IT WAS ABOUT a half hour after second sunset, and nightlife in McIverton—such as it was—was in full swing. There was a thin crowd of couples in the streets, and a bright glow from restaurants and advertising signs washed against the sky. What ground traffic there was—mostly motorcycles and a few automobiles—found it slow going on the streets, and horns were appropriately honked.
Kirk watched the scene from his hotel window, all of three stories up; he had never in his life seen a traffic jam. He was fascinated by the chaos. Noisy out there, he thought.
Kirk and Sulu had been assigned separate but adjoining rooms in McIverton's one luxury hotel, the Hilton Inn West. It wasn't all that luxurious, either, but it was comfortable. There was a nice, big bed, which Kirk had already tried out for ten minutes or so of deep meditation—the kind accompanied by loud snores. The covers were still slightly mussed.
Kirk had checked in with Uhura earlier, over Erikkson's shortwave transceiver. He'd felt vaguely apprehensive about not spending the night aboard the Enterprise, but Uhura had assured him that all was well, and that Spock and his party had decided to camp for the night in a wooded area some distance outside the New Athens radiation zone. She'd finished her report by telling Kirk to get some sleep. "Yes, Captain," he'd said, and cleared. Actually, he liked the idea of staying in McIverton overnight; it was a long flight back up to the Enterprise, the break in his routine was welcome, and he had the time, for once.
Everything that could be done had been done. Uhura had sent a subspace signal to Starbase 7, with the welcome news that the code 710 had been lifted and that Centaurus was once again approachable. Seven would relay that word throughout the Federation. Kirk knew that ships from all over the UFP would be coming now, loaded to the overheads with the people and supplies needed to help the victims of the New Athens bombing.
Kirk rubbed the back of his neck as he wandered into the bathroom. He felt a bit ill from the cumulative effects of tiredness and sustained effort. He opened the medicine chest, hoping to find something appropriate for the weary traveler. All he found were complimentary razor blades (Kirk used a depilatory every week, so the blades were useless to him and, besides, there was no razor to put them in), a small roll of dental floss, a couple of bars of wrapped soap, a tube of shampoo, and a toothbrush (but no toothpaste). Kirk sighed, and settled for a splash or two of cold water on his face. Perhaps there's a drugstore or something in the lobby—oh, hell! I don't have any money on me. Well, I didn't know I'd be here so long. Maybe Sulu brought some cash.
Kirk left his room and went next door to Sulu's. He knocked; no answer. Damn, he thought. He went back to his own room and spotted the telephone. Kirk's experience of hotels was so close to zero as not to matter, but he knew you could ask any old question of the person at the front desk, and you might even get an answer. He'd seen it in dramas.
PUNCH "90" FOR FRONT DESK, a sign said. He did, and the phone's small screen lit with the face of a young blonde woman. Cute, Kirk told himself. "Front desk. May I help you?"
"Hello, Miss. This is Captain Kirk in room, uh, three forty-one, I think." The woman smiled. "I was wondering if it would be possible to get something for a headache … ?" Kirk felt ridiculous. It was much easier talking to Bones McCoy about such things.
"Of course, Captain," the young woman said brightly. "I'll have room service send something up right away."
Kirk mentally kicked himself. Room service! Damn, I'd forgotten about that. Starfleet doesn't have room service; how the hell am I supposed to know? Jim, you'd make a lousy civilian.
The woman paused. "Anything else you need, Captain, just ask for Madeleine. That's me." She smiled again.
Kirk smiled back. Well, why not? he thought. "Have you had dinner yet, Madeleine?" he said in a certain tone. It's been a bad and busy time, Madeleine, and all I'm looking for is some pleasant company.
Madeleine smiled even more. "I'll have room service send that up, too. For one. Good night, Captain." Kirk looked at the blanked screen. I must be losing my touch, he thought. Then he shrugged it off.
There were a few magazines on a reading rack in the bathroom, and Kirk thumbed through them: dog-eared copies of National Cosmographic, Newsweek, McIverton Today!, and Analog. The latest of them was eight months old. He sat on the bed and read the Analog until there was a knock at the door. "Room service," came a voice.
"Coming." Kirk tossed the magazine onto the bed and walked to the door. He opened it. There was a small, balding man standing there, tray in hand.
Kirk recognized him. "I will be dipped," he said flatly.
"Hello, Jim," said Sam Cogley. "It's been a while.
May I come in?"
Samuel T. Cogley was one of the great ones: A lawyer with both dramatic style and an instinctual sense of the law. He had argued cases before virtually every major Federation court, and won most of them.
He was also the first human lawyer ever to plead a case before a Klingonese court. A Federation citizen had been accused of smuggling, and there was no way anyone could get a verdict of "not guilty" from a Klingon jury—but Cogley had tried, and had managed to get the man's sentence reduced to expulsion from the Empire. The Klingons had even let the smuggler keep his hands.
