KIRK LAY ON HIS BED,cool fingertips pressed against his temples. Now that the search for the Sparrow was under way, he knew he should give some thought to Boaco Six and Boaco Eight and the strain on their relations the children's attack on their ships had caused. The death of the ministers had thrown relations between the two worlds into turmoil.
But his mind was filled only with memories of Miri's planet. He reviewed over and over the series of events that had taken place there. No … there was no way he could have acted differently. They were working so hard, so fast to cure the virus before it killed them, and attempting to win the trust of the children … There was no way that a different approach on his part would have made a damn bit of difference. The mistakes, the difficulties in handling the children came after the Enterprise had sailed on toward her next mission.
He felt only pain, and a kind of regret, when he thought of the peace and sense of well-being with which he had withdrawn from the case, left it behind him. The children would be fine, he had thought; they're in capable hands; things can only get better for them. Perhaps he should have visited … but when, how? Too many missions, too many planets where he had left a piece of himself behind; were they all, thereafter, his responsibility?
Don't you know why you don't want to play the same games you used to, Miri? And why you don't see your friends the same way as you once did? It's because you're becoming a young woman …
All right, he shouldn't have left with such a feeling of complacency, should have been more aware that the bumps and jolts of the teenage years, as well as all the good things, lay before her and the others, in an even more concentrated form than for most youngsters. Oh, but she would have pulled through … He remembered Charlie X, the chance lost, but Miri had been saved, she would have been all right. Good God, the awful waste of it …
Kirk did not respond immediately when his door buzzer sounded. "Come," he sighed finally.
The doors flew open and McCoy stepped into the captain's cabin.
"Jim, Spock said you were off duty. But known' you, I figured you wouldn't be sleeping. Would you like me to give you a shot of something to help you rest?"
"No, that's all right, Bones." Kirk turned on the netted glittering sheen of the bed covers, lay on his back, and looked at the doctor through the half-light in which he had left his room. "Is it all coming back to you?" He smiled weakly. "Quite a mission, wasn't it?"
"Of course it's all coming back to me. But you've got to try not to think about it."
Kirk sat upright. "You know what must have happened? They've been mishandled because no one gave a damn about them. They weren't anybody's kids. No one could even identify with their strange situation. That's why they got turned over to some hacks."
"Well, Voltmer is respected by some. But I've never thought much of him," McCoy said drily. "But Jim! You've got to stop thinking about Miri, stop blaming yourself …"
Kirk sprang off the bed, a nervous mass, and moved to open the cabinet which held his Starfleet medals and decorations. "You know, she gave me something just before we left, as a … keepsake," he said, rummaging. "Here it is! Look." He held up in his hand a grubby, crudely carved wooden doll. At the sight of it, he could feel the back of his eyes sting with potential tears. He quickly replaced the doll in the cabinet and closed the door.
Spock's eyebrow shot up as his captain reentered the bridge. "Captain. You are surely not thinking of returning to duty?"
Kirk, with a jerk of his head, indicated that Spock should vacate the commander's chair and return to his science station. "Yes, Mr. Spock. Starfleet may send us an update on the Boacan situation, soon. And when we home in on the Sparrow, I want to make contact with the children. Under no circumstances can we fight them."
Spock remained firmly planted in the central chair. "It is unknown when contact will be made, Captain. You have only had five hours off duty, after a 14.26-hour shift. And according to regulations …"
"To hell with regulations, Spock!" Kirk felt a wave of impatience toward his implacable first officer, the bringer of bad tidings. "Return to your station. This is a mission I care about, and I'm supervising how it's carried out."
The Vulcan's expression remained impenetrable. In one fluid movement, he rose quickly out of the chair and glided up the few stairs to his science panel, relieving a frightened-looking crewman.
"Mr. Sulu," Kirk said tersely, "has the Sparrow made any more appearances?"
"Three, Captain. We've tried to use them to calculate its probable heading."
Chekov spoke. "Sir, it seems the wessel may have drifted into Klingon space, and drawn fire. This may have injured it—it seems to be traveling at a decelerated speed. And it appeared to be heading back in the direction of Juram Five. We're heading in that direction now, as well."
Kirk nodded approvingly. "Fine, Ensign. Let's hope they've decided to surrender the ship to the authorities of the Program. It would make life much simpler."
Lieutenant Uhura cleared her throat. "Sir, I'm receiving a signal from Admiral Komack again."
"Put him on the main screen, Lieutenant."
The familiar gloomy figure appeared, and Kirk swallowed his irritation at the meddling of the Starfleet paper-pushers in things they didn't understand.
"Kirk. You seem to be heading in the direction of Juram Five. The council feels it would be helpful if you locked into orbit there and learned more about the children from those running the Program."
"Captain!" Sulu interrupted. "I've got another sighting of the Sparrow … it's heading away from Juram Five, at warp two … we could easily overtake them … no, it's gone, it's vanished again."
