A man in an unmarked tan jumpsuit looked at them from a control bank, a wide grin on his handsome face. He looked vaguely familiar, but Kirk couldn’t place him. “Admiral Kirk,” he said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “It’s truly an honor. I’m J. D. Grumm.”
Kirk shook his hand. “Grumm?”
“That’s right, Admiral. I was two years behind you in the Academy.”
“You’re not in Starfleet.”
“No, sir. I had some, I guess you’d say, issues with authority. Now I’m my own boss, and I like it that way.”
“So the Captain Cook is—”
“She’s all mine, sir. She’s not big but she’s quick and agile. I think you’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will. And since you’re not Starfleet, you can knock off the ‘sir.’ Call me Jim.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, thanks, Jim.” He turned to Rowland. “You must be the lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant Rowland, that’s right. Giancarlo is fine.”
“Giancarlo it is, then.”
After Rowland introduced Burch and Hay, Grumm gave them a tour of the little starship. On the bridge were the helmsman, LaMotte, and Makin, the navigator. The rest of the crew was comprised of Sieler, the chief engineer, and his assistant, Genz. All were human, LaMotte and Sieler were men and the other two women. “Everybody knows how to do every job,” Grumm explained. “We can stagger shifts and take turns spelling each other. It’s a small crew, but a tight one.”
“What sorts of runs do you usually make?” Kirk asked him at the tour’s end, back on the bridge. “I assume this one is a little out of the ordinary.”
“A little of this, a little of that,” Grumm answered. Kirk assumed that was a synonym for smuggling, and he started to wonder if trusting Rowland had been a mistake. “Deliveries to and from places off the usual routes. Ferry service sometimes, like now. Small cargo loads. We’re not too picky, Jim; we’ll take just about any job that keeps us out in space.”
“You don’t like Earth?”
“Earth is fine. It’s just a little . . . I don’t know. Confining.”
“It’s a big planet.”
“Not as big as the whole galaxy.”
“Point taken.” Kirk understood the impulse. At the beginning of his five-year mission he had expected to be sick of interplanetary travel by its finish, and he thought he’d be ready for a planetside post until retirement. But it hadn’t happened that way. When the Enterprise had been taken away from him, Kirk felt like he’d been kicked in the kidneys. Flag rank brought with it various perks and privileges, but none of them compared to the freedom of roaming amid the stars, where every day brought new wonders. Although Grumm had offered to have Genz take him to his quarters, Kirk had elected to stay on the bridge. LaMotte engaged warp drive and Kirk watched the rush of stars outside blurring into streaks. He felt the vibration of the powerful engines and the strain of the ship’s artificial gravity system striving to hold everyone in place against the force of acceleration, and he knew he was wearing a stupid grin, but he didn’t care.
It had been much, much too long.
* * *
“You’re entitled to know what you’re getting into,” Kirk told Hay and Burch. “Rowland has already heard my confession, so if there’s someplace you’d rather be . . .”
“I’ll stay, sir,” Rowland responded. “If you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine.” Kirk had changed into his usual light-gray and white uniform; the trip was unofficial, but on board a starship he felt more comfortable in it than in his civilian clothes. He had noted, when the others filed into his quarters, that they had all made the same decision. The room was small, but it included a table around which the four of them had gathered. Kirk knew that this was as good as it got on the little ship. Hay slouched in his chair, his gigantic shoulders slumping away from his thick neck, while Burch perched on the edge of hers like a sparrow ready to take flight.
“This will be my third trip to Neural,” he continued. “The first time I was a lieutenant, commanding a planetary survey mission. One of the survey crew took a tumble off the side of a cliff and landed right in front of a hunting party. The inhabitants of Neural were on a Bronze Age level, technologically, so naturally we were supposed to stay out of sight. But the people—they called themselves the Hill People—took him in and fixed him up. Because I was in charge of the survey, I showed myself so I could keep tabs on him. I stayed with a man named Tyree while my crewman healed. Tyree became my friend.”
“Wasn’t that a violation of the Prime Directive?” Burch asked.
“It was,” Kirk replied. “But it was too late. I couldn’t know how they would treat my crewman, and I wasn’t about to let them carry him to their camp without me. I tried to keep our technology from them, and mostly succeeded.
“The next time, it was a different story. While an Enterprise landing party was studying the plant life for its medicinal properties, we detected Klingon activity. This was shortly after the Treaty of Organia, so we wanted to make sure they weren’t in violation. But we discovered that a second group of people, the Villagers, had flintlock rifles. This was an impossible technological leap in such a short time.”
“Klingons gave ’em to the locals?” Hay asked.
“That was our suspicion, yes. We later confirmed it. But before we did, Commander Spock, my first officer, was wounded. We transported him to the Enterprise for medical care, while Doctor Leonard McCoy, the ship’s chief medical officer, and I stayed on the planet to secure the proof. I was injured by the poisonous bite of an indigenous animal called a mugato, and McCoy couldn’t do anything for me. He turned to the Hill People for help. They—Tyree’s wife, Nona, who was a medicine woman, a Kahn-ut-tu as they’re called—cured me. But she had seen McCoy’s phaser in action. Nona was more ambitious than loyal. She beaned me with a boulder, stole my phaser, and tried to give it to the Villagers. They killed her. We got the phaser back, but we were too late to save Nona. So people there have hints about technology, far beyond their natural development, and they know there are other races that can travel between planets. I can’t be sure how many are aware of the Klingons, or how much those who do know understand. The Prime Directive has been trampled.”
