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

 

two glasses from the cabinet and put them next to the

 

brandy. McCoy perched on the table, opened the

 

bottle and poured two drinks. "You bet

 

me a bottle of Saurian brandy that Cecilia

 

Simons would show up in Sickbay, claiming

 

Tenaida beat up Janara Whitehorse. Well,

 

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

 

going to say."

 

Kirk sipped his drink and studied McCoy over

 

the rim of his glass. "That seems to bother you,

 

Bones."

 

McCoy frowned. "It's not that. It's just that, when

 

she was telling it her way, she believed it so

 

strongly that I could almost see it happening. That

 

doesn't make any sense."

 

Kirk nodded in agreement. "There's a lot here

 

that doesn't make any sense." "Oh?"

 

"Actually, I had a fascinating conversation with her

 

this evening-after I threatened to confine her to her

 

quarters." Kirk described the encounter in the

 

observation lounge. "How long do you think she'll

 

pay attention to your warning?" "For a while." Kirk

 

snorted. "Until she can figure out a way

 

to circumvent the intent, anyway. I'm getting

 

tired of her throwing herself at me every time I turn

 

around."

 

"I'm disillusioned." McCoy's eyes twinkled

 

with mischief, and his voice slipped into a

 

Southern drawl. "I thought you liked being assaulted

 

by beautiful women."

 

Kirk saluted the doctor with his glass.

 

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Bones. And

 

my eye perceives very little beauty in that woman.

 

What's your opinion of her?"

 

McCoy swirled the brandy in his glass, watching

 

the eddy patterns in the liquid. Like his thoughts about

 

Simons, the fluid circled back to where it had

 

started. "She seems very disturbed. She's

 

extremely neurotic, possibly even

 

psychotic. Granted I haven't run any

 

medical tests on her to back up that

 

diagnosis-nor am I likely to get the chance to do

 

it-but I don't know what else to call it. She

 

sees the world exactly as she wishes it to be, and she

 

ignores everything that contradicts her view of things.

 

The thing is, she's so good at it that everyone around her

 

ends up believing it her way." "That's crazy."

 

"Maybe." McCoy took a swallow of his

 

drink. "But you've seen what happens to the people around

 

her. The men in particular. How do you explain

 

Montoya heading back to his quarters so Simons

 

can make an uninterrupted pass at you?"

 

"I was wondering about that one, myself. In the

 

meantime, what should I do about her?"

 

"I'll let you know if I think of anything."

 

McCoy drained his glass and set it on the table.

 

"If that's all, Jim, I think I'm ready

 

to turn in. It's getting late."

 

Kirk swallowed the last of his drink. "I think

 

you're right, Bones. It has been a long day."

 

After McCoy left, Kirk cleaned the

 

glasses and put the brandy away. Any other

 

chores, he decided, could wait until morning.

 

He went to bed, but sleep eluded him. The day's

 

events circled through his mind, and they did not inspire

 

relaxation.

 

"That didn't take long." Montoya was

 

surprised that his wife had returned to their quarters

 

so soon. He laid aside Norris" notes

 

on her noontime conversation with t'Stror. He had

 

been studying them for insights into Kaldorni

 

psychology.

 

"The captain had work to do, and I didn't feel

 

like stargazing alone." Simons sat beside him,

 

wrapped her arms around his neck, and nibbled

 

suggestively at his ear. "Of course, there are other

 

things we could do." "There are indeed." He took her

 

in his arms, grateful for the chance to show her that

 

he could put her needs before his work. "But why this sudden

 

interest? Fifteen minutes ago you were intent on

 

renewing your friendship with the captain."

 

"I finally realized what an awful bore he's

 

become. He even threatened to confine me to quarters

 

unless I behaved myself. So-"she blew softly in his

 

ear, "comI decided to behave myself."