Kirk had been court-martialed once, less than a year after he'd taken the Enterprise out of drydock to begin her five-year mission. He'd been charged with negligence in the death of a records officer, Benjamin Finney. Samuel Cogley had been Kirk's lawyer and, with Spock's help, had broken the case. Cogley and Spock had proved that Finney, still alive and well (although more than a bit around the bend), had faked his own death to destroy Kirk's career.
Cogley had gone on to defend Finney at his own court-martial and had gotten him off on an insanity plea. That had gotten Finney a small pension and a not-so-long stay at a very good Starfleet mental rehabilitation facility. The cured Finney and his daughter, Jamie, now ran a thriving import-export business on Rigel II. Kirk had gotten a Christmas card from Jamie just the year before. Her father had been carefully taught not to remember Kirk at all.
Cogley put the tray on a table and reached into his coat pocket. He withdrew a flask. "Saurian brandy, Captain," he announced. "Got any glasses?"
"In the head, I guess," Kirk said. He ducked into the bathroom to get them. "Sam, just what the hell are you doing here?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Something that I think might concern you a great deal, Jim," Cogley answered. Kirk came back with the glasses, and Cogley poured. The blue liquor gurgled. Kirk picked his up, saluted Cogley with the glass, found some aspirin in a paper cup on the tray, swallowed the pills, and chased them with the brandy.
"I wasn't born yesterday, Sam," Kirk finally said. "It's about the New Athens thing."
"Yes," Cogley nodded. "I've heard from someone about it. They want me to talk to you."
"Are you representing them?"
"Yes."
Kirk shrugged. "So talk."
"Let's sit down," Cogley said. They did, in flimsy chairs around the table. Cogley's chair creaked alarmingly. "I see they spared no expense."
"It's worth what I'm paying for it, Sam."
"Which is?"
"Zero." Kirk grinned.
Cogley smiled. "Good to see you again, Jim. It's been a while since I defended Ben Finney; your testimony helped. Still, it took the devil's own time to convince the court that Finney had cracked as a result of his service, and that they owed him a few credits every month."
"I wouldn't have begrudged him that."
"They wanted to. First they brought that ridiculous case against you, and then they wanted to cover their tracks with Finney. But I managed to convince a few people that the publicity would be worse if they cashiered Finney and dumped him on a rock somewhere, without scat-all for him or Jamie."
"Have you seen them lately?"
"No," Cogley said, shaking his head. "I'm too footloose to keep close to my ex-clients. I trust they'll get in touch if they need me again."
Kirk nodded. "But now you've gotten in touch with me. So what's up, Sam? You said you've heard from 'someone.' Who?"
Cogley refilled his glass and did the same for Kirk. "I was in McIverton to give a seminar on civil rights law. I got into New Athens Spaceport and arrived in McIverton by flitter. No sooner had I landed here than the word came that New Athens had been destroyed.
"A day or two later, the local newspaper noticed I was here and ran a few quotes from me about how I felt about still being alive. I felt just fine, thanks. Very early the next morning, there was a knock on my hotel room door. Two guys, big; they looked like muscle-for-hire. They weren't forthcoming with many details; I was simply told that three leaders of the League for a Pure Humanity were in hiding near McIverton and wanted to give themselves up to the authorities."
Kirk sat a little straighter. "Any admissions of guilt?"
"Can't answer that, Jim; they're my clients. But I can tell you that my two visitors weren't much interested in surrendering to Centaurian authorities."
"Yeah. And I know why. The death penalty."
"Precisely. Then you'll realize that it's in my clients' best interests to surrender to you, for removal to Geneva for trial on whatever charges, if any, are brought against them. I imagine you have orders to that effect … ?"
"Yes," Kirk said. "How'd you know?"
"It's standard procedure in split-jurisdiction cases like this. Federation charges have to be dealt with first, anyway. The Federation court can always surrender jurisdiction to the local authority, but I'd fight that in this case because of the risk to my clients' lives."
Kirk was silent for a moment. "Sam," he finally said, "forgive me—but I don't give a rat's rear end for the lives of your clients."
Cogley looked Kirk in the eye. "I forgive you, Jim—and they're innocent until proven guilty. That hasn't been done yet." He paused. "Will your feelings prevent you from carrying out your orders, Captain?"
Kirk shook his head. "No. They never do, Sam."
Cogley and Kirk talked long into the night. Kirk's dinner congealed into a cold, inedible mess.
Sulu arrived back at his room about half an hour before firstdawn; he was beginning to feel a bit queasy, having sampled some of the baser pleasures of what had turned out to be a very friendly town. He thumbed the lock on the door; it swung open. Oh, my aching head, thought Sulu as he stumbled into the bathroom.
There was a scrawled note left on the sink:
Welcome back. We're leaving an hour after firstdawn. Mix the contents of the packet with a glass of cold water and drink it. Then sleep. You'll feel much better. Hope it was worth it. Kirk.
There was a small packet in one of the glasses. Sulu looked at the contents list; the stuff inside seemed to be a cure for everything but the black plague. It has lots of thiamine in it, Sulu thought hazily. I need thiamine. Boy, do I need thiamine.
The stuff fizzed agreeably and tasted good going down. Sulu left the bathroom and barely made it to the bed before collapsing.