"ARE YOU CERTAIN? Vheled asked.
Gidris nodded. "Quite certain. Of course, Mallot has only had a day to examine all the research data—hardly sufficient time. But it is fairly obvious, even to a neophyte, that the facility's central unit—the device that makes possible accelerated plant growth—is missing."
Vheled grunted. "Then one of the colonists must be missing as well."
His first officer looked perturbed. "There is no one missing," he reported. "In fact, we have rounded up one individual too many."
The captain of the Kad'nra leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk before him, the desk that had so recently belonged to one of the colonists, until Vheled had commandeered that person's dome and made it his headquarters. "Too many?" he echoed. "How is that possible?"
Gidris scowled. "I cannot say for sure. But I suspect his age was a factor. He is twelve years old."
"Too young, perhaps, to be listed as an official member of the colony?"
"That is my guess," Gidris agreed. "Particularly because he is the only nonadult in the colony."
Vheled thought about it. "The Federation maintains lists of all its equipment components … why not an individual, no matter how young he is?" He shook his head. "There must be another explanation."
His first officer searched for an answer. "Computer input error?" he ventured.
The captain made a sound of disgust. "Speculation is a waste of time, Gidris. Bring me the boy. Maybe he can tell us himself."
"Damn," Kirk muttered.
"Ye can say that again," Scotty joined in. "I've never seen such a herd."
"The cubaya here are most numerous," their Manteil guide agreed, not without note of pride in his voice.
"No," said McCoy, "The stars are numerous. These critters are legion."
A huge, blue-green valley spread out before them, one of a series of valleys that seemed to stretch to the horizon. In the valley was a broad river, sparkling in the bronze light of Alpha Maluria. And in the river, crowding it from bank to bank, both upstream and down as far as the eye could see, were the cubaya, the beasts at the center of this world's religious conflict.
There were five of them there on the ridge: the three Enterprise officers, Ambassador Farquhar, and their guide. All of them were mounted on fleiar—tall, spindle-legged creatures with long, droopy ears and doglike snouts. The fleiar were well-trained; they stood almost completely still, despite the stiff, swirling winds that drove the ground cover in gentle waves.
The cubaya, by contrast, seemed fat and clumsy as they breasted the river current, their migrational imperative aiming them straight for the mother city. From Kirk's vantage point, they looked like small walruses with short, muscular legs instead of flippers. Their coats ranged from a russet color to a very dark brown.
Not a very attractive animal, at least not to the captain's eye. But then, it wasn't the beasts' beauty that commended them to the Manteil. It was their spiritual significance.
"Would you care for a closer look?" asked the guide.
"Absolutely," the ambassador replied. "Please, lead the way."
The Manteil, whose name was Ebahn, urged his mount down the slope. Farquhar made sure he was the next to fall in line, though he looked stiff and more than a little awkward trying to maintain his balance.
As Kirk and his officers prepared to follow, McCoy cast the captain a look. "Who does he think he's impressing?" the doctor muttered.
Kirk grunted. Fortunately, the ambassador's one-upmanship games bothered him somewhat less than they did McCoy. With a flick of the reins that the Malurians employed to guide their mounts, not unlike those used on horses back on Earth, he encouraged his animal to follow Farquhar's.
As they descended the slope, the wind shifted and they were surrounded by a less than pleasant odor—something like a chicken egg left too long in the sun. Nor was it difficult to track down the source.
The cubaya, the captain guessed. It had to be. They not only looked ugly, they smelled ugly. Some of the nearest cubaya looked up at them, as if they'd heard Kirk's mental assessment and taken offense. However, they didn't seem the least bit daunted by the intrusion.
Ebahn called back over his shoulder: "Do not worry about getting too close. They are used to seeing riders around." He pointed upstream, where the captain could barely make out a pair of Malurians mounted as they were. "We have men and women patrolling for predators along various stretches of the river."
"I see," the ambassador replied. "That's very interesting."
McCoy groaned—too softly for Farquhar to notice, though Kirk was close enough to hear it distinctly. What's more, Bones had a point—the ambassador was laying it on a little thick. But then, Farquhar wasn't the first diplomat who'd been polishing apples so long he found it hard to know when to stop.
