THE CHANNEL CLICKED SHUT on the landing party's signal, and Kirk leaned back in his seat at the conn. He sighed deeply but quietly, his chest rising and falling in a tightly controlled movement too small for the bridge crew to notice. He didn't want the others to hear, didn't want them sensing his concern or picking up on the brooding uneasiness that had settled over him as soon as the landing party was out of his reach.
Unidentifiable apprehension lay against his skin like the ghostly touch of the finest Pantazian silk. Unlike the rare, rich material, this sensation gave him absolutely no pleasure at all. He felt edgy, certain that something was happening somewhere of which he should be cognizant but wasn't. He had a feeling of … well, the only phrase he could think of was the overly melodramatic one of "impending power," but that wasn't quite it. More accurately, it felt like he remembered the air feeling on a swollen summer's day when a thunderstorm threatened across an Iowa cornfield. He recalled sitting on the back porch, watching thunderheads build on the horizon, dark cones of cloud piling higher and higher, scattershot with lightning and grumbling with ominous power and the threat of rain that might, or might not, become a promise. Yes, this was exactly the same sort of feeling, and it annoyed Kirk because he couldn't find a logical reason for his apprehension. He'd just spoken with Spock and everything was fine. So why the worry?
Kirk's left index finger traced mindless circles around the call button on the arm of the chair. His eyes focused on the small movement, flicking in tiny, sharp motions to hypnotically follow the circular pattern of his fingertip but not really registering the gesture. His lips pursed pensively as he settled more deeply into thought, probing down into the level of sixth sense he called hunches, upon which he had learned to rely so keenly in the years he'd been with Starfleet.
What had him riled? There was no indication from the scanners or the landing party of trouble aboard the Romulan station, despite its unheralded and utterly mystifying appearance. Helm reported no other ships in the area, though that reading could only be trusted halfway. It was all too easy to imagine a Romulan vessel standing hard by but cloaked and hidden from the Enterprise's instruments, just waiting for Kirk and his crew to become lazy and complacent before the Romulans uncloaked and dove in for the kill.
Kirk shook his head slightly. If he let it, his propensity for speculation would gladly take the bit in its metaphorical teeth and run like hell with it. If he was going to start doing that, Bones may as well just lock him up in the Home for Old Spacers and throw away the key.
That thought lightened some of his concern. If he could find humor in this situation, it couldn't be nearly as black as he was trying to make it out to be. There was nothing to worry about.
Besides, if by some chance a problem did raise its ugly head aboard the station, Scotty had the reflexes and the wherewithal to beam the team home and prod the Enterprise to warp nine before anything adverse could occur.
Fine. So, given all that, why did he still have the unscratchable itch under his skin?
Kirk sighed again, this time with genuine irritation at himself and his overanxious sixth sense. There was no answer for it. He'd been a captain long enough to know that there might never be a satisfying explanation for his unrest. He'd also been in command long enough to know that there was something not right going on and that, sooner or later, he and the Enterprise would be in the thick of things.
With that less-than-comforting thought as his companion, he pushed himself to his feet and tugged his jacket into place. "Well," he said dryly, in an attempt at joviality. "If they're going to get to have all the fun and I have to miss out, I guess I'll go work off some of this excess energy." He smiled at the beautiful Bantu woman who was at the communications station. "Commander Uhura, I'll be in the gymnasium, perfecting my Riseaway game. Contact me there or in my quarters if you need me or when you hear from the landing party."
She nodded briskly, eyes smiling. "Yes, sir."
"Commander Sulu, you have the conn."
"Aye, sir." The lanky helmsman nodded once sharply and rose gracefully to take the seat Kirk vacated.
Once inside the turbolift, he voiced a request for Deck 7 and the gymnasium. Now was a perfect time to get a leg up on McCoy's unexpected proficiency at Riseaway. If Kirk had anything to say about it, the good doctor would have a surprise coming when he returned to the ship.
He felt the almost subliminal vibration of the floor through his boot soles as the grav plate kicked in. As the turbolift began moving, he folded his arms across his chest and sighed.
Annoyed, Jim? he wondered silently, and decided that, yes, he was, just a little. Being the captain of a starship was by no stretch of the imagination an easy job. Oh, the perks were many, for rank did have its privileges, but the responsibility had its share of frustrations, too. Like right now.
The turbolift slowed, the indicator light glowing a hearty 7, and the doors opened. Kirk immediately turned toward the gym.
It was hard for someone with Kirk's sense of adventure and consuming curiosity about the universe to be captain and get left behind while the landing party went out to explore! He knew which admiral had appended his name to the preliminary order "recommending" that captains begin turning the majority of the away-team supervisions over to the executive officers. The man was a good friend of long standing, but Kirk felt as though he'd been betrayed, if only just a little. He'd even scoffed at the memorandum when it first appeared, chiefly intending to ignore it until it was made official policy or someone shoved it down his throat. Unfortunately, that someone had been his own first officer, and Kirk had learned a long time ago not even to attempt debating semantics with Spock, particularly if McCoy was in the room. Bones got too damned much pleasure out of it.
