by Diane Duane
“Of course,” Jay said, as he looked over the group.
“I’m Mark Beckwith,” one of the men said by way of introduction as he caught his breath. Peter recognized him as the rock thrower. “I’m president of the Peoria branch.”
Lisa shook his hand. “Of course, I’ve spoken to you many times.”
To Peter’s relief, the rest of the group were just average members, or people who’d seen the demonstration on the vid and “believed in the cause.”
“I’m Peter…Church,” he finally said, when it was his turn. “I’m…a data-recovery technician. I work nearby. I’ve…always been interested in the KEHL,” he lied glibly, “and when I saw that you were calling for support, I came on down.”
“Thank you,” the woman said sincerely, then repeated it to the others. “Thanks to all of you. What you did today was courageous and ambitious. Your personal involvement will make it easier for the millions who silently agree with our cause to come forward and join us. Thank you all so much.”
Crazy,Peter thought, slumping tiredly. Would he ever be able to get out of here and back to reality?
“I think the security forces are gone,” Jay announced, after checking with a computerized sensor. “It should be safe for you all to leave now, if you go out one by one.”
Tennant thanked them all again, reminding them all of the next gathering. The demonstration at the consulate, she told them, wouldn’t be able to continue until the arrested demonstrators had been freed from jail and the current permits renewed. Each person assured her before leaving that they would be at the consulate as soon as word reached them that it was time to assemble. Their faces were filled with a hatred and a commitment that made Peter’s stomach lurch.
Peter plastered an appropriate expression of sympathy on his own face as Lisa finally turned her attention to him. She suddenly peered at him intently, and he found himself grateful that he didn’t resemble his famous uncle more closely.
“I hope you weren’t injured,” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his face. “You came awfully close to being stunned.”
He blinked, gathering his wits about him.Could she be interested in me? Peter wondered, taken aback. It figured, in a perverse way. His Uncle Jim seemed to be able to attract any woman in the universe with nothing more than a little-boy grin and a twinkle in his eye—an ability that, if it was an inherited trait, seemed to have skipped Peter. But every now and then the “Kirk charm,” as the captain called it,did seem to shine on Peter—but only at the wrong moments. Like now. He gazed at the KEHL leader, his mind racing.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Really. You…saved me back there. I should be thankingyou.”
She smiled warmly at him. “I’m so glad you’re all right. That is…there are so few of us…true believers. We can’t afford to lose…even one.”
Shewas attracted to him! Peter began to wonder if Federation Security had any real idea, before today’s violent demonstration, how dangerous this group was becoming. Whatever information they had on the KEHL couldn’t have been very accurate, or the security forces would’ve never been caught so shorthanded at the demonstration.
Tennant thought he was a member, a “true believer.” Could he string her along long enough to gain critical inside information—information he could relay to Starfleet?
“Listen, Peter,” Lisa said, guiding him to the door, “my assistant, Rosa, was one of the people stunned today. I’m going to be lost without her, and I know what it’s like to be stunned. She won’t be feeling well for a day or two. I need to make a lot of calls, arrange hearings, bail, tons of stuff. That means that my real work won’t get done. So…I was wondering…you’re used to manipulating data. Rosa was working on cross-referencing the membership lists with some special information we’ve received lately about…a clandestine Vulcan operation. I really need to get this project completed. Do you think you could help me?”
How would Uncle Jim handle this?Peter wondered, but of course he already knew. James T. Kirk would simply lay on the charm, the famous Kirk charm, and within hours she’d be putty in his hands.Forget it. That won’t work for you!
As he hesitated, she offered, “You’d be working with me directly…but, I’ll understand if you’re not interested. What happened today was enough to make anyone think twice about supporting the group…. ”
“Oh, I’m interested!” he assured her. “I, uh, didn’t realize…we’d be working together. I’d like that, Ms. Tennant. Uh…working with you, I mean.”Smooth, mister, real smooth. A Tellarite would’ve managed a classier delivery…
She opened the door for him and touched his arm. “Call me Lisa, Peter. I’m glad you’re willing to help me. I really need an expert’s assistance. How about…Saturday? Around noon? Can you find your way back here?”