"Actually," their guide went on, "the predators themselves are not the biggest danger. At least, not in the way you may think." He pointed to the grassy ground cover, bent flat now under a sudden gust. "It is the wind, which carries the predators' scent. The cubaya may look lethargic now. But if they should catch the smell of a gettrex, you will find them most active." He made a fluttering sound with his tongue—the equivalent of a sigh, the captain guessed. "If we did not provide protection for the herd, as our fathers did before us, more cubaya would die in stampedes than in the jaws of the gettrexin."
Scotty, who'd been quiet for the most part, shot the captain a glance. "Begging your pardon, sir, but doesn't that give us a solution to the problem?"
Kirk started to ask the engineer what he meant. But before he could get a whole word out, he stopped himself.
Scotty smiled. "Ye see what I mean, Captain?"
Kirk nodded. "Indeed I do."
Farquhar wheeled his fleiar around and approached them. "Is this something I ought to know about?" he asked.
"Absolutely," the captain told him. "Mr. Scott here may have come up with an answer—a way to satisfy both the Manteil and the Obirrhat."
"And that is?" the ambassador prodded.
Scotty told him.
Farquhar frowned.
"Well?" McCoy said.
The ambassador nodded sagely. "It might work. I'll send word to the Council to expect us."
"Your name?"
The human child swallowed. Vheled recognized it as a sign of fear.
"Timothy Riordan," he said.
The captain of the Kad'nra looked to his first officer. "There are two Riordans listed in the colony personnel file," said Gidris. "One is Martin, the other Dana."
Vheled fixed his gaze on the boy. The swallowing became more pronounced.
"How is it," he asked, "that you are not listed with the others?"
Timothy Riordan—if that was truly his name—shook his head. "I don't know," he said.
Vheled exchanged glances with his second-in-command Gidris, it seemed, was of the opinion the boy was lying. The captain wasn't so sure.
"The truth," Gidris urged, placing his hand on Timothy Riordan's shoulder. "Or I will see to it that you suffer."
The boy's eyes grew red and wet as they looked up at the Klingon. His nose stated to run.
It was amazing how easily human children could be broken. Vheled had heard it in the accounts of other captains who'd had dealings with Federation colonies, but he hadn't believed it. And now that he saw it with his own eyes, he felt his gorge rise. Suddenly he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
"Come," he told the boy. "You are hiding something. What is it?"
Timothy Riordan sobbed. "I told them to come back," he said.
Vheled leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees and his face was mere inches from the human's. "Who? You told who to come back?"
The boy caught a ragged breath. "David. And the others." He looked up, eyes wide with fright. "I told them, but they wouldn't listen."
Gidris tightened his grip on Timothy Riordan's shoulder. "The one you call David—and teethe others. Who are they?"
"They're kids. Like me."
"And they took the G-Seven unit?"
Suddenly the boy looked confused. "G-Seven?" he repeated. He shook his head. "No. The G-Seen unit is in the laboratory dome."
Vheled's first officer snarled. "Do you mean to tell me you don't know what happened to the unit? Before you answer remember—your life depends on what you say to us."
Timothy Riordan looked from one to the other of them, sobbing again. "I don't know anything about the G-Seven—I swear it." And then: "Pl-please don't hurt me. Please."
The captain was caught between anger and revulsion. "Enough, Gidris. More than enough. He dismissed the human child with a backhanded gesture. "I cannot watch this display of cowardice any longer."
Timothy Riordan turned a bright shade of red. Stung by my words? the Klingon wondered. Maybe now he will show some courage.
But nothing happened. The boy just looked away.
That, Vheled thought, was why the Federation would ultimately have to yield to the empire. The humans and their allies were weak. They didn't have the stomachs for confrontation, while Klingons thrived on it.
"Take him away, I said."
Obediently, Gidris dragged the boy out of his chair and flung him in the direction of the door. Timothy Riordan stumbled, recovering only long enough to shoot Vheled a miserable and frightened glance. Then Gidris shoved him out of the dome altogether, leaving the captain alone with his thoughts.
The Klingon shook his head. If one of his sons had turned out like the human child, he would have died long ago—at his father's hands.
Pushing his revulsion to one side, he asked himself what his next step should be. There was only one answer.
Despite Timothy Riordan's protestations, the other human children—who had also failed to show up in the computer files, apparently—must have taken the G-7 device. And if that were so, they had to be found.
As before, Traphid and his colleagues were waiting for them. This time, however, Kirk and his party didn't transport into the hexagonal hall. They simply walked in, albeit past a squad of security personnel.
