SECOND SUNRISE HAD come; Kirk and the others had been forced to don sunglasses against the glare from outside. The almost painful brightness was far from helpful in keeping track of the subtle movements of shrub and brush—movements that revealed to Kirk just where Burke had disposed his forces.
Kirk was sure the troops outside had much better eye protection than sunglasses.
Barclay and his fellow Leaguers sat huddled in the middle of the cabin floor; Kirk wanted them as far away as possible from any window. Barclay seemed content; the four others appeared nervous. Kirk wished he could open a window—but the shatterproof windows had turned out to be his cabin's main defensive mechanism. If Burke decided to lob a gas grenade into the cabin, he'd have to blow a hole in one of the walls first; Kirk's windows were dynaplast, not glass, and wouldn't break under anything less than the force of a good, dense mass traveling at supersonic speed.
Unfortunately, Kirk thought as he rubbed his tired eyes, the windows weren't hyperpolarized duraplast. Kirk used blackout shades against glare—more primitive and cabinlike, he'd thought—and the shades had to be up so he could see out.
Not for the first time, Kirk wished he had grabbed some sleep. His every muscle ached, particularly the ones in his back; no amount of toner isometrics seemed to relieve the stiffness. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Attention inside the cabin!" came a voice on a loudspeaker. Burke's voice.
"This is Minister of Internal Security Burke. Captain Kirk, your cabin is surrounded, as you undoubtedly realize. I require that the suspects in the New Athens bombing be turned over to Centaurian custody. We do not acknowledge that the Federation has any authority in this matter. Your arrival and subsequent actions on this planet constitute a violation of our government's sovereignty, under relevant sections of the Federation Charter.
"No one has any intention of harming Federation personnel in the course of their duties—but Federation interference in this matter cannot be tolerated. We do not intend to allow the suspects in your custody to leave this planet without all jurisdictional disputes settled."
Sam Cogley snorted. "He has no intention of settling any 'jurisdictional disputes,'" he said. "There aren't any, and he knows that."
"I know it, too, Sam," Kirk said. "It doesn't make any difference anyway. Sulu, keep a sharp eye out; Burke may be counting on his monologue to distract us a little, take our edge off."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
"We demand the immediate surrender of the suspects now in your custody," Burke continued. "You, your aide and Samuel Cogley will be free to go. You have ten minutes to consider these terms. At the end of that time, Captain, we shall be forced to take the suspects by force of arms. I await your reply."
Silence fell—but it was soon interrupted by Barclay. "I hope you realize, Kirk, that I will not tolerate a surrender," he said.
Kirk was interested. "Why not, Barclay? What can you do about it? I raise the white flag, and that's it, as far as you and your friends are concerned. No skin off my nose, just a couple of thousand words of explanation to Starfleet."
"And, no doubt, Starfleet would not mind very much—if the only consequence of your surrender was the loss of our freedom. But there is far more at stake." Barclay looked cool; he was operating now.
"Such as what?" Kirk asked, drawing him out.
Barclay was willing to be led. "Let me tell you a little story, Captain. Let's take a … hypothetical … planet, much like this one. Astonishingly like this one." Barclay grinned humorlessly. He had everyone's attention.
"There's a political movement on this planet we're considering," Barclay continued. "It starts with a few forward-looking citizens, who see what a debilitating effect membership in the Federation has had on a once-vibrant culture. Human and natural resources have been diverted from domestic use. Aliens have entered the local economy and have returned nothing, except for their noxious influences on a formerly pure human culture. Members of lesser human races have been allowed to persist in their ceaseless disrespect for an advanced human culture they did not and could not have attained on their own—"
"Mr. Barclay," Cogley said, "I advise you to stop. Anything you say can be held against you in court—"
"Shut up, Cogley," Barclay said. "I'm speaking hypothetically here; the captain knows that. Don't you, Captain?"
Kirk nodded. "Go on, Barclay. I'm fascinated."
