by L. A. Graf
Kirk knew Spock would have told him that impatience was illogical at a time like this. After all, the transporter worked as quickly—or slowly—as it worked, and no amount of irritation or frustration would change the laws of physics. If he felt as if the rematerialization process was taking longer than normal, it was only his flawed human perception misinterpreting invariant reality. Kirk reminded himself sternly of that while he waited for the transporter effect to release him and Metcalfe to the Johnston Observatory's central operations room, but he still felt as if he'd been staring at the same patch of rounded wall for untold minutes before the last energized tingle left his skin and set him free.
"If you'll excuse me …" Metcalfe jerked her elbow out of his grip with ill-concealed resentment, then had to fumble to catch the sliding trail of disks she'd dislodged from the stack in her arms.
Kirk didn't try to hold her, and guessed that moving to help her right now would be as big a mistake. He hadn't meant to herd her into the transporter room like a nanny with a stubborn child, but she'd persisted in poring over every piece of data he'd let her take from the shuttle's computer before leaving, even after Kirk explained that they had a limited window in which to return her to the moonbase before the Elasians took offense. In the end, he'd had to drag her to the transporter room by careful force, listening to her wailing protestations all the way.
Now Metcalfe dumped her pile of data disks atop one of the many workstations. Kirk left her to her doctoral thesis, and stalked across the circular ops to vault up the steps leading to Bascomb's private office. She scowled at him without surprise when he keyed open her door and came to stand before her desk.
"Where's my shuttle, Kirk?"
He appreciated the white-haired geologist's directness. "Being held hostage." He jerked a nod toward the central chamber and Metcalfe at her busy station. "To make sure none of your geologists pulls a stupid stunt like that again."
"That wasn't a stupid stunt!" Bascomb slapped shut the data notebook in front of her on the desk, anger flashing in her dark eyes. "That was a normal data-gathering run, and you know it. We can't monitor the whole planet from this moon—we can't even keep Rakatan Mons in view for more than six hours from up here! We make over thirty of those runs every day—something I can't do with only the three shuttles you've left me."
"Dr. Bascomb," Kirk told her tightly, "you can't do it at all." The honest frustration in her wordless snort touched him. It was an emotion he felt rather often when dealing with the Elasians. "I'm sorry," he said, more calmly, "but you know that Starfleet missions always take precedence over the normal scientific operations of Federation observatories. Until we've settled the problem with the Elasians—"
Bascomb waved him into silence. "The problem with the Elasians, Captain, is that they're interfering with the work of our observatory! Your mission here was to restore normal scientific operations by getting those people out of our way. Grounding all our shuttles doesn't help—"
"Our mission," he interrupted smoothly, "was to investigate the possible presence of a sentient race inside that volcano. Or had you forgotten?"
Bascomb's only response was a streak of red climbing up her weathered cheeks, and Kirk had to clench his teeth to keep from saying anything he'd regret. Apparently, Metcalfe's sincere obsession with the possibility of native Rakatan sentience had been nothing more than the lure used to pull in a starship to evict the Elasians. Knowing he'd been used in such a ploy didn't improve Kirk's already thinly stretched tolerance.
"In any case …" He knew his voice sounded clipped, but didn't entirely mind when Bascomb winced a little at his sharpness. "It doesn't matter what our original mission was, Dr. Bascomb. Right now, my top priority is to establish whether or not the Elasians have a valid claim to this planet and the dilithium they say they're mining here."
Bascomb pulled back slightly in her seat, startlement jerking her eyebrows toward her hairline.
"Until my landing party gets full access to the Elasians' astral charts—" Kirk reached for his beeping communicator without even slowing his train of thought. "—you're going to have to keep your geologists from causing any trouble." He flipped the small grid open. "Kirk here."
"Dilithium?" Bascomb didn't seem to have heard the last half of what he said. "Who said there was dilithium?"
"Spock here, Captain." The Vulcan's deep voice cut across the geologist's disbelieving protest. "We have received a Priority One hail from Lieutenant Chekov on the planet's surface."