“Won’t going back make the situation worse, sir?” Burch asked.
“It might,” Kirk admitted. “We’ll take reasonable precautions against further contamination. But there are more pressing concerns. The Klingon activity in the vicinity has increased to alarming levels. It’s not just Neural—it’s that if the Klingons are not checked, Neural could be a stepping-stone to control over the entire sector. I made the mistake of leaving the planet without finding out why the Klingons were there. I left it to the civilian authorities to investigate. Once the Federation Council reached an agreement with the Klingon Empire, I never checked up on Neural to make sure it had been honored.”
He took a deep breath. This had always bothered him. “I gave Tyree and his people flintlocks, to put them on an even playing field with the Villagers. I believed there needed to be a balance of power. But I never made it back to find out if that stasis held or if one side advanced more. My error, and I regret it. I want to find out if it was an irredeemable error—if my lack of follow-up in some way caused this Klingon expansion. If so, I want to discover if there’s a way to stop it, to reset the status quo.”
“Makes sense to me,” Hay said. He had such an easygoing, casual manner that Kirk couldn’t imagine anything that wouldn’t meet with his ready approval. Burch looked less convinced.
“Lieutenant Rowland told you that this was an off-the-books operation.” Kirk got nods in return, and went on. “I assure you, it’s not my intent to needlessly violate any Federation laws. It’s to find out whether the Klingons are violating the treaty, and if so, to figure out a way to deal with it that won’t touch off a war. Are you comfortable with that?”
Hay and Rowland nodded again. Burch sucked in her cheeks, pursed
her lips, then said, “Aye, aye, sir. People have sometimes called me a stickler for the rules—actually, they call me a lot worse than that—so thank you for explaining.”
“You’re welcome, Mister Burch,” Kirk said. “I’m glad to have you on board.”
“You can count on me, sir.”
Somehow, he was sure that was true.
* * *
The Captain Cook could accommodate up to fourteen people, according to the specs. Kirk thought it would be unpleasantly crowded with that many; with five crewmembers and four passengers, the little galley was strained to the breaking point, as were the heads and other public areas. The trip was largely uneventful, but even so Kirk felt like an uninvited in-law, sitting on the bridge watching Grumm give commands while the crew carried them out. Grumm was pleasant, even deferential, but the Captain Cook was his ship and Kirk was just a paying customer. The admiral didn’t take issue with the orders he gave; it was watching someone else give them that was hard.
He spent the time reading, telling the others what he remembered about Neural, taking a refresher course in Neuralese and drilling his small team in the language, getting to know J. D. Grumm and his crew, and exercising. But those activities offered only temporary relief. By the time they finally reached planetary orbit, he was ready to burst.
They were already wearing an approximation of local clothing—vests, trousers, and boots fashioned from animal skins, the design based on Starfleet records Kirk had accessed before leaving Earth. He had brought along coordinates that would enable the ship to beam them down fairly close to the Hill People’s camp. He didn’t see any way to complete his mission without their assistance. They would take their communicators, phasers, and a universal translator, in case there were unexpected language issues, but the landing party would try to keep them hidden from the locals.
Once they had achieved orbit, everything happened fast. They reported to the transporter room, which was just a corner of engineering. Grumm met them there, wearing the same cocky grin he had when they’d arrived. “It’s been a pleasure having you on board, Jim,” he said. “Sorry we didn’t get better acquainted in the Academy, but I’m glad we were able to make up for it.”
“So am I,” Kirk said. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
“The longer we stay in orbit, the better chance we have of being spotted by Klingons,” Grumm reminded them. “We’ll put you down at the coordinates you provided.”
“That’ll work,” Kirk said.
“As we discussed, we’ll be back in two weeks, Neural time.”
“Right.”
“If you’re ready for pickup then, just say so. If we don’t hear from you, we’ll come back in another week. We don’t hear from you that time, we’ll alert Starfleet that you’re on the planet and in trouble.”
This was the most uncertain part. He liked Grumm, but the man’s priorities were his own. What if he forgot about the deadlines? What if he never came back into communicator range? If Kirk couldn’t reach Grumm at the end of the third week and the captain didn’t relay an emergency message, Admiral Kucera would have to wait another week or two to realize the landing party was in trouble.
Grumm must have read it in his face. “Don’t worry, Jim,” he said. “We’ll be here. You have my word. I’m not going to let you rot down there.”
“I appreciate it, J. D.” He shook the captain’s hand and stepped up onto the pad. The others found their places.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” came four voices in unison.
Grumm stepped back to the control panel. “Energizing,” he said. “Be safe . . .”
His words trailed off as the beams kicked in. Next stop . . .
Three
Neural.