Kirk would have preferred to say that he didn't begrudge Bones or Spock their exploration of the Romulan space station, but that wouldn't be truthful. He was envious as hell and itched furiously to get a look for himself at what the Romulans had produced so furtively.
The gymnasium doors parted at his approach and he entered. The big room was largely empty, except for two off-duty crewmen practicing tumbling falls on thick mats in one corner. However, the individual cubicles along the periphery of the main room were more fully occupied—the orange lights over their doors glowing warmly to indicate occupancy. From where he stood, Kirk saw a lone handball player sweating heavily and whacking the daylights out of her ball, and two other people, gender hidden by thick, protective clothing, sparring with the brilliantly lit quarterstaves used in playing Littlejon.
Kirk crossed to the locker room and spent a few minutes shedding his uniform and skinning into the tight white suit used in Riseaway. He adjusted the material carefully, making sure it lay smoothly against all the lines of his body. Unnecessary ridges in the material influenced play. He'd discovered that the hard way. Pulling up the cowl, he fitted it snugly around his face, and lowered the protective goggles over his eyes. Taking his racquet from his locker, he left the room and crossed the gym.
Cubicle nine was empty and Kirk entered. He flicked the switch beside the door, engaging the occupancy light and the opaque controls for the windows. He didn't want his workout to be a spectator sport, particularly when he was endeavoring to get in some extra practice time on the sly to surprise McCoy. Bones had gotten pretty cocky after beating Jim so soundly. Kirk would enjoy giving the doctor some of his own medicine. That thought made Kirk smile, and he felt an immediate corresponding lift of spirits. The black cloud was dispersing. Perhaps the unsettled feeling wasn't due so much to an impending doom hanging over them as it was to feeling left out of the exploration with his friends.
"My God, you are jealous." He shook his head with a feeling of mild amusement. Grinning, he touched a third control, and gravity in the room abruptly ceased. He felt himself begin to rise gently, and kicked very slightly against the floor. The small impetus was enough to give him a great deal of momentum halfway up the wall to a series of rest handles. He snagged one with his gloved hand and paused for a moment, surveying the room below.
The rules of Riseaway were comparatively easy, unlike those for some of the card games Bones had tried to teach him in the past (like the thoroughly incomprehensible Sheepshead). It was a cross between handball and cricket, with the logic of chess and the addition of zero-gee. The "ball" was a sphere of colored light, different colors denoting different point values, which a player had to deflect off a paddle and strike against a goal pin to score a direct hit and gain points. Added to that was the complication of having to scale the walls at the same time, in a prescribed order known only by the game computer generating the balls. Buzzers would sound when scaling was inaccurate, and a corresponding loss of points would result, with the turn going to your opponent.
Kirk had fallen in love with the game the first time he played it, and it had been he who introduced McCoy to it, figuring the physician could use the exercise and confident of a long string of wins until Bones hit his stride. Now Kirk realized that he needed to practice to compete with the doctor, if only to gain that particular spin McCoy put on his ball so well.
"Computer, begin," Kirk said and ducked reflexively when the first ball of light shot out of the slot on the far side of the room and came straight at his head. Maybe he was worse at this than he thought. "Beginners level one, please," he appended. "Just as a warmup." The next ball came more slowly and he was off.
Quite some time later he was soaked with sweat but had risen in the ranks of play quite admirably. He put a spin on his last ball that would leave McCoy with his mouth open, centering onto the score pad with perfect accuracy, and glanced at the tally. Not bad. Not bad at all. Next time around, McCoy wouldn't know what hit him.
He pushed away from the wall toward the floor and the catch ring beside the door. Any further speculation on Bones's spectacular downfall as the Enterprise Riseaway champion was thrown to the four winds when the antigrav unexpectedly cut off. Fortunately, Kirk was not that high off the floor, so he didn't have very far to fall. Even so, it took him by surprise, and he landed hard, twisting at the last moment to take the brunt of the fall across his shoulders. Pain bloomed and he clamped one hand along the left side of his rib cage, eyes squeezed shut.
After a minute or two, he opened his eyes and gingerly sat up, testing his side with carefully probing fingertips. Nothing broken, but he'd probably have one hell of a bruise in a few hours. "Face it," he muttered, all good feeling from the game rapidly evaporating. "You're getting too old for this sort of thing." Standing slowly, he powered down the rest of the switches and left the room.
Everyone else had gone from the gym, so there was no one he could ask to see if any of the other rooms had been similarly affected as his own. He touched the communicator in the locker room. "Kirk to Commander Scott."
"Scott here, Captain."
Kirk pushed back the cowl and ran one hand through his sweaty hair. "Scotty, the antigrav in gym room nine just cut out on me."
"Are you all right, sir?" the chief engineer asked concernedly. "Should I send for Dr. Chapel?"
"That won't be necessary, Scotty. I'm fine. But have one of your engineers check into it, would you? I don't want to run the risk of someone getting seriously injured."
"Aye, sir," came Scott's voice over the intercom. "I'll do that right away. And I'll post a note to crew to not use the rooms until they get my all-clear."
