"THEY DID WHAT?" blurted Farquhar, standing at the other end of the doctor's office in sickbay.
McCoy scowled, hating the idea of having to spill the beans—though it didn't seem as if he had much of a choice. "They went back to the precinct."
"Back to the—" The ambassador sputtered. "By themselves?"
McCoy nodded reluctantly.
"Were they out of their minds?" Farquhar raved. "The last time we were in the precinct, we were almost killed." He held out his hands, as if he expected an explanation to drop into them. "What in blazes were they thinking?"
McCoy shrugged. "Probably that they'd be able to end this conflict sooner if they had some input from the Obirrhat side."
"Wait a minute," the ambassador said. "They went to meet with the Obirrhat? Just like that?"
"No, not just like that," the doctor told him. "They took some precautions first, of course."
"Precautions? What kind of precautions could keep them safe from a pack of bloodthirsty rebels?"
It sounded like Farquhar's objectivity was starting to slip, Bones noted. But then, getting stoned within an inch of his life will do that to a man.
"Precautions," he repeated. "Like some minor facial surgery to make them look like Malurians."
The ambassador looked at him, amazed. "You performed surgery on them?"
McCoy felt himself getting angry. "Damn it, it was the only way to give them a shot at finding Menikki and Omalas. I figured—"
"So it was your idea."
"Yes, it was my blasted idea. They needed to get close to the missing ministers. This was a way to do that."
There was silence for a moment. "But now you're worried," said Farquhar.
"You think Id be telling you all this if I weren't?" McCoy harrumphed. "They were supposed to have been back by now. Something's happened to them. I can feel it in my bones."
"And what would you have me do about it?" the ambassador asked, smiling suddenly. "Tell the council?"
The doctor nodded. "That's exactly right. The council may be the only hope they've got right now."
Farquhar looked at him as if he were crazy. "I meant that as a joke. If the council were to send a squad into the precinct right now, it might destroy what little chance for peace still exists."
"And if they don't," said McCoy, "the captain and Scotty may be goners."
The ambassador shook his head. "No. That's not how it works, Doctor. We can't risk the lives of thousands, maybe millions, to save a couple of foolhardy Starfleet adventurers."
Bones advanced on Farquhar. "Those foolhardy adventurers saved your bacon not so long ago," he rasped. "You can't just write them off like that!"
"I wasn't the one who told them to go back to the precinct," the ambassador shot back. "I wasn't the one who suggested they risk their lives!"
That stung. For a moment, the doctor thought he was going to slug the other man. Judging by the expression on Farquhar's face, he thought so too.
But in the end, McCoy didn't do any such thing. Because as much as he hated the idea, he knew that the ambassador was right.
"You win," he muttered, turning his back on Farquhar.
"I … win?" the ambassador repeated. He sounded incredulous.
"Yes, damn it. You win. We won't go to the council." He grunted helplessly. "We'll just keep our fingers crossed and hope that Jim and Scotty come out of this alive."
For a little while, neither man spoke. Finally, it was Farquhar who broke the silence. "Jim? You call your captain by his first name?"
The doctor looked back at him over his shoulder.
"Is there anything wrong with that?" he asked.
The ambassador shrugged. "No, nothing. It's just that …" He shrugged again. "I just didn't think it was done. Protocol and all that."
"You know," McCoy said, "there's more to life—and diplomacy—than protocol, Ambassador."
For the first time since they met, McCoy had the feeling that Farquhar was listening to him, really listening to him. Then the old stiffness came back into the man's spine and he tugged down on his tunic.
"I'm going to beam down alone," Farquhar told him. "If the ministers ask, I'll say that the captain and his people were required on the ship. To . . . to address some sort of technical problem."
"Fine." The doctor didn't care a whole lot what excuse the ambassador gave the council. He was too preoccupied with thinking of another way to help his friends.
"Dr. McCoy?"
"Mm?"
"I just want you to know that I'm concerned about them as well." He bit his lip. Captain Kirk and Mr. Scott are brave men. If there's any justice, they'll come back safe and sound."