At first glance, it was just as he remembered it. The initial impression was of an Earthlike world, with familiar-looking vegetation, blue skies dotted with puffy white clouds, hills that might have been sandstone in the near distance, and mountains farther out. Yellow sunshine blanketed everything with a pleasant warmth. The air had a clean crispness to it that Kirk thought must have been what Earth’s air was like before the Industrial Revolution. He filled his lungs with it. On the second inhalation, he coughed a little at some unexpected, bitter aftertaste.
“Nice place,” Hay said.
“Are we in the right spot?” Rowland asked.
Kirk looked around, got his bearings. “I think the campground of the Hill People is right over that ridge,” he said, indicating a rocky outcrop. “Fifteen minutes, maybe.”
“Should we get started?” Burch asked.
“I don’t see why not.” The admiral led the way up the slope. As he did, he noticed that the sky in that direction didn’t quite have the crystalline blue clarity he had expected. Was he remembering wrong? Idealizing the place beyond what it had really been? Maybe. He had visited many planets during his days as captain of the Enterprise. It shouldn’t have been surprising for some of them to run together, blurring in his memory.
The landscape looked familiar, and after a minute Kirk found a foot trail he had used before, the one Hill People had been using as long as anyone could remember. It led to a gap in the ridge through which the landing party could pass, and the camp would be set among the trees just on the other side. Finding the path made him feel better; Kirk picked up the pace, suddenly eager to see Tyree.
When they reached the gap, he stopped cold.
“Sir?” Rowland asked. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“The camp,” Kirk said.
“What about it?”
Kirk waved a hand at the scene below them. What had been a couple of dozen primitive tents, clustered around some caves and a few fire pits, had turned into a walled encampment. It wasn’t quite a city, but it had become a good-sized town. Most of the trees around it had been felled, their trunks used to build the fortified walls that snaked across the hillsides. The structures within those walls were more solid than they had been, built from stout branches and hard-packed earth. And there were at least a hundred of them, more than Kirk could count at a glance. Even from this distance, he could make out Hill People on the wall, their distinctive light hair and clothing identifying them even from this distance.
“It’s a town,” he said. “It’s easily five times the size it used to be. Those walls—they weren’t there before. This was a forest, but now it’s a denuded wasteland.” His gaze drifted up, past the town toward the distant valley, where the Village lay. The air above the valley was thick with a sinister cloud of dark smoke blocking the horizon. It was most likely the source of the aftertaste, even at this distance. “There was a simple village in that valley, but now it looks like it’s become an industrial city.”
“How long since you were here?” Burch asked.
“Nowhere near long enough for all this to happen.”
“Not at a natural pace,” Rowland said. “But those flintlocks weren’t natural either, right?”
“No,” Kirk agreed. “They weren’t.” He looked at the black smoke again, a blot against the sky. “Klingons,” he whispered, as if that single word explained it all.
He pointed toward a small stand of trees nearby, on this side of the ridge. “Let’s bury our phasers and communicators there. It’s far enough off the trail that nobody’s likely to come across them, and those trees will help us remember the spot.”
“Bury them?” Burch echoed. “Sir, that’s not a good idea.”
“Prime Directive, Mister Burch. However it might already have been violated, we don’t want to make it worse. Nona getting her hands on my phaser got her killed. I don’t want to walk into that town with technology that’s centuries ahead of what they’ve got.”
“What if we need—”
Kirk cut off her protest. “We won’t need the communicators for a week, maybe three. We’ve all studied the language, so we shouldn’t need the UT. And we won’t need phasers to defend ourselves against the Hill People.”
Burch looked at he
r phaser like it was part of her arm and parting with it would require major surgery. “As long as your friend is still alive.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.” Kirk started toward the trees.
“Are any of these trees or plants dangerous?” Burch asked.
“Most are as harmless as those on Earth,” Kirk said. “And many of them are beneficial—Doctor McCoy said there were plants here with enormous medicinal potential. The animals are mostly harmless, except the mugatos. And there’s a sort of rabbit with three ears and double rows of needle-sharp teeth. You don’t want one of those grabbing your ankle.”
“But you want us to bury our phasers, sir?”
“The people of Neural have survived for hundreds of years, if not thousands. We can do it for a few weeks.”
“I got no problem with it,” Hay said. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Kirk told him. “It will be a challenge, but I’m certain we can meet it.” He took a bag from his pocket and unfolded it. “This will keep the dirt out. Mister Hay, drop your things in here and start digging, please.”
“You got it,” Hay said. He tossed his phaser and communicator into the bag, as casually as if they were dirty laundry, and squatted down to dig with a fallen stick. “I mean, you got it, sir.”
* * *
It didn’t take long once Hay got to digging and Burch finally relinquished her gear. When it was done—twigs and leaves laid on top to make it blend in with the surroundings—they returned to the gap and started down toward the walled town.
The landing party was walking toward a tumble of boulders, around which were clustered some of the few remaining good-sized trees, when suddenly they could smell wood smoke from the town’s fires and the pungent, slightly greasy order of roasting game. Without warning, a dozen men and women emerged from behind the boulders and pointed guns at them. Some of the weapons were flintlock rifles, probably the same ones the Enterprise had provided.
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