IT WAS A BAD FOOLIE on board the Sparrow. Pal had stopped talking long ago. He had spent days whimpering, and whispering to himself, his lips moving but no sound coming out, then had sat for hours immobile, expressionless, catatonic, while events unfolded. Jahn had ripped apart the closet where Pal liked to hide in the main cabin. The boy did not seem to wish to leave it for the other rooms aboard the small ship; he sat huddled in a corner, near Jahn and Rhea, floating in and out of awareness of those around him.
He had been a silent spectator to the commotion when they entered Klingon space; the Sparrow had destroyed a robot satellite and a small slave galley ship, while Rhea argued, screamed, pleaded, and was slammed across the room by Jahn, and then had cried and screamed at Pal, grabbing him by his thin shoulders and shaking him. She shook him and shook him and hugged him to her, keening, and Pal had stared off over her shoulder, emotionless, his eyes wide.
Pal had been the silent witness to the croonings, the whisperings, and the bickerings of Jahn and Rhea, when they argued about direction, and the use of the cloaking device. When they had kissed, pressed against each other, and Rhea pushed Jahn away and threw things at him as he moved toward her, hissing, "Bitch, tease … it's no foolie, Rhea. It's not a game anymore." And Rhea had screamed and screamed.
After that, Jahn and Rhea both seemed frightened of each other, and Rhea became subdued, like Pal, and avoided arguing with Jahn. She would sit by herself, brooding, in the Sparrow's other cabin, rarely leaving it to eat, or coax Pal to take some food. She did not protest when Jahn switched off the Flint device, letting the ship drift, fully visible, while he gloated over the amount of energy he was saving with no camouflage and no movement.
When the Klingon ship closed in and opened fire, Rhea came somewhat alive again; she dove for the console, restored invisibility, and plotted a course back the way they had come. There was something strange about the Grups who attacked them; their chatter over the radio was incomprehensible and harsh sounding, their ships of an odd and scary-looking design. The Grups she had known must be mad at them, but surely Jahn was wrong—they would not attack them. They were different from these Grups. She no longer wished to run away, she needed to talk to someone …
Jahn let her assess the damage done to the ship without interference. It took a while for the warp drive to go critical—they made it back to Federation space. There was nothing left to eat, and the food computer was shot, but Rhea no longer felt hungry. In quiet tones she conferred with Jahn about what repairs could be made, how long life support would last, stepping over Pal's limp form as he lay on the floor, gazing at the ceiling.
Jahn was lucid for hours at a time, then would suddenly fly off in a rage. A tantrum gripped him as sensors told him that the Enterprise was traveling near the Sparrow, groping through space for it, probing for it. He realized that there could not be another warp speed getaway.
Rhea's throat felt sandy and parched; the Klingon attack, in addition to poisoning the food system, had left all beverages undrinkable, even water. The life-support system was also damaged, the air was growing thin. Jahn would tease the starship by letting the Sparrow appear for moments at a time, as if taunting Grups from within the ruins of the Home World, once again. A snatch of sound, a glimpse, to remind the Grups of his quickness and power. Rhea felt herself hoping he would miscalculate, that the Grups would catch up with them … but then Jahn would reactivate the device, and its barrage of illusions would come back into play.
Several hours after conferring with his captain via the intercom, Spock stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge and reported success.
"Preparations are completed, Captain. We have had to divert a great deal of energy from other systems of the ship to meet our needs. But Mr. Scott has prepared the main hangar deck for the Sparrow to be transported aboard. And Mr. Flint and I have rigged the phaser banks so that they will expel fluorescent particles, in concentrated blasts, instead of phaser energy. If we hit the Sparrow with one of these blasts, the outline of the ship will be clear."
"Any chance that the fluorescence will hurt the children?"
"None at all, sir."
"Excellent, Mr. Spock." Kirk flipped the intercom switch on the arm of his chair. "Dr. McCoy, have a medical team report to the main hangar deck to see to the immediate needs of the children." He sat back in his chair. "And now," he said softly, "we'll just have to wait for the Sparrow to put in another appearance."