Bones glanced at him, more than a little surprised.
"Thanks," he said.
Farquhar cleared his throat. "You're welcome." Then he turned and exited the doctor's office.
"What kind of trap are you making, Mr. Spock?" It was Garcia who'd asked.
The first officer replied succinctly. "An efficient one."
Under Spock's painstaking guidance, the disuptor's pale blue beam cut a precise and continuous path through the vein of foliated rock—not unlike shale or schist on Earth—that was part of the hillside. Fortunately, this form of mineral accretion was plentiful in this region.
The Vulcan tried to concentrate on his work and not to dwell too much on the number of Klingons he and the children had sighted in the last few hours. Obviously, the net was tightening around them; every moment they spent out here in the open was a flirtation with disaster.
The children, on the other hand, showed no sign of concern. They stood at a safe distance and looked on, their faces dyed a pale blue by the glare of the disruptor beam.
It would not do, he realized, to let them see apprehension either in his expression or in the curtness of his answers. They took their cue from him, and panic was the last thing they needed.
Far better, under the circumstances, to let them in on what he was doing step by step, as if he were a teacher, and they his students. Yes, he thought. That is the approach I must take.
Unfortunately, while he often held informal seminars on various subjects for new additions to the science section, the first officer had no experience with a group this young. He could only hope that his illustrations were understandable to them.
"On Vulcan," he explained, "there is a predator called a le-matya. It lives in the hills. But in times of drought, when its natural prey becomes sparse, it grows bold and comes down to the plains to forage. Then traps must be set, or the le-matya will steal even household pets."
Pfeffer looked up at him. "You mean like dogs and cats? To eat them?"
Medford made a face. Obviously, the idea didn't appeal to her.
"Not dogs and cats," said Spock. "But their Vulcan equivalents. And yes—to eat them. That is how le-matyas live—by hunting for their food."
As the first officer continued to cut his way through the rock, finding the disruptor only slightly more awkward than a phaser, he recognized the smell of ozone—the same smell he'd encountered on Earth during summer storms. Interesting, he mused, despite all the other matters he had on his mind. The disruption process had some similarities to the application of simple static electricity.
The most important result, however, was that it worked. He would be finished in a matter of moments.
"Of course," he resumed, "on Vulcan, we have access to dead tree branches and leaves. Here we must be somewhat more innovative."
He turned momentarily from his labors to look again at his audience. The children were still watching with great interest.
Finally completing his task, he removed his finger from the weapon's firing pad. Instantly, the disruption barrage stopped.
Now came the difficult part, he thought, the part that required some finesse. He would have to separate the various laminate leaves of which the rock was constructed—originally, disparate materials that had been deposited by whatever forces shaped this planet millennia ago.
Kneeling, he sighted the disruptor along the fault lines of the top layer and the one directly beneath it. Then he depressed the firing pad again.
"When I am done," he announced, "you will be able to pick up the pieces. That is how light they will be."
The beam lanced out and sliced the leaves apart, starting with the left-hand edge and working its way to the right. A few seconds later, the top laminate was free.
Terminating the beam, Spock stepped back to judge his handiwork. By that time, the children had already begun to approach the rock for a closer look.
Pfeffer looked up at the Vulcan. "Can we touch it? Is it hot?"
"You may indeed touch it," Spock assured him. "You may even lift it up."
The boy's eyes lit up with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Taking the edge of the laminate in his hands, he pulled at it experimentally.
It moved easily. More easily, in fact, than even the Vulcan had expected. Encouraged, Pfeffer pulled it off the rest of the rock.
"Careful," Spock warned. "It is brittle. And we do not want it to break. Not yet, at any rate. Ms. Medford, would you give Mr. Pfeffer some assistance?"
Complying eagerly, Medford picked up the other end of the leaf. Together, she and the red-haired boy carried it down to the strip of level ground at the convergence of this hillside and the next.
"Can I help carry the next one?" Wan asked.
"I see no reason why not," Spock replied. "For now, however, you must stand back again."