Kirk wondered if Spock could derive him an equation for how rapidly problems with the Elasians seemed to develop the longer the Enterprise stayed near them. "All right, Spock. Patch him through to me."
Kirk didn't even hear the changeover when Spock cut in the planet-based channel.
"Captain?" Chekov sounded breathless, his words broken by gasps that seemed to come in the rhythm of rapid walking. Kirk didn't envy the lieutenant the chore of trying to travel and talk at the same time in Rakatan's oxygen-poor atmosphere. "I'm outside—the mining camp—near the—shuttle landing site." He paused for a moment, only his breathing sounding through the link. "The Elasians—" he finally gasped, "say—there's been a—conflict with our landing party. I'm on my way now—"
"A conflict?" Kirk flashed through the last few hours, trying to think of any insult to the Elasians he might have missed. He was beginning to lose count even with the ones he knew of. "Over what?"
Even through his ragged breathing, Chekov's annoyance was easy to hear. "I'm—not sure, sir—but whatever it was—Dr. Mutchler did it."
Chapter Seven
CONSIDERING HOW the Elasians had reacted to everything else so far, Kirk's next question seemed the only practical one. "Chekov, is Dr. Mutchler still alive?"
"I think so," Chekov gasped. Kirk thought he heard other voices through the communicator link, but if they were real, Chekov ignored them. "The Dohlman—is going to—decide on that—" Whether his breath finally gave out or he simply had nothing else to say, Chekov didn't try to go on.
Kirk frowned a keen glare at Bascomb. "See how much trouble your normal scientific observations can make?"
"You don't even know what Scott Mutchler was doing when this happened," Bascomb countered, unimpressed. "Those Elasians get mad at the drop of a rock hammer. Anything can set them off."
Kirk nodded. "My point exactly, Dr. Bascomb. Anything—including normal scientific observations." He raised his communicator between them so that Chekov could hear everything both he and Bascomb said. "By my authority as the ranking Starfleet officer in the quadrant," the captain announced, firmly and loudly for the sake of the communicator, "all Federation Geological Survey personnel are hereby confined to this moonbase. Lieutenant Chekov?"
"Sir?" It was good to know he had enough breath to be paying strict attention.
"Dr. Mutchler is remanded to your custody. I want you to keep him from carrying out any scientific operations—" At Bascomb's piteous groan of dismay, the captain smiled ruefully and amended, "Any gratuitous scientific operations that could offend the Elasians. Is that clear?"
"I'll do—my best, Captain." The security chief didn't sound particularly happy with the assignment, but Kirk knew it wasn't in the lieutenant to question a direct instruction. "Chekov out."
"The same goes double for you," Kirk told Bascomb as he snapped shut his communicator. "No overflights of the planet. No launching of remote probes. Nothing that could put Her Glory the Dohlman in a bad mood." He'd had enough of the young despot's moods already.
Apparently, so had Bascomb. She slapped both hands down on the desk and swore. "You're putting the demands of a spoiled fourteen-year-old brat ahead of one of the most significant scientific studies in the galaxy?"
"No, Doctor. I'm putting the lives of my people—and yours—ahead of a few hours of lost data." Kirk caught up her scowl in his own gaze of hard resolve, and watched her anger bleed into something closer to disgruntled shame. "Do you have a problem with that?"
&n
bsp; Bascomb looked away, lips pursed, and snorted toward a pile of data charts on the edge of the desk. "I suppose not." Her finger made a rigid stuttering sound when she dragged it up the side of one of the piles. "But what are we supposed to do while your landing party verifies those star charts? Play tiddlywinks?"
The image alone nearly made Kirk smile. "If that would make you happy." Bascomb didn't share his amusement. She shot him an angry look in return for his light response.
Kirk strove for a more sober expression in deference to her feelings about the lost work time. "Would you like some advice?"
Bascomb scowled without looking up at him. "You've seemed pretty free with it so far."
"Keep Metcalfe looking for sentient voices in your seismic data." He offered a harmless shrug when the old geologist glanced up in surprise. "If the Elasian claim to Rakatan is validated, Dr. Bascomb, those magma men might be the only ones who can save you."