They did not have to wait long. After twelve tense minutes, Lieutenant Uhura leapt up and ripped the transmitter from her ear. "Captain! Loud crackling static … and yelling coming through one of my channels," she said.
"Let's hear it, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." She moved to her panel, her fingers flying. Radio static filled the bridge. Then yelling.
"You'll die, die, die, die, and Pal will die, I'll kill him, my orders …" Gasping, choking, punctuated the manic threats …"You can follow my orders or get out, ach, off of the ship." The voice became shrill. "And you out there, Grups, can you hear me? You trail me, you bastards, you're out to get me … but you can't see me, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, we'll die first, I'll kill them …"
Kirk jumped up. "Lieutenant! Is there any way we can communicate with them?"
Uhura shook her head, her long brown fingers gliding over her computer panel. "No, Captain. I can't even determine the point of transmission. It seems to be coming from two places at once."
"A mirage, caused by the Flint device," Spock said.
"Well, open a channel, Uhura, and aim it at both points of transmission. Send out a wide signal, one that would be easy for anyone in the area to pick up!" Kirk shouted over the crackling and the crazy threats. Listening carefully, he thought he could also hear someone crying.
"Channel open, sir."
"Listen to me," Kirk yelled. "You're in trouble. We're here to help you. If you can hear me, turn off the cloaking device, and let us transport you on board." But the only reply was silence and the hum of static. Kirk whispered softly, "Did they hear us?"
Rhea felt as though she were trapped inside a nightmare, inside some strange game. She had been pleading with Jahn for hours, softly, meekly, begging him to turn off the Flint device. "It doesn't matter now what they do with us, Jahn. It doesn't matter how much trouble we're in. We're just making it worse, the ship is losing power …"
"No!" Jahn screeched, to every plea and protest. "No, no, no, I'll die first. We'll all die. Before I'll let, the bastard, before the bright light, I'll make them, I'll crush, crush their skulls open, before, back on the planet, I'm sorry, I won't let them get me … I'm sorry, Miri … I didn't mean to hurt you … we'll die, die …"
She told him to think of Pal. He called her a traitor, asked her if she wanted to go back to the center. To which she had no answer. But she could not stay in this small room, with Pal's blank stare, and Jahn's screams and accusations. She would go mad.
When the calm, even Grup voice filled the cabin, Jahn froze. Rhea turned around sharply to listen to it. It was soothing, somehow familiar, an old Grup promise of rescue and guidance.
"The blond Grup," Rhea whispered through tears. "Miri's friend, the captain."
"He turned us in the first time," Jahn snarled. "He tricked Miri. Mr. Lovey Dovey."
"Turn off the cloaking device," the voice urged, powerfully, hypnotically, and Rhea moved slowly toward the console, where Jahn stood, white and trembling, beads of sweat on his face.
Rhea lunged around him suddenly. Her fingers closed on circuits, she glided a lever down toward her … and the device was off.
Just as cleanly and suddenly, Jahn's hand cut through the air and knocked her across the room. "Traitor," he cried, and turned to the console, to restore invisibility.
Rhea came thudding down against the wall where Pal sat quietly, still-rock, gazing at the wall's dull, cold metal, rubbing his hands back and forth across it, his mouth hanging open. Rhea reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Pal's wide, empty eyes. She stared past him at Jahn, and wondered if she'd done enough, long enough to make a difference.
It shot onto the viewscreen of the bridge like a flash of quicksilver … the image of a small Federation ship.
"The Sparrow!" Chekov exclaimed. "Less than seventy kilometers away."
As suddenly as it had come, the image of the Sparrow winked out. It was replaced with the usual readings of stars in the vicinity. Then, asteroid rubble appeared, spread across the area which the ship had occupied.
"This, too, is a mirage," Spock said firmly.
"Ignore it," Kirk ordered. "Plot the probable immediate heading of the Sparrow."
"Plotted, sir," Sulu yelled.
"Fire main phaser banks," Kirk commanded.