"Very good, Mr. Scott. Kirk out." He peeled the wet suit down around his waist and stepped up to a mirror to inspect his side more closely. No doubt about it, he was going to have a bruise to beat all bruises. Muttering dire imprecations against a certain simple country doctor who should have known better than to get so good at such a stupid game, Kirk stepped the rest of the way out of the suit and immediately into the showers. The hot water felt good on his battered body, but he didn't give himself the luxury of time to enjoy it. He was out again in a matter of moments and, shortly thereafter, emerged from the gymnasium and headed toward the turbolift to go to his quarters.
A very perplexed-looking crewman stood outside the turbolift, her fingers tapping an agitated cadence on the wall. "Problem, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked pleasantly.
She glanced over her shoulder, a disgusted look on her face, then, seeing who it was, immediately came to attention.
Kirk waved her at ease. "What seems to be the matter?"
"It's this turbolift. There's no response."
Kirk frowned. "That's peculiar." And after a few moments, he became impatient himself. "Well, this is nonsense," Kirk murmured in annoyance, hands planted firmly on his hips. He raised his voice. "Computer!" he demanded.
"Working," the androgynous voice responded promptly.
"Define cause of malfunction of starboard turbolift."
There was a minuscule pause, then the computer's neutral tones returned. "The starboard turbolift is functioning normally in all parameters."
Kirk raised his eyebrows at the lieutenant. "The hell it is," he swore.
"Please restate request."
Kirk rolled his eyes. What he wouldn't have given for the good old days, when you had a computer that did what you asked, instead of trying to pass the time of day with you. He leaned on the button again and was a little startled when the doors opened immediately. "Finally," Kirk breathed with satisfaction. "That's more like it. Could have been heavy use, Lieutenant. After you."
"Thank you, sir." She smiled and Kirk was a hero one more time.
He vacated the car on Deck 5 and moved down the hall past McCoy's and Spock's quarters to his own. Once inside, he shed his jacket, wincing at the movement, then settled into the chair pulled up before his personal communications station. With one knuckle, he flicked a switch. "Kirk to Uhura."
"Here, sir." Her melodic voice was soothing to his ears.
"Have we heard anything from the landing party?"
"Negative, Captain."
Kirk glanced at the clock and pursed his lips. "They're overdue, Commander. See if you can raise them."
"Aye, sir." She paused, and he could hear the open channel. "Captain, I have a message coming in from Starfleet Command. It's Admiral Cartwright."
Kirk settled more comfortably into his chair. He debated putting his jacket back on, but he and Cartwright were old friends and he thought the Admiral wouldn't begrudge him this one slight drop in protocol. "Put him through, Uhura, and get Spock or McCoy on the line."
"Aye, aye, sir. Starfleet Command, this is Enterprise. Go ahead, please." Uhura's channel closed. The communications station screen momentarily flared with brilliant light, then cleared to show Admiral Cartwright's dark features. The handsome Starfleet officer nodded pleasantly. "Hello, Jim."
"Admiral."
"I just got your message. Are you certain it's a Romulan space station?"
"Reasonably certain. I won't know any details until the landing party has returned to the ship. Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy are there now with a security crew."
"Very good."
Kirk leaned forward, arms folded on the desk top. "Admiral, has there been any word of activity along the Neutral Zone? Is there anything we should be on the lookout for?"
Cartwright's expression was serious. "We haven't received any reports that give us concern. Nothing to make us wary. But that doesn't mean the Romulans aren't out there cooking something up. Just so you know, on your recommendation I've notified Zone checkpoints to keep their eyes peeled for activity of any kind. Has there been anything on your end?"
"Negative, Admiral. Sensors indicate no alien or unidentified ships in the area."
Cartwright nodded, though he didn't look particularly happy. "I don't like this. If it is a Romulan station, it represents a huge threat. Jim, I'm going to send you some backup. I can have the Kongo there in thirty-six hours and the Lexington there in three days. I hope we don't need them, but we can't take any chances. Let me know if there are any developments or if you hear at all from your landing party."
"I'll keep you notified, Admiral. As soon as I hear something, so will you."
Cartwright smiled then. "I know I will, Jim. Good luck. Starfleet out." The screen went dark.
Kirk leaned back in his chair and stared at the wall. It was good knowing that Starfleet was apprised of the situation and taking steps to keep a sharper eye on the Romulan situation, if there was one. And the reinforcements would help deter anyone with hostile intent. Should he have voiced McCoy's earlier speculation that it might not be the Romulans at all? That was a hard call. He didn't want to light too many fires under Starfleet Command's collective rumps, and there were some members who would jump at the slightest spark and suggestion of heat. Better to wait and see what happened. Speaking of happening …
He toggled a switch again. "Uhura, did you get hold of Spock?"
She sounded perplexed when she replied. "Still trying, Captain. There's minor interference on the channel, and I can't seem to—"
Montgomery Scott's rough brogue broke into the channel and overrode her, stopping Kirk's breath in his throat and sending an icy chill spreading out from his heart. "Captain! I've lost the landing party's coordinates!"