"Certainly. The struggle begins, as it must, in the old, outmoded political arenas. The small group of advanced thinkers in the movement know their program will benefit all humans; its attractions are undeniable, yet the political system will not tolerate the vast and sweeping changes being proposed. After years of struggle, it comes to pass on our hypothetical world that a brilliant but unappreciated scientist, long a member of this hypothetical movement, stumbles on something truly amazing, Kirk. Can you imagine what it might be?"
"Haven't the faintest idea."
"I thought not," Barclay smirked. "Strange—I would have thought that someone of your racial makeup and obvious intelligence would have worked it out long ago." Sulu's a patient man, thought Kirk. I would have slugged this maggot five minutes ago.
"I'm afraid I haven't hit on it yet, Barclay," Kirk said. "What was it—hypothetically?"
"Merely a breakthrough that, for once, gave our fictional movement the political and social power it had so long merited but been denied. Captain, what do you know of antimatter?"
"A lot."
"Then you know it is both difficult and quite costly to produce. The technique and expense are beyond the means of any organization but a multiplanetary government—or a galaxy-spanning military force, such as Starfleet." Barclay paused. "Or, I should say, it used to be."
"Go on," Kirk prompted.
"This scientist hit upon a new theory of subnuclear manipulation, Kirk. It was so simple, and so easily put into practice, that for relatively little money—and with the approval of the leaders of his movement—he himself, with no help, manufactured several hundred grams of antimatter in a basement laboratory. No heavy shielding, Kirk; no big equipment. He had little more than a simple pressor-tractor array to manipulate things the way he wanted them. He also had several simple cardboard boxes. Do you know what our imaginary friend did then, Captain?"
"I think I do, Barclay," Kirk answered, his teeth set. "He constructed several annihilation devices out of, God save us, cardboard boxes; the antimatter in each was held safely in a magnetic field, until it could be triggered by canceling the field and bringing the antimatter into contact with the surface of the box."
"Correct!" Barclay exclaimed, sarcastically clapping his hands. He was enjoying this. "In fact, he built four such devices. At once this political movement I'm talking about became the second most powerful military force in the Federation, right after the vaunted Starfleet. Three annihilation bombs were taken to different cities on our made-up planet, watched over by the most trusted people of the movement. Each was ready to detonate his or hers, and die, should circumstances require it.
"So on a certain day," Barclay continued, "this scientist visits the president of his planet and demands a political role for himself and his followers. Without revealing the specific nature of the power now backing his words, the scientist tells the president that if the movement's terms are not met, the capital of our hypothetical planet will be reduced to ruins. The old fool assumes this is a nuclear threat, similar to ones made time and again by simple-minded political activists of all stripes since the twentieth century. A thorough search for a nuclear device is made, and of course it is unsuccessful. No such device exists.
"The government does not agree to the movement's terms. The heroic scientist at the heart of our little fiction decides that the burden is his, and his alone, to carry. He volunteers to sit somewhere in the capital area, waiting, with a harmless-looking cardboard box in his lap. Where better than a spaceport, say, to pass the time?"
Barclay stopped to light a cigar. He puffed as everyone in the room silently watched him; Kirk noticed that Max, Dave and "Jones" seemed as drawn in by Barclay's tale as Kirk himself was; "Smith," on the other hand, looked only vaguely interested.
Barclay built a finger's worth of ash, and then continued. "The deadline passes. The scientist awaits a message from the leaders of the movement, who have heroically remained in the capital to the last moment—and beyond it—in an effort to come to terms with the government. The scientist is out of touch with his comrades; he waits for some word to be brought to him."
"And then what, Barclay?" Kirk prompted.
Barclay shrugged and gestured with his cigar; a small roll of ash fell to the cabin floor. "Unknown, I'm afraid. Something rather unexpected must have happened. The word was not given, yet the device was detonated—with the promised devastating effect."
"And a million people died," Kirk said.
"Couldn't be helped," Barclay returned. He drew on his cigar and exhaled blue smoke. "But one leader of this hypothetical movement remains—to carry on the struggle. And there are three annihilation devices remaining to help him do so, Kirk … which is why I don't think you'll surrender me to the local authorities. After all, Captain, you don't want to be responsible for another million—or two million, or three million—deaths, now, do you?" Barclay smiled cynically.