"Liar!"
The sullen crack of a backhanded slap echoed through the Dohlman's quarters, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. Uhura winced and flung out her hands—to restrain Ensign Murphy's instinctive lunge, and to stop Sulu from reaching for his phaser. As she was the "Dohlman" of the landing party, this crisis was hers to resolve. And the first step was obvious.
"Dr. Mutchler," she said between her teeth. "Please don't say anything else."
The geologist squinted up at her, blood trickling down his chin from his split lip. His left eye was already reddish purple and swollen shut from the blow that had knocked him away from the Elasians' warehouse, but his face stiffened with indignation.
"All I was trying to do was explain—" Mutchler broke off when Oben leaned over him and grabbed a handful of his shirt, jerking him roughly to his feet. If the geologist hadn't been so tall, Uhura suspected he would have ended up dangling in the air. "Um—maybe you'd better explain for me, Commander Uhura."
"I intend to." Uhura turned to face the young ruler of Elas, tense as a lioness atop the pile of silk tapestry pillows that served as her throne. "Dohlman Israi, give me leave to speak for this underling."
Israi frowned at Uhura through snake coils of black hair. She hadn't moved since Oben and the other guards had dragged the landing party into her quarters, although the occasional ripple of muscle in her bare, jeweled arms told Uhura that she wanted to.
"Why should I let you speak for him? Is he your underling?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Was he acting on your orders when he tried to steal our dilithium?"
"No."
Israi flicked the fingers of one hand dismissively, in what must have been the Elasian equivalent of a shrug. "Then there is nothing for you to say in the matter." She turned toward Oben. "Take him down to the punishment cells."
"Wait." Uhura flung the command out as loudly as she could, but it was drowned under the unexpected thundering of booted feet outside the Dohlman's quarters. Ensign Murphy swung around to face the noise, taking a protective step forward that shielded Uhura even as it frustrated her view. It wasn't until the muscled bulk of Takcas moved out into the room and bent his knee in a deep, respectful bow to his Dohlman that the security guard relaxed and stepped back.
"Your Glory." Takcas straightened, his face sober but something close to laughter moving in his eyes. Behind the Dohlman's chief underling, Uhura saw a flash of Starfleet red almost hidden among the brown leather and brown skin of the Elasians. "Your cohort stands ready to avenge whatever crimes this maggot of a geologist has committed against you."
Israi dipped her head to acknowledge his presence. "He was caught stealing dilithium from our warehouse," she informed him.
"No, Dohlman Israi." Uhura pitched her voice to carry through the mutter and shifting of the cohort, so Chekov would know she was safe and still in command. "Dr. Mutchler was caught before he even entered your dilithium warehouse. Your own guards can testify that he made no attempt to steal anything."
The young Dohlman swung around to glare at her. "I didn't give you permission to speak for him! You told me he was not your underling."
"He isn't my underling, but he is my responsibility. His own Dohlman entrusted him to me as a guide for this trip." Uhura searched her memories of past Elasian encounters, trying to find words that Israi would understand. "It would dishonor me to return without him, especially when he has committed no crime."
Israi ran a thumbnail along her lower lip, her scowl fading into a more thoughtful frown. "The Federation geologists want to take our mining claim away from us. They have said so many times." She glanced over at Mutchler, still held taut in Oben's choking grip. "They must want to steal our dilithium."
"We didn't even know about your dilithium." Mutchler sounded hoarse but indignant. "All we want is for you to go away and quit messing up our seismic readings!"
The young Dohlman pointed a finger at him shrewdly. "Which amounts to the same thing. Whatever the reason, you are our enemies. We will deal with you accordingly."
Movement skirled among the massed bodies of the cohort, a ripple of moving red accompanied by a scatter of grunts and curses. Chekov broke free with a last determined shove and took a step toward the Dohlman, then paused when Takcas swung around and slid between them.
"Dohlman." The security chief's words were addressed to Israi, but Uhura noticed that his gaze never wavered from the leader of her cohort. "Do you know how many geologists are stationed on the moonbase?"