Again, there was the exchange of gestures, carried on symbolically for both groups by Traphid and Farquhar. The first minister seemed a bit more impatient than the last time the captain had seen him; so did the other Malurians.
"Matters have taken a turn for the worse," Kirk guessed.
Traphid looked at him. "You are perceptive, Captain. As the cubaya approach the mother city, the rioting is spreading to other cities across our world. We restore order in one place only to find the Obirrhat have created chaos in two others." His face twitched; if anything, it was even more pronounced than before. "The casualties are mounting. The Obirrhat are very stubborn."
And they're not the only ones, Kirk thought. But he kept his opinions to himself.
"I'm sorry to hear that," the ambassador remarked, reminding his companions of who was in charge here. "But we may have found a way to resolve your dispute."
"So I understand," the first minister replied. "Please, present your solution."
For a moment, the captain thought Farquhar might turn the conversation over to Scotty, or at least credit the man for having had the idea in the first place. As it turned out, he had no intention of doing either.
"It seems," the ambassador began, "that we must dissuade the cubaya from treading on the sacred ground of the Obirrhat—and by some means other than physical force. You agree?"
Traphid thought for a moment. "In principle, yes. As long as you understand that it is not only force per se that we object to, but in general anything that may displace the cubaya against its wishes."
"Understood," Farquhar told him. "Now, we understand the cubaya have a strong negative reaction to predator scents," the ambassador began. "In short, they run from them."
"True," Traphid confirmed.
"If this is the case, why not domesticate one or two of these predators and leave them in the vicinity of the sacred monuments?" Farquhar smiled ingratiatingly. "This way, the cubaya will not be harmed, but they will be encouraged to stay away—in keeping with the Obirrhat's needs."
McCoy and Scotty stood on either side of Kirk. He darted a glance at each of them in turn. As long as he was in charge here, no one was going to be grimacing at Farquhar's approach, no matter how sickly sweet it was.
The ministers looked at one another. For a moment or two, they conferred in subdued tones. Then they regarded the ambassador again.
"It is unacceptable," Traphid told him.
Farquhar's smile faded. "Unacceptable?" he echoed. "Please explain."
The first minister shrugged. "The Obirrhat will reject the, intrusion of the gettrexin in their sacred areas as strongly as they reject the presence of the cubaya. One form of beast is like another to them, in that regard."
The ambassador's mouth was open. He closed it, then darted a sidelong glance at Scotty, as if to say: I did my best, but it wasn't a very good idea to begin with really.
The engineer's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Kirk admired the man's restraint. In Scotty's position, he might not have been so tightlipped.
Of course, McCoy wasn't as willing as Farquhar to throw in the towel. "Wait a minute," he said, "let's think about this a little. If we can't use real animals, then how about just their scents? We can extract them without causing the gettrexin any pain and—"
Traphid held up his hand. "That would be just as unacceptable to the Obirrhat. Any evidence of a gettrex, even just its scent, constitutes a desecration of their sacred ground."
But the doctor still had some fight left in him. "All right," he said. "Neither beasts nor their scents. Then how about a chemical compound—one that smells like the gettrexin but is created in a laboratory? It would have the same effect on the cubaya as the real thing, but being artificial, it shouldn't put the Obirrhat's noses out of joint."
"Real or artificial," the first minister responded, "it would smell like a gettrex. And the Obirrhat would reject the idea."
McCoy scowled. He was really digging now, Kirk thought. "What if the compound emulates a beast this world has never heard of? Say, a Terran wolverine? Or an Aldebaran kirgis? They'd probably have the same effect on the cubaya."
Traphid shook his head. "I am afraid not. You must understand, Doctor, the Obirrhat are simply not a reasonable people." A pause. "I do not envy you your task."
McCoy cursed under his breath. "Seems to me there's an answer there somewhere, if we can only dig it out."
Scotty patted him on the back. "Whether that's so or not, Doctor, ye gave it a good try."
"But not good enough," Farquhar reminded them. He turned to the Malurians. "I apologize, on behalf of all of us. Next time, we won't waste your time with such a flimsy suggestion."
"Flimsy?" Scotty muttered. "Of all the—"
A look from the captain stopped him in mid-invective.
"Ambassador," Traphid said, "you need not worry about making demands on our time. We do not expect you to solve this problem on your own, after all. We anticipated all along that it would require our cooperation."
Farquhar placed his index and middle fingers in the vicinity of his temples. "As you wish, First Minister."
