VHELED TURNED to see his second officer enter the starboard weapons room, responding promptly to his summons. Big-shouldered and strapping, taller than most of the crew by half a head, his large, protuberant eyes sought the captain's. It was easy to read the question in them.
They were still a good day's journey away from Pheranna, and Vheled had inspected the weapons room just a couple of days ago, to see how the new torpedo launchers worked. What could have drawn him back here so soon?
The second officer halted in front of the captain and pounded his chest with his fist. "Is something amiss, sir?" He spoke slowly—a product of the S'zlach hinterlands that had spawned him, and not any lack of intelligence.
Instead of providing an answer, Vheled made a sweeping gesture with his left hand. A moment later, the room was empty of all personnel except the two of them: himself and Second Officer Kruge.
Kruge's dark, wispy brows came together over the bridge of his nose. He seemed on the verge of repeating his question, then appeared to stop himself. Perhaps he'd seen someone repeat a question to a captain on the last ship he was attached to.
Vheled stroked the starboard disruptor console, allowing Kruge to squirm a little. It was good to remind one's officers who was in charge, particularly when one was about to give so unusual a command.
At last, the captain looked up and met Kruge's gaze. "No," he said, "nothing is amiss. At least, nothing that can't be fixed with a minimum amount of effort."
The crease between the second officer's brows only deepened. "I don't understand," he replied frankly.
Vheled decided he'd played captain long enough. "I have discovered you intend to assassinate First Officer Gidris."
Kruge didn't flinch, but something in him stiffened. To his credit, he didn't ask how Vheled knew; he just accepted the fact and went on from there. "That is correct," he confirmed.
The captain shrugged. "Normally, I do not interfere in such matters. I leave it to the parties involved." A pause for effect. "However, this time is an exception. This time, I will stand in your way."
Kruge absorbed the information with stony equanimity. "Is it permitted to ask why that should be?"
Vheled nodded. "You've served me well since you arrived on the Kad'nra. You've shown great promise. Great skill, and great determination. You deserve an explanation."
And the captain gave him one. He left out precious little, so that by the time he was done, Kruge knew almost as much about their mission as he did.
"So you see, Second Officer, there is no room for personal ambition on this ship—at least until we complete our mission. For a while, you will have to put the Gevish'rae before your own ends."
Kruge nodded. "I will do that gladly. Like you, I have no love for the Kamorh'dag. However, I have one request."
"And that is?"
The second officer's mouth turned up slightly at the corners. "That you refrain from informing Gidris of my intention to kill him. It would, after all, make my job that much more difficult when the time comes."
Vheled thought about it for a long time, while Kruge patiently awaited his answer. "All right," he said finally. "I will keep your intention a secret. But that's as far as I'll go. I won't stand in the way of his finding out from others."
Kruge grunted. "Fair enough. And when I am first officer, I will make you wonder how you ever tolerated a puris like Gidris."
The captain chuckled, finding new respect for his second officer. "See that you do, Kruge. See that you do."
"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked Sulu, arranging the soil around the fireblossom with loving care, admiring the place's newest acquisition. Nor would he have been any less attentive if someone other than the captain had placed it in his hands for safekeeping.
Uhura sniffed it. "No scent?" she asked.
"None that we can smell," the helmsman told her. "But if you were of a slightly different humanoid species …" He let his voice trail off meaningfully.
Chekov gazed at the Klingon plant, with its flower the color of a twilight sky over Petrograd. The overhead illumination in the botanical garden gave the long, full petals an almost iridescent quality. "It is wery beautiful," he agreed, then paused. "But there is something about it …"
Uhura looked at him. "Yes?"
The ensign shrugged. "Something … predatory. As if it vere about to leap up and take your head off."
Sulu chuckled. "No chance of that. It's not even carnivorous."
Chekov grunted. "As far as ve know."
Uhura shook her head. "As far as we know," she echoed. She put her arm around the ensign. "You know, Pavel, for someone who aspires to be the captain of a starship one day, you're a little too eager to ignore the facts."
The helmsman nodded as he finished his ministrations. "And a little too cautious of the unknown." Giving the soil one last pat, he brushed his hands off. "If you're afraid of a Klingon plant, what are you going to do when you come up against the Klingons themselves? Run the other way?"
"For your information," Chekov replied, straightening, "I have come up against the Klingons. And I sairtainly did not run."
"You were sitting on the bridge," Sulu reminded him, "right next to me. I'm talking about meeting the Klingons face to face—mano a mano."
The Russian harrumphed. "It vould make no difference. I am not afr—" Suddenly his eyes fixed on the fireblossom and went wide. "Vatch out!" he cried.
Reacting instinctively, Sulu snapped his hand back and clutched it to his chest. It was only after he'd reacted that he realized how badly he'd been duped.
"Vat are you afraid of?" Chekov asked, smiling innocently, his own hands clasped behind his back. He tilted his head. "Not a little plant, I hope?"