 

"I approve wholeheartedly." Desire for her

 

flooded him, erasing all other thoughts. He cleared

 

his work off the bed, scattering notes and computer

 

tapes in his haste. She pulled him down beside her,

 

and they made love. It was only much later that he

 

remembered her words and wondered what Kirk had

 

meant when he ordered Cecilia to "behave" herself

 

and why Kirk would consider confining her to her quarters.

 

A nondescript ensign wearing an engineering

 

uniform strolled the corridors as if looking for an

 

acquaintance. He never spoke, but after several

 

hours,

 

he had covered every corridor on the Enterprise.

 

He memorized the locations of major departments,

 

ship's services, and escape routes. Finally, he

 

returned to the quarters assigned to his alter ego.

 

By the time the other's visitor appeared, the

 

nondescript crewman no longer

 

existed.

 

THE NEGOTIATIONS hit a snag late in the

 

third afternoon when Ambassador Klee's youngest

 

wife became ill. After giving lengthy instructions

 

to t'Stror and his other aides, Klee left. Almost

 

immediately, problems developed.

 

Montoya asked why Klee had not requested that

 

a doctor examine his wife and then gone to her when the

 

afternoon's session was over. t'Stror's face took

 

on an expression of blank incomprehension. He

 

cocked his head to the side and blinked his green-gray

 

eyes, as if asking Montoya to explain his

 

absurd question. "But the commissioner must understand it would be

 

the greatest insult for the ambassador not to attend upon

 

the lady himself. To send a person of lesser rank

 

than she-it would destroy the harmony of all of the

 

ambassador's wives. Surely the commissioner must

 

see this." Montoya's brow wrinkled with the effort of

 

trying to link the disparate concepts in t'Stror's

 

statement. "I'll accept your word for it, Speaker

 

t'Stror. However, I do not completely understand what

 

you mean by "harmony." Could I ask you

 

to explain it?" t'Stror tilted his head farther to the

 

side, studying Montoya as if he were a child who was

 

slow to learn his lessons. The Harmony

 

of the Universe was the

 

cornerstone of Kaldorni philosophy, but all

 

nonKaldorni seemed baffled by the concept.

 

"Explanation is not an imposition. But it is a

 

difficult idea to explicate-your language has

 

not the words for me to express myself." "We understand how

 

troublesome it is for you." Montoya gave the

 

Kaldorni a reassuring smile. "However, it would

 

help us if you'd try, within the limits imposed by the

 

inadequacies of our language."

 

"As long as the commissioner comprehends that the

 

terminology must be imprecise." t'Stror laid

 

his hands on the oblong table, fingers spread

 

to indicate speech in the declamatory mode. His

 

dark skin blended with the simulated wood tones of the

 

table.

 

"Of course. We appreciate your effort."

 

Without taking his eyes off t'Stror, Montoya

 

gestured to Yeoman Menon, who was operating the

 

recording equipment in the room's far corner. He

 

wanted to be sure she got multiple recordings

 

of this speech.

 

t'Stror launched into an involuted explanation

 

of the Kaldomi ideals of Harmony, Duty,

 

Respect, and Honor. As he listened,

 

Montoya realized the problem lay not in understanding the

 

individual concepts, but in untangling the

 

interrelationships and in defining the degree to which they

 

permeated the Kaldorm world view and determined

 

individual actions. Halfway through the discussion, the

 

commissioner glanced at Kristiann Norris. Her

 

expression-lips compressed in a straight line and

 

one eyebrow slightly raised-told Montoya she

 

thought t'Stror was omitting something from his explanation.

 

Montoya made a note to ask her later;

 

Norris" instincts on such matters were generally

 

accurate.

 

t'Stror finished his lecture. In turn, he

 

looked at each of the Federation team, daring them to question his

 

explanation. When no one accepted his challenge, he

 

brought up a new subject. "My ambassador

 

has requested me to ask why the commissioner insists the

 

rules we discuss for the meetings with the Beystohnai

 

 

must be so discordant. Surely it must be seen that

 

the harmony of the attendants is dissolved when equal

 

association for all negotiators is demanded."