Kirk leapt up from his chair. "Plot most probable course to intercept, Mr. Sulu."
The admiral spoke from the main screen. "Belay that order, Mr. Sulu. Kirk, you are getting nowhere chasing this ship all over the quadrant. You will proceed to Juram Five and enter orbit there as ordered."
"Admiral, did you hear? The Sparrow is heading away from the children's Home World. This is the closest we've come to it. And it may be damaged, the children may need immediate attention. Surely that is of paramount importance …"
"If the Sparrow is in real trouble, the cloaking device will fail. Permanently. Meanwhile, it's crazy for you to play cat and mouse with it all over the galaxy. Proceed to your assigned destination."
The image of the admiral flickered and disappeared, giving way to a screen full of stars. Kirk choked back frustration and rage.
Kirk, Spock, and McCoy waited silently in the sterile, overstuffed lounge outside the office of Dr. Voltmer on Juram Five. Pale Dr. Ramsey, the child psychologist, stood examining a rather poor painting of a supernova, done in lurid pastels, which hung on the wall. He cracked his knuckles and hummed to himself, behavior which put his captain very much on edge.
All right, get a grip, Kirk told himself. He would not let himself be overwhelmed by impatience to continue the search for the Sparrow. There were useful things which, perhaps, after all, could be learned here.
They had beamed down in the children's recreation room, in which Jahn's fight with the adults had taken place. All traces of the skirmish had been removed. They were met by Dr. Colignon, one of the staff, and escorted through long snaking white corridors, past empty classrooms of a dull metallic gray. Something should be done, Kirk thought, to brighten the facility. Nothing too elaborate or expensive. Some drawings by the children hanging on the walls would do the trick. But no indication of the children's presence could be seen or felt.
Kirk had brought Spock and McCoy along because he knew he was not at his best, and he trusted their counsel and judgment. And because they had been involved in this case from the beginning. And because he wanted to make it up to Spock for snapping at him. He hoped that his friend would understand that it was simply because of the strain he was under.
He needn't have worried. The Vulcan was far from feeling any hurt or resentment toward his captain. He was concerned about Kirk's health, because of the tension and stress he was suffering from, and his personal involvement with the mission.
There was something disturbingly obsessive about the way Kirk had pressed ahead with the search for the Sparrow, responding to every taunting glimpse of the children, against all odds of catching up with them. The captain took missions personally sometimes, if he felt responsible, blamed himself in some way for what had gone before. Kirk was not at fault, in no way culpable for what had happened on this world. But how to keep him from blaming himself?
Most of all, Spock was concerned because he had certain knowledge of who the man was who had developed the new cloaking device—the device that the Sparrow was armed with. The man who was perhaps the only person who could find a way to penetrate it. If Flint is called in to help us, Spock thought, the strain on Jim will be even greater. And he won't be able to understand just why he is under more strain. He'll want to know. And it could open another old wound.
Dr. Voltmer's doors glided open. He was a middle-aged, overweight, beaming man with a small nose and a pink face. "Gentlemen!" He shook their hands warmly. "So good of you to come. It's so terribly unfortunate, all of this. Yours is the starship that first made contact with the children, am I correct?"
Kirk nodded. "Mr. Spock, my first officer; Dr. McCoy, my chief surgeon; and myself were all on that mission. This is Dr. Ramsey, a child psychology specialist, from my ship."
"Ramsey! I read your article 'Rorschach Revisited.' Just wonderful work. I'd like to show you gentlemen around our center. The children are all taking naps during this period—"
"Dr. Voltmer," Kirk broke in sharply, "we're very much pressed for time. Our major concern at the moment is locating the small craft the children have taken. Once we make contact with them, we need to convince them to surrender the ship without a struggle. Any suggestions on how to do it?"
Voltmer lost some of his happy, easy attitude. "You may have troubles there, Captain Kirk. Very unstable youngsters. Violent and ungrateful. Rhea, the girl, has been a disciplinary problem in the past, though she seemed to be buckling down to work this past year—of course, she had unlimited access to Federation technical manuals." With an ironic laugh, he added, "We encouraged her interest." His face grew a darker shade of pink. "Now Jahn, the older boy, he's just a hopeless kid, bad through and through. He simply does not respond well to any kind of structured environment. He has challenged my authority, my role as director, on a number of occasions. He seems to think the center is his to run. He throws tantrums and, as you've seen, he's capable of anything."
The language, for an educator, was vindictive, unprofessional. The man must have a personal grudge against the boy; Kirk reasoned that this crisis could ultimately cost Voltmer his job. It would be no great loss.
"My advice to you," continued Voltmer, "is to take a firm stand. These children are very ambivalent in their attitude toward authority; they fight it and then they give way to it. Right now they must be feeling the lack of it. Rhea, at least, responds well to reason. Though she can turn quite uncooperative in certain areas of testing."