Wan, David, and Garcia did as they were told. Once they were safely out of the way, the Vulcan applied his disruptor beam to the separation of the next two leaves.
This time they didn't come apart as easily or as neatly as he'd wanted them to. But there was enough of the top layer left intact to serve their purpose. Wan and Garcia teamed up to carry it.
Only one more laminate was required. With great care, he went to work again, and this cut was the cleanest of all. Allowing the beam to lapse and activating the safety mechanism, he placed the disruptor back in his shoulder pouch.
And none too soon. The sun was dropping quickly in the west; soon it would be too dark to use the weapon without drawing a great deal of attention to themselves.
David looked up at him. Everyone else was at the bottom of the hill.
"Want a hand?" the boy offered, though not quite with the eagerness of the others.
"Please," Spock answered.
Together, they lifted the sheet of rock and brought it down to where the others were waiting for them. As the children watched, still hardly believing one could take apart a rock as if it were a sandwich, they set the laminate down near the others.
The Vulcan scanned the uneven terrain in all directions, to make sure there were no Klingons approaching. Then he turned his attention to the pit. It was a man's height in diameter and twice as deep, excavated only minutes earlier by the force of the borrowed disruptor. Using his eye to judge the proper measurement, Spock took the Klingon weapon out again and cut a slot in the hole.
"What's that for?" asked Garcia.
"The idea," the first officer told him, "is to take one of these leaves we've carried here and place the bottom edge of it in the slot, then lean the other edge up against the side of the pit. The second leaf will rest on the first at a more or less perpendicular angle, and the third will rest on the second in much the same way."
Like a house of cards," observed Medford. Spock was familiar with the analogy. "Yes. We will subsequently cover the topmost sheet with loose dirt and pack it. With a little care, it will look like part of the path and nothing more."
"I get it," said Wan. "When someone steps on it, he falls in."
The Vulcan nodded. "If all goes according to plan, the brittle top sheet of rock will give way, followed by the one below it and the one below that, until our passerby finds himself at the bottom of the hole."
"Just like the animal you were talking about," said Pfeffer. "The … le-matya?"
"Correct. Just like a le-matya that comes hunting too close to a Vulcan family estate."
"Mr. Spock?" asked Wan.
"Yes, Ms. Wan?"
"Why couldn't you just shoot the Klingons with your disruptor? I mean, you're so good at sneaking up on them and everything …"
Spock shook his head. "I may be able to do that to one Klingon, or two," he said. "But such tactics have limited utility. Eventually, I would be detected in the act, surrounded, and destroyed. This way, we may accomplish the same purpose with a much more limited exposure to danger."
"I knew that," claimed Pfeffer. "What a stupid question."
The Vulcan regarded him. "There is no such thing as a stupid question, Mister Pfeffer. Particularly when one is as young as Ms. Wan—or yourself."
Pfeffer looked cowed. "Sorry," he muttered.
"No apology is necessary, at least not to me." He turned back to the girl. "In any case, Ms. Wan, we may change our tactics if we can obtain additional disruptors. But for the time being, we must resort to more circumspect methods."
Wan nodded. "I understand," she told him.
It was gratifying to know that, especially in view of what he had in mind for her when the sun came up again. "Now," said Spock, taking in the rest of the children at a glance, "I would appreciate some help from all of you. We must cover this hole while we still have the light."
For a long time, there was darkness, peaceful and unbroken. Then a harsh whisper: "Captain, wake up."
Even before he threw off the last heavy tatters of his dreamless stupor, he recognized the voice. It was Scotty's. Good old Scotty. Always reliable, always there when you needed him.
As Kirk opened his eyes and turned to follow the voice to its source, he had already begun to put together the features that went with it: the round, light-complected face, the dark brows, the warm, brown eyes full of intelligence and good cheer. He wasn't prepared for the deep-set, silver orbs that peered at him out of a leathery visage as black as any void he'd ever seen.
In fact, he would have jumped to his feet if he'd been able to. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option because of the thick, coarse ropes binding his hands and feet.