"You son of a bitch," Dave snarled, rising. He leapt at Barclay—who withdrew something quickly from somewhere inside his jacket. Kirk saw a flash of steel, and then Dave cried out with pain as he collapsed on top of Barclay. There was blood.
Dave's move had been too quick for Kirk to do anything to cover him—but he fired a stun charge at Barclay, who collapsed backward to the floor from his sitting position. His cigar rolled toward Kirk's feet; the captain pitched it into the fireplace and wiped his hand on his shirt.
"Keep those three covered, Sulu," Kirk snapped as he went to see what he could do for Dave. He rolled the man over; he had a stab wound in his gut, just under the solar plexus. Kirk didn't have a Starfleet medikit, and had only a hazy idea of what to do with one—but there was a woodsman's first-aid box in the cabin head, and Kirk fetched it. He used a compression bandage and bellyband on Dave and administered a shot of something the label said was designed to slow his metabolism. It's for snakebite, Kirk said to himself, reading the label on the injector, but it may help slow the bleeding by reducing his heart rate. Kirk wondered whether a shot for pain was contraindicated, and decided that it was; it might, he thought, slow Dave's system to the point of death.
Kirk threw a bedcover on Dave and adjusted it. The bloodstained knife had fallen near Barclay's hand; Kirk saw it was one of his own dinner knives. The bastard must have palmed it last night, Kirk thought. I wish to God I'd seen this coming.
Kirk got to his feet and turned to the three Leaguers. "Max, you didn't know about the New Athens plot." It was a statement, not a question.
Max shook his head numbly.
"But you two did," Kirk said to "Smith" and "Jones."
"Not me!" the latter said quickly. "I didn't know a damn thing about this, Captain!"
"Quiet!" ordered "Smith."
"Jones" rolled quickly away from "Smith." "Going to stab me, too, you louse? Look, Captain, my real name is Teodor Vladsilovich. I live in McIverton. I was a chapter head in the League, sort of a noncommissioned officer. God help me now, but I swallowed most of what the League stands for and tolerated the rest."
"What did you know about the plot?" Kirk demanded. He looked at Cogley. "Don't say it, Sam."
"Mr. Vladsilovich is aware of his rights under the law," Cogley said mildly. "I need not remind him of them."
"I don't care about that," Vladsilovich said. "Look, Captain, I was minding my own business, holding meetings and rallies and fund-raisers when Barclay and this guy 'Smith' show up and demand a place to stay, one where they won't be seen."
"When was that?" Kirk asked.
"Three days before New Athens went up," Vladsilovich said. "I found a house for them in Gregory's Landing. They told me they'd come west because the cops back east were after them for incitement to riot. I believed it; after all, it's a sucker charge, and the police frequently harassed our members at rallies.
"The house I got them was owned by a League member who was in New Athens on business. Uh, he never came back. You understand?"
"I think I do. Go on."
"Then New Athens happened, and I finally put two and two together. Everybody scattered. I went and hid in the Gregory's Landing house with Barclay and his friend, here; I thought the government would be looking for me, too, and I didn't have anywhere else safe to go. Max, here, came with me."
"Who is Max, anyway?" asked Kirk.
"Both Max and Dave were sergeants at arms at our meetings. Dave met us later."
"And who's 'Smith'?"
"I'm warning you, Vladsilovich," hissed "Smith"—but Sulu had him covered. "I'm warning you, creep," the helmsman said. "Smith" turned, saw the phaser pointed straight at him, and settled back, glaring at Vladsilovich.
"His real name is Holtzman," Vladsilovich said.
Kirk was startled. He turned to face the other man. "You're not the scientist—"
"His son," Holtzman said proudly.
Barclay was still out. Kirk first tied Holtzman's hands and feet together, and then tethered him on a short line to the base of the heavy kitchen table. He then trussed the unconscious Barclay. The captain then conducted a quick search of the two bound men and found nothing.