"What kind of testing puts her off?" McCoy asked.
Voltmer led them through a door into a white room, under glaring lights. A large white chair stood at the room's center. "Testing to augment her P.P.D.P., that is, her Personal Psychological Developmental Profile. And to augment our knowledge of the children's community, or lack thereof, before you rescued them."
"That chair …" Kirk said.
"Developed and used by Dr. Tristan Adams, at the Tantalus Colony," Voltmer said. "And abused by Dr. Adams, before he was debarred from practice and sent to a penal colony. Obviously it has been changed, adjusted, rendered harmless. We use it to calm hysterical patients, through sonic waves, and as much-modified aid to hypnosis. Through sonic suggestion, we help a patient overcome mental blocks, explore forgotten memories, memories sometimes centuries old, in the case of these children."
"Memories that they perhaps don't want to share with you," McCoy said gruffly. "If what you're doing is legal, it sounds pretty controversial, and not too far removed from what Dr. Adams used the chair for. It smacks of mind control."
"Hardly, Doctor," Voltmer said coldly. "And we do not believe in secretiveness and hiding things, here at the Children's Center. I stand by my work. I'm up for a citation for it. I take pride in it being 'controversial.' And it was you and your men, Captain, after all, who recommended discipline and close observation for these children."
Kirk stared at him, his face tight, disapproving. His communicator sounded. He snapped it open.
"Captain, this is Lieutenant Uhura. I am in contact with a Klingon commander, Commander Kreth. Aboard an empire battle cruiser."
Kirk frowned. Something new to juggle, another gambit being played, perhaps? "Where is he, Lieutenant?"
"The ship is within the parameters of Klingon space. But he is demanding audio-visual contact with you, and threatening to bring his ship into Federation space. What shall I tell him, sir?"
"Tell him to hold on, we're beaming up." He turned to Voltmer. "So sorry to run, Doctor. I'll give your suggestion about handling the children … all the consideration that it merits."
As the four Starfleet men stood together for the beam-up, Voltmer seemed anxious to regain a friendly atmosphere. "By the way, Captain, I'm told by one of my staff, Mrs. File, that you made a big impression on some of the children. Especially the girl Miri. She talked about you often, expected you to come back and see her. You were what I think we'd have to call her 'first crush.'" He chuckled, then, seeing Kirk's expression, recollected himself. "A real shame, that. A terrible tragedy. She was a fine little lady."
The landing party shimmered, dissolved away from his ingratiating words.
Back on the Enterprise, Kirk shrugged off the unpleasant mirth of the man he had left below. He stood before his command chair facing a new opponent.
The dark eyes of the Klingon Commander Kreth flashed. "So, you are the famous Captain Kirk. With all due respect, Captain, you can tell your authorities at Starfleet Command that this time they have overstepped themselves."
"What the devil are you talking about?"
"We in the Klingon Empire are not fools, Captain, and we are not to be trifled with. We protect our rights, and those of our friends."
"Get to the point."
Kreth drew himself up and paused dramatically. "Kirk, we are now on good trading terms with the planet of Boaco Six. And there is every reason to believe that this will blossom into an even closer relationship." He smiled, to reveal a set of gleaming white teeth. "And so we were dismayed to learn of the completely unprovoked Federation attack on a Boaco Six vessel, and another vessel from that system. The galaxy is seeing the true colors of the Federation with the destruction of these two helpless spacecrafts."
Kirk's response was crude, to the point, and a word not usually employed in the language of diplomacy. His crew on the bridge suppressed a collective laugh.
Kreth's eyes narrowed. "You may say so. But we believe that the Enterprise was involved in the attack, that the small vessel that perpetrated it was launched from your hangar deck. And that same small vessel recently violated Klingon space. It is responsible for the death of several thousand people, and property damage equivalent to the sum required to build a small space station. This time, Kirk, you have gone too far!"
"I don't believe you," Kirk said mildly. "The damage that ship did couldn't have been on anywhere near so large a scale."
"Quite unlikely, Captain," Spock affirmed from his station.
"You will, of course, repay the financial debt," Kreth continued, "but how can you make restitution for your other crimes? Your vicious insinuation to the Boacan ministers that we destroyed their ship …"
"It was one possibility we looked into. But that wasn't the case, and we admit it. The attacking vessel is of Federation make …"
"Aha!"
"But not under Federation orders. It was commandeered by several gifted but disturbed children who escaped from a children's center in this quadrant, who are behaving insanely …"
Kreth snickered. "Pirate children, you say? A very colorful excuse, Kirk, very creative, but not very plausible. No. These are clearly Federation terrorists, and you can never repay or live down the murders they have committed, the breaches of interstellar law."