"Damn," he breathed out loud, trying desperately to figure out how a Malurian had managed to steal his friend's voice. Then he remembered.
He knew where he was, and how Scotty's words could be coming from a Malurian mouth, and why they were tied up. And though it calmed him to think he hadn't lost his mind, it was hardly pleasant to realize they were in the hands of a rebel faction that had already demonstrated a penchant for violence.
Scotty's pale, almost luminous eyes narrowed in their prosthetic-sockets. "Sir, are ye all right? For a minute, I thought they'd brained ye altogether."
The captain managed a smile. "No. I've still got my wits. Or most of them, anyway."
"They've taken our communicators," Scotty said.
Kirk nodded. Their captors had been thorough.
He turned from Scotty to survey their surroundings.
They were in a small chamber with a single window, which let in a gray shaft of light not far from where they were sitting. The door was set into the far wall. Kirk was reasonably certain it was locked and probably well guarded into the bargain. In fact, he thought he heard voices on the other side of it.
He tested his bonds. They'd been tied by an expert. And there was nothing in the room sharp enough to cut them with.
Not that these were obstacles he couldn't get past. There was always a way out, if one thought about it.
In this case, for instance, the window offered two advantages. If they smashed it, they'd have all the sharp edges they needed to sever their bonds. And the opening looked big enough for them to wriggle through.
Of course, with their ankles bound the way they were, they'd have no choice but to hop over there. An awkward process, to be sure, but one they could have put up with. That is, if escape had been their top priority, which it wasn't. They hadn't come all this way to go home empty-handed. Their purpose was to establish a dialogue with the Obirrhat. And the best way to do that was to stay put.
"With all that paraphernalia on yer face, it's hard fer me t' tell what ye're thinkin'," Scotty observed.
"What I'm thinking," the captain told him, "is that, contrary to appearances, we may be in a pretty good position. If we can convince our—"
He was interrupted by the creaking of the door as it pushed open. A moment later, a trio of Obirrhat entered the room.
None of them looked particularly well disposed toward their prisoners. And two of the three carried phasers in a way that suggested they had no qualms about using them.
"I see you're awake," noted the unarmed Obirrhat. And then, to his companions: "Get them on their feet."
The phaser bearers did as they were told. Each of them took an arm and hauled a prisoner up off the floor.
It was rough treatment, but Kirk offered no resistance. This was one of those times when his mouth would help him more than his muscles.
"Damned Manteil spies," the unarmed Obirrhat spat. "Did you really think you would fool us with your story about coming from Torril?" He took a step forward. "Now, I want to know two things. Who sent you? And for what purpose?"
The captain grunted. "Before we get into all that, I should tell you we're not what we seem to be."
Their captor's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"We're aliens," Scotty explained. "Members of the Federation diplomatic team assigned to help end your conflict with the Manteil."
"Aliens?" the Obirrhat echoed. "How can that be?"
"I know," Kirk said. "It's hard to believe. But it's the truth." He raised his hands to his face and touched his cheek. "This is all the product of prosthetics and subdermal dyes. Underneath it all, we're human."
"I see," the Obirrhat remarked, though he sounded skeptical, to say the least. "And I suppose there's a way to prove what you say?"
The captain nodded. "You could open my shirt. The disguise only covers our faces and hands."
Still looking suspicious, the man gestured to one of his companions. "Do as he says, Zaabit."
The one called Zaabit tucked his phaser into his belt—behind him, so that the prisoner couldn't grab it while they were at close quarters—and began unfastening the front of Kirk's tunic. After a moment, he gasped.
"What is it?" asked the Obirrhat in charge.
"He wasn't lying," Zaabit replied, turning to face his comrade. In his surprise, he'd presented his back to the captain, giving him a golden opportunity to grab the phaser. But under the circumstances, Kirk refrained.
The leader seemed to look at the prisoners in a new light. "So you really are the offworlders," he said. "We really are," the captain confirmed. "And we didn't come to the sacred precinct to spy on you. We came to find your leaders, Menikki and Omalas. The former ministers. We wanted to talk with them."
Their captor's face twitched. "What about?"