This time, when McCoy looked at him, Kirk looked back. It was one thing to show respect, even deference. But to grovel? Especially when the Malurians seemed less than receptive to it?
He wasn't one to tell someone else how to do his job. But if he were in the ambassador's place, he'd be handling things a bit differently.
* * *
"You see, Captain?" said Kruge, who was standing in the humans' garden enclosure. Vheled, who was kneeling, didn't immediately look up at his second officer. He was too busy stroking the long, dark petals of one of the fireblossoms Kruge had pointed out to him.
"And where did the humans say these came from?" the captain asked.
Fortunately, Kruge had asked that question and made sure he got an answer. "The wreck of the Ul'lud."
Absorbing the information, Vheled nodded. "The Ul'lud—under Captain Amagh. An effete, Kamorh'dag cultivator of flowers." He grunted. "Yes. That has the ring of truth to it."
He remained there for a moment, kneeling. Kruge wondered what was going through his superior's mind.
Then Vheled spoke again. "Do you understand what they were doing, Kruge, when we interrupted them? Removing the dying specimens from around the fireblossoms so they could plant these others in their place. These lesser organisms"—he held up one sorry example so Kruge could see—"could not stand up to the presence of a Klingon life form. Just as the colonists cannot stand up to us." He shook his head. "The Federation is so weak as to make even the Kamorh'dag seem strong by comparison."
Kruge nodded. The captain was a wise man. If he himself was to be a captain someday, he would do well to listen carefully to Vheled.
Suddenly, he turned and saw Gidris standing in the entranceway. There were two others with him, Loutek and Aoras. A moment later, the captain turned, too.
"You have something for me, Gidris?"
The second-in-command didn't seem pleased to see Vheled and Kruge together, but he managed to submerge his apprehension. "Indeed, Captain. Terrik has completed his sensor scan."
"And?"
"It seems. Timothy Riordan was not the only human the computer failed to mention. The sensors have detected five others, huddled together in the hills north of this place. And, sir, all of them are children."
Vheled mulled it over for a moment. He smiled. "Then the Riordan whelp was speaking the truth—at least insofar as there having been other children with him. I am still not certain he knew nothing about the theft of the device. In any case, whether he was aware of it or not, these others must have the G-Seven unit—or at least know where it is."
Gidris nodded. "It would appear so."
Abruptly, Kruge had a thought. He turned to his captain. "My lord?"
Vheled's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
Kruge lifted his chin, proud of himself. "The humans appear to have gone to a great deal of trouble to see that we do not gain access to this device. Perhaps this technology—what do they call it? Terraforming?—is not as benign as it seems."
The first officer's brow writhed with curiosity, but it wasn't in his interest to show anything but disdain. "What does that mean, second officer?"
"What it means," the captain interjected, "is that the G-Seven mechanism may be a weapon after all, despite appearances to the contrary." His features hardened. "If so, then we are fortunate it is only in the hands of younglings. Even should they know how to use it, they cannot be equipped to use it well." A pause. "And if we can bring it back to the homeworld …" His lip curled. "The possibilities are most intriguing."
Kruge tried to decipher the remark. Did Vheled mean that by laying this technology at the emperor's feet, he would gain even more glory for the Ghevish'rae, and thereby further enhance their political standing?
Or was he talking about keeping the weapon a secret from Kapronek and his Kamorh'dag and using it to achieve power in a different way? He grinned at the prospect.
"You find something about the captain's remarks humorous?" Gidris asked him, not bothering to disguise his hostility.
Kruge straightened, but not out of respect for rank. "No, sir. Certainly not humorous."
"Then why the grin?"
Kruge shrugged. "I was entertained by the possibilities—sir."
Eyeing his third-in-command, Vheled held up his hand. "You need pursue this no further, Gidris. I am not offended."
"But Captain—"
"But nothing. There is much to be done, Gidris, and you are the one I've chosen to do it." He watched the Klingon's chest swell at the expression of confidence. "Take a half-dozen men," said the captain, "including Loutek and Aoras out there, and track down the missing children—all of them. When you find them, you will find the device."
Gidris beat his fist against his body armor. "I hear and obey."
This time, Kruge kept his smile inside. Gidris had been prevented from disciplining him, and by the word of the captain himself. It boded well for Kruge's future on the Kad'nra.
Perhaps he could not rise in the ranks before this mission was completed. But once it was over, Gidris would do well to watch his back.