Sulu seemed to hesitate a fraction of a second, as if afraid that the phaser banks would fire as they normally did and rip the small craft apart. Then he complied. A concentrated stream of swirling pink and blue light shot out of the Enterprise, splashing and dispersing in the void of space. The light passed through the illusion of asteroid debris and continued disbanding into space. Suddenly, amid the asteroid rubble, a superimposed glowing image of the prow of a ship became apparent.
"We winged it!" Kirk said, pleased. "We got a piece of it."
Spock bent over his computer viewer at his science panel. "It will take a few moments for our banks of fluorescent particles to recharge."
"Captain," Chekov said, "there is a large Klingon wessel not far away, just inside the parameter of Klingon space."
"Waiting to come after the spoils, if we give up or fail," Kirk said grimly. "But we got here first. They're not getting these children."
The doors of the turbolift flew open and Flint entered the bridge. "Captain Kirk, I would be grateful for the chance to watch the final execution of the experiment from the bridge, if you will permit it."
Kirk gazed at him steadily. "Sir, we are honored to have you here."
Flint inclined his head. "I thank you. The fluorescent particles should by now be ready to be discharged for a second time."
"Confirmed," Spock said from his panel.
"Fire main phasers, then," Kirk ordered.
Another burst of pastel light issued forth from the starship, and seemed to gather and take shape in the vacuum of space. Now, through the translucent false image of the asteroids, the complete outline of a ship could be seen, shimmering and pulsing with light.
"Got it, sir! A direct hit," Chekov yelled, but his brow quickly clouded with consternation. "Captain. The Klingon ship is leaving Klingon space and moving toward us at warp five."
Kirk drank this news in, stunned. It spelled crisis, reckless aggression, an ultimatum … he switched the intercom so he had a direct tie-in with the main hangar deck. "Mr. Scott," he said tensely, "prepare to beam the Sparrow aboard."
"Captain," Scotty cried out, "I canna do it so quickly. To transport a ship of this size on board, I'll have to divert more power from other sources. I've got men working on it now. We couldn't do it earlier, when you needed power to fire the phasers."
"Hurry, Scotty," Kirk urged.
"Klingon ship approaching, decreasing its speed," Sulu reported.
Kirk beckoned his first officer toward him. "Spock. Do you think the Klingons could want an all-out confrontation? Galactic war?"
"Possibly, Captain. Their intent could be to provoke us and create an inflammatory incident. Or they may see what we're up to. They may only want the Sparrow."
"And if we let them have it," Kirk said slowly, "we might avert catastrophe."
"We must proceed with caution," Spock said, "at such a sensitive time. Rumors of a Klingon-Romulan alliance might have some truth to them. The Federation must not stumble into conflict against such a formidable coalition."
"I quite agree," Kirk said.
A storm of sputtering came from the area near the door of the turbolift. Once again, Ensign Michaels was breaking with protocol and regulations, and making his presence known. "You're going to let the Klingons take them? Let the Klingons saunter into our space and claim these mixed-up kids? You can't be serious, sir."
"Quiet, Ensign," Kirk said. "We're not giving away anything unless we have to." Under his breath he urged, "C'mon, Scotty. C'mon."
The intercom whistled. Scott's familiar brogue sounded confident. "We're ready now, Captain. Standing by to beam the Sparrow aboard …"
An ugly white beam shot out of the Klingon ship. It blasted into the graceful metal arch that lifted up the cylindrical top decks of the Enterprise. The bridge shook. It was a well-aimed shot. The neck of the ship was a technical nerve center; Kirk prayed that the damage was not severe. Reports of injuries began to flood Uhura's channels.
"Shields up!" Kirk barked hoarsely. "Drop everything, Mr. Scott. Divert all power back if you have to, but get those shields up!"
"Aye, sir."
"The answer to our question, Captain," Spock said, as he helped a shaken Flint rise to his feet. "They feel confident enough to risk an all-out war."
"Mr. Sulu," Kirk said quietly, "sound the red alert."
The insistent siren's wail pierced every deck, corridor, and corner of the Enterprise. And with it came her captain's voice. "Red alert. Red alert. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. I repeat. This is not a drill."