"We need to hear their side of the story," Kirk explained. "If there's a way out of this conflict, we're not going to find it dealing with the Manteil alone."
The Obirrhat digested the information. "I am sorry to disappoint you," he said at last, "but Menikki and Omalas are not here. And even if they were, they would not waste their time speaking with you."
"Waste their time!" Scotty blurted, his indignation rising to the surface. Even with a Malurian cast to them, his eyes seemed to blaze.
"That is correct," the Obirrhat told him, cutting him off. "For that is what it would be—a complete and utter waste of time. There is no possibility of reconciliation with the Manteil. They are obsessed with those damned cubaya."
"Perhaps," the captain suggested, "we should let Menikki and Omalas make that decision for themselves. After all, we represent an objective third party in the—"
"Enough," their captor announced. "I do not need an offworlder to tell me what is best for my people."
There was something about the way he said the last phrase—"my people"—that gave Kirk pause.
"You're one of the ministers," he said.
The Obirrhat nodded. "I am Menikki. So you see, I am an expert on the Manteil, particularly those on the council. And when I say I do not believe your intervention will accomplish anything, I know whereof I speak."
"'With all due respect," Scotty said, "ye've nae even tried it. If ye'd only come back to the negotiation table—"
"Why?" the minister asked him. "So I can be told yet again that our sacred places are meaningless, that they are somehow less important than a herd of dirty beasts? So I can be humiliated by men who can't see beyond their own absurd beliefs?"
"All right then," the captain interjected. "Stay here and do what you have to. But give us a better idea of what your needs are so we can try to formulate a solution on our own."
Menikki snorted. "You mean provide an education for you? And then send you back to the Manteil?"
Kirk nodded. "Something like that. We just need more to go on. All the information we've heard so far has been supplied by the council. And as you know, that's a pretty one-sided situation these days."
The minister shook his head. He looked incredubous. "Is it possible you really believe we will let you go?"
The captain frowned. This was definitely not a positive development.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Menikki's face twitched—a sign of regret? "I mean we cannot let you live. Not after you have seen our hiding place."
Kirk's mouth went dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scotty turn to look at him.
"That wouldn't be very intelligent," the captain argued. "You may have taken our communicators, but my people know we're in the precinct. If we're gone too long, they'll tell Traphid."
"We do not fear Traphid," the minister told him.
"That's foolish," Kirk said. "The Manteil could come in here and crush you anytime they want to. You know that. And our deaths will only make them want to do so that much sooner."
Menikki shrugged. He turned to the armed Obirrhat standing on either side of the captain and Scotty.
"Dispose of them," the minister instructed.
His comrades raised their phasers. And Kirk had no doubt about the level of destruction the weapons were set for.
So much for my mouth, he thought. It's time to try the alternative.
Before the Obirrhat beside him could, press the trigger, the captain lashed out with his bound-together hands and knocked the weapon aside. Then, allowing the surprised Obirrhat no time to recover, he reversed directions and belted him across the mouth.
The Obirrhat staggered backward, his weapon clattering to the floor. Kirk lunged for it, but bound as he was, he didn't quite make it. As he hit the deck, bruising his ribs in the process, he found the device just inches beyond his outstretched hands.
By then, however, the Obirrhat had taken in the situation and was reaching for the weapon as well. Desperately, the captain gathered his knees underneath him and propelled himself forward again.
This time, he made it. His fingers closed on the device just in time for him to whirl and point it at his antagonist.
Finding himself on the wrong end of the weapon, the Obirrhat withdrew his hands and backed off.
Only then did Kirk dare to glance in Scotty's direction. As it turned out, the engineer hadn't fared quite as well as his captain. He'd trapped his captor's head in a vicious-looking leglock and, though the Obirrhat didn't have possession of his weapon, neither did Scotty. It was lying on the floor, just beyond their awkward attempts to reach it.
As Kirk watched, Menikki started for the unclaimed device. The captain fired a bright red warning shot, which scarred the floor between the minister and his objective. Menikki looked up at him, eyes wide.