The unexpected question made the Dohlman's eyes narrow in surprise. "No," she said, with arrogant unconcern. "Why should I?"
"Do you know, Kessh Takcas?"
"Twelve," Takcas said. "Five females, seven workers, no cohort."
"Twelve." Chekov paused deliberately, then spoke to Israi again. "Dholman, is your cohort so small or so poorly trained that they can be defeated in a fight by a dozen human scientists?"
A ripple of outrage ran through the gathered Elasian males, and they closed in around Chekov like a clenching fist. Uhura heard Sulu take in a quick breath, and felt more than saw Murphy poise himself for action beside her. Except for the tightening of the muscles in his jaw, however, Chekov never moved. After a moment, Takcas himself waved the other males away.
"You insult me!" Israi jerked upright on her cushions, shoving her thick black curls aside to glare at the Russian. "Only an idiot could think such a thing! How dare you suggest it?" She pointed an imperious finger at Uhura. "I demand that you reprimand your underling!"
Chekov turned his head, one brow lifted questioningly. Uhura gave him a quick flash of smile to show she had understood his tactics, then deliberately turned her amused look on the Dohlman of Elas.
"How can I reprimand him, Your Glory? You yourself claimed these geologists as your enemies."
Caught in a trap of her own words, Israi scowled and struggled for a moment, then narrowed her eyes at Uhura. "They might wish to be our enemies," she amended scornfully. "But since my cohort has no need to fear them—"
The older male, Oben, interrupted her, his bearded face dark with anger. "Not to fear, Your Glory, but to swat like the biting insects they are! Remember, this isn't the first time these so-called geologists have tried to sabotage our mining operation."
"Sabotage!" Mutchler's head jerked up, his gray eyes wide and startled. "How could I—"
"Dr. Mutchler, shut up!" snapped Uhura. Israi watched her intently as she turned her frown from the silenced geologist to the burly Elasian holding him. "Underling, what evidence do you have that this man was trying to commit sabotage? He didn't bring a single weapon into your camp."
Oben's thick brows drew into a stubborn line. "His weapons he left back at your ship, thanks to our scanners—"
"I've told you before, those are seismometers!" Mutchler burst out, despite Uhura's warning look. "Lieutenant Chekov, you can tell them those aren't weapons!"
Uhura saw the Russian give Takcas an oddly measuring glance. "I don't think they need me to tell them."
Takcas grunted. "The scanners sa
y they are high-energy devices. With no offensive capability."
"But they could be rigged to explode," Oben reminded his kessh. "And the geologist could have hidden a remote device inside his clothes to trigger them from inside the camp."
"So they could blow up outside the camp?" The knife edge of Sulu's voice told Uhura what a strain it had been for him to keep silent until then. "Why would he want to destroy our own shuttle?"
"And why would he have needed to go into a guarded warehouse to do it?" Uhura added tartly. "We could have triggered a dozen remote devices in the time you left us sitting outside the Dohlman's quarters." The startled lift of Israi's chin inspired her to add, "In fact, if you had brought us in immediately as the Dohlman had ordered, Dr. Mutchler wouldn't have had time to become curious about the geological nature of your dilithium ore. Or have had time to try and examine it."
Israi scrambled to her feet, as if the effort of sitting still had just become intolerable. "Oben!" She crossed the room with short, restless strides and scowled up at him, affronted pride vibrating through every inch of her coltish frame. "Did you disobey me?"
A growl rose from the cohort at her words, and Takcas came to stand beside her, all laughter gone from his eyes now. Oben released Mutchler and dropped to one knee before the Dohlman, but Uhura noticed that his bearded face harbored resentment instead of remorse.
"Your Glory, I did it because you gave these Federation insect droppings too much honor!" he argued. "They have no right to bring these interfering geologists into our camp, no right to demand to see our charter here—"
"They have the right," Israi said between her teeth, "because they have a starship." She startled Uhura with a fierce backhand slap of her own, one that made Oben rock back on his heels and blink at her. "Only a fool refuses to negotiate with a better-armed cohort."