"Vladsilovich, Max, I'm accepting your parole," Kirk decided. "Sulu, arm them. We need another couple of phasers on our side. Burke's ten minutes are almost up." Kirk had decided that Max and Vladsilovich might be fools, but they were not mass murderers and had had no prior knowledge of the New Athens plot. Besides, he had to trust them; he needed their help.
Sulu issued weapons to the two of them. "Traitors," Holtzman snarled from the floor. "Traitors to my father's memory, traitors to your race, traitors to humanity." He spat.
"I ought to wipe that up with your face," Kirk said. Holtzman shrugged as best he could in his bonds.
Kirk looked out the window. Now he could see a line of troops, at least the eighty he'd expected and probably more, openly forming at the edge of the clearing in which Kirk's cabin sat. Yeah, there's a combat phaser, too, Kirk thought resignedly. Well, Burke, you're still not getting Barclay—or the Boy Wonder, either. And I'm not going to sacrifice these other three to your appetite for revenge. You want a fight, you'll get one.
Kirk and the others waited.
"The ten minutes are up, Captain Kirk," came Burke's voice over the loudspeaker. "Use a white flag at the window to signal your intent to surrender."
Kirk stepped closer to the window, where he could be seen plainly, and gave a signal of an entirely different kind … but one even more ancient.
"Very well, Captain," Burke said. "On my order, the force will advance." There was a moment of silence … but in it, Kirk heard a distant rumbling. It grew louder by the second. He wondered what it was; it seemed to come from the sky.
Kirk craned his neck upward; he couldn't see anything. Wait a minute! he thought. There's nothing up there—the flitters and jets are gone!
And the rumbling noise was becoming a vibrating, almost tangible thing. It's like a slow-motion earthquake, wondered Kirk. Small objects began to dance on the cabin's shelves as the entire structure began to shake slightly.
Kirk looked outside. Some of the troops were running away! Others had dropped their arms and were holding their hands against their ears; combat helmets had been discarded and were lying on the ground, forgotten.
Even inside Kirk's insulated cabin, the noise was fierce. Objects were now dancing right off the shelves and crashing to the floor, but Kirk could no longer hear the breakage. The duraplast windows were ringing in their frames, but they were holding.
What the hell is it? Kirk wondered. He looked outside again—and gasped.
The Enterprise was sailing slowly and majestically toward his cabin, over the gentle land, at an altitude of not more than one hundred meters.
Burke saw her, too, and cursed. He watched the troops drop their arms and run. Who wouldn't run from that damn thing? he thought.
It was over; Burke could not and would not risk his men against a starship. Of all the things Kirk might have done, could have possibly done, he had not imagined this. It was undefeatable; he was checkmated.
He turned to Perez, tears in his eyes. The defense minister nodded mournfully, understandingly; he put a hand on Burke's shoulder. A good try, Perez was saying. A very good try. But, Nat, they were just too big for you.
Burke turned and walked to his command flitter. Perez followed, covering his ears against the sheer wall of noise from the mighty impulse engines of the Enterprise. Burke didn't bother.
Kirk had never seen her like this before; he felt the sting of tears. His lady was coming to the rescue once more, and he was grateful again to the depths of his soul. God, she looks magnificent! he thought. She shone a brilliant white in the light of the suns as she effortlessly cruised the cobalt-blue sky.
And she was big! Kirk had last seen her close-up from the outside—only the day before?—yet that had been in space, where anything built by man was made less by the vast scale of the cosmos. But here, against only the smallest piece of that cosmos, she dominated all, becoming an Enterprise triumphant.
She had finally come to his valley. Here, in close proximity, were the two things Kirk loved the most in his life. He could never remember being so happy, of having such a sense of rightness about things. Spock, you're right, he thought dizzily. Humans can overdose on joy, after all. Kirk was buzzed on rapture … but not so much that he did not notice the appearance of a shuttlecraft from the stern of the Enterprise … a craft that would take him up to his other home.