"It's rather surprising," Kirk commented, "to see you becoming so adamant about space demarcation lines being respected. Considering the fuss your empire has been making about the Romulans' right to expand their space and their neutral zone in any direction they please."
"There is a subtle distinction between the two situations, Kirk," Kreth flared. "I am not surprised it escapes you, but I call your attention to it. The Romulans have not demanded the right to unloose spies and marauders across their boundary lines!"
"Nor has the Federation," Kirk countered firmly. "And that is why we intend to intercept and retire this small ship. You see, we do believe that space demarcation lines, recognized the galaxy over, are there to be respected and reinforced."
"Your actions show you think nothing of the kind. You have overstepped yourselves, and must be taught the consequences of such foolishness," Kreth menaced. "You seem to be simply asking for war." His mouth savored the word. He spoke with passion, and his eyes shone fiercely. "But you have not maneuvered wisely, Kirk. All your enemies are joining together against you."
"The Federation of Planets seeks always to avoid war. And it would hardly be to your interest …"
"You might like to know, Kirk, that the Romulan and Klingon empires are on closer terms now than at any time in the past. We were equally dismayed, you see, to learn that you have armed this renegade spacecraft with some sort of new cloaking device. And it will be in both our interests to put an end to such violent … experimentation, shall we say, on the part of the Federation."
"The day the Klingons and the Romulans trust each other enough to form a working alliance will be the day the galaxy freezes over," Kirk said with scorn.
Kreth again pretended that he had not heard. "And, Captain, this is not the only friendship the Federation has cemented through its cruel and stupid acts." The Klingon visual transmission panned away from Kreth and revealed a figure standing beside his command chair. It was Iogan, the minister of public welfare from Boaco Six. There the boy was, making no attempt to hide the Klingon connection! Advertising it, rather than covering it up.
"You see, Captain Kirk," Iogan said, scowling, "Tamara Angel and I are sharing our duties, and jointly filling in for our lost comrade Irina. It is so very difficult to find a replacement."
"What are you doing on that ship, Iogan?" Kirk asked softly.
"The Federation has proven that it cannot be trusted."
"The Federation is your only hope of maintaining any control of that planet that you worked so hard to liberate."
"The Klingons have befriended the Council of Youngers …"
"I mean real control."
"Kirk," Kreth said, "you will confine your comments to the subject at hand and address them to me."
Kirk shook his head. "No. No, I'll address them to him, because he's still independent. You don't own him or his planet yet."
"This is not the time for Federation propaganda …"
"Take a good look around you," Kirk pressed on, directing his attention to the young minister. "Take a look at the ship you're on and how it runs. Take a good hard look at the Klingon Empire, at home and the far-flung planets that have come under its control. And ask yourself if that's the way that your planet should go. If the thousands who died in the struggle to liberate your world from the yoke of oppression, from rulers like Markor and Puil, if those thousands died to lead you to this." Kirk saw Iogan blanch. "A puppet Klingon regime. Like it? Think!" he urged. "Think of who you're doing business with."
Kreth stepped in front of Iogan. "Kirk," the Klingon snapped. "I remind you again, you are pushing the united forces of the Klingon and Romulan empires to the brink of war. You can, possibly, prevent this catastrophe by reimbursing us for the damage done, and extraditing these terrorists of yours to the Klingons for trial and punishment."
"When the children are caught," Kirk said, "they'll be dealt with by our authorities."
Kreth's toothy sneer returned. "Dealt with, you say? Well, I hardly think, in light of the crimes committed, that a spanking will be sufficient. Think about what I have said to you, Captain." He inclined his head, still sneering, and the transmission of his image ceased suddenly, replaced by a soothing sea of stars. Kirk sank back into his command chair.
"Doubtless, Captain, the Klingons are communicating the same challenging message as the one Kreth delivered to us to Starfleet Command," Spock commented.
"Mmm," Kirk said. "They intend to milk this situation with the children's ship for all it's worth. They must know it's not really a spy ship."
Ensign Michaels, again on duty by the door of the turbolift, breached decorum in his anxiety. "Excuse me, sir. Do you really think they're going to declare war?"
Kirk waved his arm vaguely. "Not likely. The incident wasn't large enough, and I don't think they'd go out on a limb for the Boacans. Of course, relations have been strained for months, and this doesn't help any. It's the new cloaking device that's really got them worried."
"Ironic," Spock remarked, "seeing as the cloaking system was designed to be a deterrent."
"Didn't work out that way," Kirk said. "But I don't think even fears about that are enough to start a Klingon-Romulan alliance. They trust each other as little as they trust us."
Then Kirk thought of Iogan, and what his presence on the Klingon ship meant. Suddenly, he felt very tired. Perhaps he'd let McCoy give him one of those rest injections after all.
"Mr. Spock," he said, heading for the turbolift, "the bridge is yours."