Uhura put her hand over her mouth to conceal her grin. She looked at Sulu.
Gradually, the helmsman smiled too. "I guess you got me that time, Pavel."
Chekov patted the plant in an almost paternal way. "I guess I did at that."
McCoy was on his way to the gym when Kirk caught up with him.
"Didn't you hear me calling you, Bones?"
The doctor had heard all right. "Calling me?" He shrugged. "I didn't hear a thing," he lied.
The captain looked at him penetratingly. "I've got to tell you," he remarked, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding me."
McCoy returned the look as if that were the furthest thing from his mind. "Listen, Jim, this whole fitness thing was your idea. I'd have thought you'd be glad that I'm finally getting into shape."
As they reached the door to the gym, the doctor turned in to enter the place. Kirk followed.
Lord help me, Bones told himself. If he doesn't leave, I'm actually going to have to do something in there.
The captain grunted; "I don't get it. Not so long ago, you had no interest in coming back here. Now you're at it every free moment."
McCoy shrugged. "What can I say? When you've got the bug, you've got the bug."
Truth to tell, he hated the idea of physical training more than ever. But his sudden yearning for exercise had been a handy excuse for avoiding heart-to-heart conversations with his friend.
Normally, he enjoyed those conversations, even looked forward to them. But there was nothing normal about the position in which he'd found himself lately—caught between his friendship for Jim and his professional integrity.
Bones was deathly afraid that he'd have a little too much to drink and in an unguarded moment spill the beans about David Marcus. And thereby violate the doctor-patient privilege David's mother had been so quick to cite.
Unable to depend for certain on his willpower, he'd decided to sidestep the possibility altogether. Even if it meant putting his well-being on the line every now and then.
After all, he didn't want word to get back to Jim that he was just hanging around in the gym and doing nothing. That would only rouse the man's suspicion.
"I suppose I shouldn't be so incredulous," Kirk commented. "But …" He searched for words. "I can't help it. This just isn't like you."
"I guess you've got to face it," the doctor replied, walking up to the wrestling mat with a courage he didn't even begin to feel. "You've created a monster."
There were three crewmen standing around the mat. All bruisers. Gallagher, a young, brawny security officer, was the smallest of them, though not by much.
Gallagher winced when he saw McCoy coming. The opposite was true as well, though for a completely different reason.
The security officer was wincing because he'd have to toss the doctor around again like a leaf in a windstorm. Bones was wincing because he didn't look forward to being the leaf.
"All right," he told Gallagher, "let's give it another shot."
The younger man actually looked as if he were the one anticipating pain. "You sure, Doctor?"
"Of course I'm sure." It was no picnic tussling with Gallagher. But the other crewmen might hurt him even worse.
The captain shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the day," he muttered.
"What's that?" asked McCoy.
"Nothing," Kirk answered quickly. "Nothing at all. Listen, I think I'll head for the rec cabin and see if I can drum up a game of chess. In the meantime, good luck with your, uh, fitness program."
Bones harrumphed. "It's Gallagher you ought to be wishing good luck. I'm getting pretty good at this."
The captain took one last, long look at him. Obviously, he knew there was something fishy about this—he just didn't know what.
"Right. Well then, I'll see you later, Doctor."
As McCoy watched him go, he wanted desperately to end the charade. He wanted to tell his friend he had a son, a son he'd never met, and see his eyes pop out with surprise and jubilation.
But he couldn't, damn it. He couldn't.
A moment later, the doors to the gym closed behind Kirk. Screwing up his resolve, Bones turned to Gallagher.
"All right," he said tautly "Let's get this over with."
Something was going on, Kirk told himself. Something was definitely going on.
He couldn't ever recall McCoy acting so strange, so standoffish. And he didn't believe it was simply a sudden obsession with staying fit.
Had something happened down on the colony planet? Something that had made Bones want to keep to himself for a while?
In any case, he mused, as he headed for the rec cabin, it was the doctor's business and no one else's. If McCoy wanted to talk, the captain had made it plain enough that he was available. And if he didn't … well, he didn't.
Funny, he thought. Spock's back at Beta Canzandia Three and Bones is acting like someone else. And I feel like a rowboat without its oars.
I guess you never realize how much you depend on your friends until you're deprived of them. Frowning, Kirk watched the doors part for him as he entered the rec area.
Taking the place in with a glance, he saw Scotty sitting at a table by himself, finishing a plate of shepherd's pie. The engineer looked up as the captain approached.
"Mr. Scott," said Kirk.
"Sir?" came the response.
The captain sat down. "Scotty, I'm in the mood for a game of chess. How about you?"
He had a premonition that the man would say he was too busy with a project down in engineering. Or that he had a date to look at the stars with some young woman. Or that he had a new recruit to whip into shape.
But all he said was, "I'd be delighted."
Kirk sat back, relieved. At least he wasn't completely on his own.
"Shall I get th' pieces?" Scotty asked.
"No," the captain told him. "Allow me."