"If I were you," the captain said, "I'd back off." He turned again to his own adversary, before the man could get any ideas. "I mean all of you."
With a sigh of relief, Scotty relaxed his legs and let his opponent's head slip out. "Damn," he said, "I'm glad I didnae have t' keep that up much longer."
As the Obirrhat retreated, giving the remaining weapon a wide berth, Scotty wriggled over and took charge of it. Then he pushed himself up to a kneeling position and glanced back at Kirk.
"I can cover them, sir, while ye make yerself a wee bit more comfortable."
Indeed, the Obirrhat looked stunned. Obviously, they hadn't had much experience at this sort of thing.
The captain nodded. "Thank you," he told Scotty. Creeping over to the wall, he sat up and rested his back against it. Then, digging in with his heels, he shimmied up the vertical surface into a standing position.
"All right," he said, training his weapon on their captors. "Your turn, Mr. Scott."
A few moments later, the engineer had pushed himself to his feet as well. He turned to Kirk, probably trying to smile beneath his prosthesis. "Nice work, sir."
"Likewise." Turning to the Obirrhat, he said: "And now, I'd like to try a somewhat different approach."
"So would I," said a voice from beyond the open doorway. And barely an instant later, a hunched and elderly figure came through.
Menikki cursed, then interposed himself between the newcomer and the humans. "Do not hurt him," he pleaded. "He presents no danger to you."
"We're not going to hurt anybody," Kirk assured them. "Not if we can help it."
"It is all right, Menikki," said his fellow minister. "I believe him."
Menikki frowned. "You are too trusting, Omalas."
The older Obirrhat shrugged. "Perhaps. Or maybe you are not trusting enough."
Taking advantage of the distraction, Scotty aimed his phaser at the ropes that bound his ankles. It took the dark red beam only a moment to slice through.
Not a bad idea, Kirk mused, and did the same for his own bonds.
"That was unnecessary," Omalas said. "We could have untied your ropes."
The captain grunted. "It didn't seem the matter was entirely up to you."
The Obirrhat looked amused; the corners of his eyes crinkled as he regarded his fellow minister. "Menikki is hotheaded sometimes," he replied. "But he usually follows my lead."
The younger man shook his head. "Not this time, Omalas. There is too much at stake here—not only our lives and those of our people but the success of the whole revolt. Without you and me, who will lead it?"
Omalas pointed to the Starfleet officers. "This man has offered us a way to settle our dispute without further bloodshed. Is that not worth taking a few chances for?"
Menikki harrumphed. "It is a false hope they offer us, even if they themselves believe otherwise. The Manteil are as stubborn as bedrock. You know that as well as I do."
"It may be," Omalas countered, "that the Manteil say the same thing about us." He looked at Kirk for confirmation. "True?"
The captain tried to smile, but the prosthetics wouldn't allow him. "I'm afraid so," he said, nodding.
The older Obirrhat eyed him. "And even with two such intransigent combatants, you believe you can forge a lasting peace?"
Kirk nodded. "We've done it before."
Omalas seemed satisfied. "Very well, then. I will not come out of hiding to meet with Traphid and the others; we may not meet with the kind of welcome you anticipate. But I will see to it that you have whatever information you need to do your job."
Menikki made a hissing sound. Apparently, he still had some reservations about letting the offworlders live.
"Thank you," the captain told Omalas, ignoring the younger minister's reaction.
"In the meantime, though, you must return our phasers. I fear that the rest of our comrades, who await me just down the hall, would misunderstand if they saw you with a weapon in your hands."
Kirk hesitated. Could the Obirrhat be trusted?
Then again, did they have a choice in the matter?
"Come, my friend," said Omalas. "You've asked me to rely on your word. You must rely on mine."
Reluctantly, the captain placed the phaser in the Obirrhat's hand. Muttering a curse beneath his breath, Scotty followed suit.
"Excellent," said the Obirrhat, restoring the phasers to their proper owners. "Now come with me," he told the humans, "and I'll have someone remove the rest of your ropes. Then we can talk all you like."