“Sure,” he said, managing not to stammer this time. “I’ll see you then.” His gesture of farewell included both Lisa and Jay. “Saturday, noon. I’ll be here.”
“It’ll just be you and me, Peter,” Lisa assured him warmly, following him a few steps into the alley. “Jay…will be busy with something else. I’ll see you then.”
He managed a credible grin despite his uneasiness. “Great. Till Saturday.” She stepped back and the door slid shut, leaving him alone.
Peter walked out onto the main street, then began a circuitous route back toward the Academy, suddenly nervously aware of every figure passing him on the street. Whatever had possessed him to play Mata Hari with the KEHL’s leader?
These people were definitely more dangerous than Federation Security realized. What should he do now? If he went to the security offices at the Academy, or to the officer of the day, and related this wild story, they’d no doubt tell him to stay out of it. His advisor, a grizzled old Tellarite lieutenant commander, would forbid him to have anything more to do with this group. She’d be right, too. He had exams to complete. And theKobayashi Maru.
I don’t have time for this. I have to stay focused. I’ve got a career to worry about.
But…through sheer happenstance he’d managed to find himself on theinside. He had an opportunity to discover what was really going on with this radical group of dangerous xenophobes. Would Uncle Jim walk away from this opportunity? The hell he would! Captain Kirk would play the cards dealt him.
Can I do any less?
Peter scowled down at his feet as the moved along the sidewalk. What harm could there be in keeping his Saturday date? He’d just spend time with Lisa Tennant, work on her reports.
She said I’d get to work on the membership lists….
That would be a unique opportunity, one he doubted Security could manage. And, by talking to her, he could draw her out, discover something about this silly Vulcan “conspiracy” she purported to have discovered. Maybe he could find out other things, too. More serious inside information.
And, when he had that information, he’d takethat to Starfleet. They couldn’t ignore him then, not if he had information about how the KEHL had suddenly gained so many new members.
If his plan worked out, it certainly wouldn’t hurt his career any. And…it was something areal Kirk would do. Something Uncle Jim would do in a heartbeat. Of that, Peter was very sure.
Sarek sat at the comm link in his assigned quarters aboard the Freelan space station, facing the cowled figure of a Freelan. Although there was no way to be sure, owing to the concealing cloak and mechanical-sounding voice interface, he thought he recognized the other as Taryn, the Freelan liaison he’d been dealing with for nearly seventy Standard years.
“Greetings, Taryn,” he said aloud.
The cowled and muffled figure was suddenly very still.
“Greetings, Ambassador Sarek,” the flat, mechanical voice said. “You recognized me?”
Sarek shook his head and dissembled, diplomatically, “I made a logical deduction as to your identity, Liaison. After all, during my meetings aboard this space station, you have been my contact during negotiations eighty-si
x-point-three percent of the time.”
The shrouded figure seemed to relax again. “I suppose I have. We have known each other a long time, Sarek of Vulcan.”
“Indeed we have, Taryn of Freelan,” the ambassador agreed solemnly.
“This time, you did not come alone,” Taryn said.
Sarek beckoned, and Soran stepped forward from the back of the room and seated himself beside the ambassador. “You are correct, Liaison. I brought my new aide, Soran, so he could begin familiarizing himself with Freelan/Vulcan trade agreements.”
“Why?” the other asked, bluntly.
“My health is not what it once was since my heart trouble twenty-seven years ago,” Sarek said, smoothly, having anticipated this question. His response was accurate, if deliberately misleading. Actually, his health was nowbetter than it had been for decades. “Someday,” the ambassador continued, “perhaps in the not-too-distant future, I will retire. I cannot continue to be the sole contact between our worlds. I wish my aide to become familiar with our negotiations.”
“I see,” Taryn said slowly. “Very well. Greetings, Soran.”