 

Montoya straightened in his chair, sensing this was the

 

key issue in the discussions. "We of the Federation

 

feel that the-harmony-is destroyed if all

 

parties in a dispute do not have equal say in

 

resolving their differences." A beatific smile

 

spread across t'Stror's features. "Then my

 

instructions make it clear to me that I should terminate

 

this session. There can be no accordant determination from

 

a deliberation where the Harmonies of the Universe are

 

disrupted by the discordant fraternization with greatly

 

inferior persons." He stood, enjoying his moment of

 

power as the rest of the Kaldorni delegation massed

 

behind him. In a group, they walked out of the room.

 

Montoya watched the Kaldorni exit in

 

stunned silence. Vreblin and Zayle stared at the

 

far wall to avoid meeting the commissioner's eyes.

 

As the door closed, Norris murmured,

 

"Manifest Destiny."

 

"What?" Montoya was caught off-guard by the

 

seeming irrelevance of her comment.

 

"Their concept of Harmony. t'Stror didn't

 

put it in quite those words, but it resembles a human

 

concept called Manifest Destiny. It gives the

 

Kaldorni the perfect out. If our suggestions

 

prevent them from moving into the Yagran system or

 

obligate them to serious negotiations to limit their

 

expansion-they claim the proposal disrupts their

 

Harmony, and they can't discuss it any

 

further."

 

Montoya chewed on his lower lip. "Are you

 

sure about this?" Norris doodled a few lines on

 

her noteboard. "No. I don't have anything

 

to back it up except a feeling. But it fits the

 

facts we have so far." "Pretty skimpy

 

facts," muttered Vreblin.

 

"I agree. But they haven't been especially

 

generous in giving us useful information, either." Norris

 

held 102

 

up her hand to silence Vreblin's protest.

 

"Yes, I know they've talked a lot. But they

 

haven't included much solid data in what they've

 

said. I keep wondering if something is being lost in the

 

translation. I wish I had my Universal

 

Translator in here!"

 

"You always want your gadgets around," Zayle

 

said. Norris shrugged off the comment. Zayle disliked

 

the Universal Translator because he was unable

 

to master the complexities of its control language.

 

"Machines have their problems, of course, but they

 

don't deliberately misconstrue what is said."

 

Montoya gestured for silence. "Kris, do you

 

think t'Stror is intentionally mistranslating what

 

the ambassador says?"

 

"I don't know. t'Stror translates when the

 

ambassador can't express the concepts he wants

 

to discuss, and Ambassador Klee's English is

 

better in some areas than in others." She paused,

 

looking for a way to summarize her concern. "It

 

feels as though the emphasis is changed in the

 

translation-that maybe Ambassador Klee is

 

stressing one thing and t'Stror tells us he's more

 

worried about something else."

 

Montoya thought for a moment, remembering a

 

frustrating hour the previous morning when neither side

 

had been able to understand what the other was trying to say.

 

"Your instincts are often right, Kris. While the

 

negotiations are suspended, why don't you analyze

 

the transcripts for evidence to back up your

 

theory?" He turned to Yeoman Menon, who was still

 

behind the portable recording station. "Could Ms.

 

Norris get a copy of the sessions to date?"

 

Menon tapped her fingers against the side of the console.

 

"I'll need authorizations from both you and Captain

 

Kirk to release the transcripts. Once I have

 

those, I can get you a copy within half an hour."

 

"Good enough. I'll sign the authorization form now."

 

Menon entered a code into her console. The workstation

 

beeped twice and she handed Montoya a

 

 

datapad. Montoya scrawled his signature

 

across the pad while still talking to his aides.

 

"Kris has her assignment. The rest of us will get

 

some coffee and look for other ideas."

 

The three men left while Menon was shutting down

 

the recording equipment. Norris picked up her

 

noteboard. "If you don't mind, I'll tag

 

along so I can get those transcripts as soon as

 

they're ready."

 

"That will be fine." Menon picked up the signed