“Greetings, Liaison Taryn,” the young Vulcan said, raising a hand in salute. “May you live long and prosper.”
“Only if I can induce Vulcan to reduce their import tariffs!” the Freelan shot back. “It is difficult to prosper under the crushing weight of unfair tariffs!”
“As a matter of fact, tariffs were one subject I wished to explore today,” Sarek put in, smoothly. “May we begin?”
The cowled figure inclined his head. “Assuredly, Ambassador.”
Soran observed, for the most part in silence, as the two diplomats went over the trade agreements in question. Sarek’s mind was only partly on the subject at hand—with another portion of his mind, he was going over his plans for later that station-designated “night.”
The two diplomats finished their discussion of tariffs, and went on to discuss modifications to a long-standing trade agreement.
Taryn seemed slightly suspicious of Sarek’s motives in bringing up that particular agreement. “I must admit that I am surprised to hear you reopen this topic,” he said. “I had thought that the agreement we forged regarding those cryo-memory inserts actually favored Vulcan. I fail to see why you would wish to alter or revise it…. ”
“The modifications I have in mind are minor, Liaison,” Sarek said. “They should not take long to discuss. Perhaps, after our talk, we could…have a game?”
“As you know, I am extremely busy,” Taryn said, but then he hesitated. “However, I must admit that you are one of the few players that I find…stimulating. Very well, then. A game. When we are finished.”
Sarek went ahead with his list of proposed changes to the trade agreement. They were, as he said, minor, most of them points that they had haggled over when the original agreement was forged, three years ago. He actually found himself losing some ground in the negotiations, partially because he was not devoting his full attention to the problem at hand.
Finally, they were finished. Soran excused himself as both diplomats keyed their terminals to produce a 3-D chess board. “Standard time limit per move?” Sarek asked, after graciously accepting white at Taryn’s insistence.
“Of course.”
The Vulcan studied the board, planning his opening.
“I must warn you, Sarek,” Taryn said, “our discussion has sharpened my wits. Prepare to lose, Ambassador.”
Sarek inclined his head in a half-bow. “I am prepared, Liaison.” After a moment’s consideration, he moved a pawn. Taryn leaned forward, studying his representation of the board, then made his own move. “You know,” the Freelan said, and the Vulcan gained the impression that he was confiding something highly personal, “I truly do find our games…stimulating.”
“You mean ‘challenging,’ ” Sarek said dryly.
“As I recall”—Taryn’s mechanical tones did not vary, but the ambassador thought he detected an edge in the quickness of the Freelan’s retort—“I won, the last time we played.”
“Yes, so you did,” Sarek said, evenly. “My game was definitely off that day.” He could not resist needling the liaison just a little. Taryn could, at times, be induced to play recklessly. The Freelan hated to lose, and Sarek had learned precisely what it took to bait him until he made a fatal mistake.
Sarek moved his knight onto the queen’s level, then sat back to study his opponent’s reaction.
Taryn’s answering move caused the Vulcan to raise an eyebrow. “Stimulating indeed,” he murmured, his mind running through moves and their consequences with lightning speed, even as part of his brain counted off the seconds remaining for him to reply to Taryn’s bold strategy. “Perhaps…challenging.” With a swift, decisive movement he transferred a rook to the king’s level.
Taryn regarded the board, and Sarek thought he detected skepticism in the mechanical voice. “Jobeck’s gambit?” His cowl moved slightly, as though he had shaken his head ruefully. “A human move…and not a particularly inventive one, at that. Iwill taste victory today.” He paused, his mitt hovering over the board as he considered his next move. “A human gambit…a surprising move for one of your kind to make, Ambassador.”
“My wife is Terran,” Sarek said, “and I have spent many years on Earth. I learned that gambit there. Humans may not possess Vulcan logic…but they can demonstrate surprisingly intricate strategy, at times.”
“For myself, I have never had cause to respect their intelligence,” Taryn commented, his mitt still hovering over the board. “Take this new organization that has sprung up, for instance. The Keep Earth Human League. From all reports, it consists of a collection of bigoted misfits with stunted intellects. They detest all nonhumans…even your people, Ambassador.”
Sarek had to guard against a betraying start of surprise. It was Taryn’s turn to needle him—almost as though the liaison knew why the ambassador was here, hoping to gain proof for his theory about a Freelan conspiracy….
“These fringe groups come and go,” the Vulcan conceded blandly. “They hardly pose a concern to the long-standing amity between Earth and Vulcan.”
“Of course not,” Taryn said, sitting back in his seat, his shrouded head level, as though he were staring directly into Sarek’s face, searching for any betraying emotions he might find there. “No one could hope to alter such a close alliance.”
Sarek raised an eyebrow. “Really, Liaison, you surprise me. If this is a strategy on your part, I should think you could be more creative than to attempt something so…antiquated.”
The Freelan’s cowl jerked slightly, as ifhe had stiffened. “Antiquated? What…what do you mean?”
Sarek gestured at the board. “Why, engaging me in conversation while you exceed your time limit for a move. Or…had you forgotten that itis your move?”
“My move…oh, yes. Of course I had not forgotten.” Taryn hastily moved his bishop.
As the game progressed, Sarek tried with all his diplomatic skills to gain information from his longtime contact. Taryn, who had recovered his aplomb, fenced back at him, seemingly enjoying their verbal sparring.
It was a very hard-fought game, but, to his own surprise, Sarek won once again. Typically, Taryn was not a particularly good sport about his defeat. The moment endgame was in sight, he signaled his board to topple his king, then, with barely a civil word of leavetaking, broke the connection.
After dinner, the two Vulcans retired to the adjoining rooms in their suite. Sarek set himself to doze until the middle of “night” aboard the station.
Hours later, the ambassador opened his eyes, then rose quietly from his bed to pull on a dark tunic and trousers, and soft-soled desert boots he had brought with him for this occasion. With his minuscule Vulcan tricorder in hand, he seated himself before the Freelan comm link. The ambassador had been planning for this day for months, and had prepared programs to cover all of the most probable contingencies.
Sarek’s first task was
to disarm the alarms on the station’s secured maintenance area. He studied the sleek, horizontal console for only a moment. “Manual input, please. Standard Federation interface.” The manual control board slid out of a concealed opening, and he swiftly enabled the external data link. That was the easy part. Now came the challenging task of causing a calculated “malfunction” in the system that would camouflage his efforts to access the main data banks.
The Vulcan ambassador quickly set his tricorder to run through the standard external data conventions, sending handshake messages at various wavelengths. When the tricorder’s screen indicated success, the Vulcan’s lips tightened. Not Federation standard. Working efficiently, he called up the most likely communications protocol and linked his tricorder into the Freelan comm link, then was gratified to see the connection established. The twenty-five-year-old espionage done by his son aboard a Romulan vessel would suffice to accomplish his goal.
Confident now of the specifics of this particular computer system, he downloaded the first of severalvalit programs and instructed the low-level operating system to execute. Avalit was a small Vulcan creature that could burrow its way through the hardest soil, capable of adapting its complex mandibles to numerous functions. Unless the operating system was massively dissimilar to what Spock had reported, thevalit program would be able to adapt and invade, opening up the secure portions of the software. And, by returning countless error messages to the central processors, this firstvalit program would effectively disguise his efforts to intrude further.
Although Sarek did not actually have to enter the central maintenance area to gain further access to the no-longer-secure data, he wanted to see the Freelan computer with his own eyes. The comm link in his quarters was encased in a shell that differed little from those found on any Federation world. In a sense, he had proven nothing so far. The Freelans could have purchased their comm units and software from the Romulans. The ambassador had to see the central computer itself, because he knew that the Romulan cloaking system depended on the massive processing capabilities of these machines; the Romulans would never willingly part with this technology to outsiders for mere profit.
