His heels hit hard—but not quite as they should have.
The floor mats lurched beneath him, and he had the sickening feeling that the ship had listed somehow. Then he steadied himself and put his arms at his sides.
"If you can't stick the landing," they'd told him at the academy, "at least act like you've stuck it."
A round of applause went up from the assemblage. Some of it grudging, he sensed.
Kirk waited until the last wave of vertigo shuddered through him. Then he sought out McCoy.
The doctor was standing off to one side, arms folded across his chest. He was shaking his head from side to side.
"You never finished the third dip," he said. "That's why your landing was so lousy."
Kirk sputtered. "Never finished …" he began, then realized that he was still the center of attraction. Slinging an arm around McCoy's shoulders, he guided him toward an unoccupied corner of the gym.
"That's not fair, Bones. I did three flips."
"Uh-uh," said the doctor. "Not in my book. How'd you like it if Sulu made that kind of landing? Would you call that a mission accomplished?"
He shrugged beneficently. "Of course," he said, "you could always try it again."
Kirk moved a shoulder around its socket. Perhaps he could do it again—but not any better. It had been a long time since the academy.
"How about a slightly different wager?" suggested the captain.
McCoy looked at him askance. "Now see here, Jim. I was crazy enough to do it once, but …"
"But the results were inconclusive. Why not try an event where the outcome is more clear-cut?"
The doctor's interest was piqued. "Such as?"
"One quick fall. Me against anybody you choose. If I lose, you can drag me straight into sickbay. If I win, I get a stay of execution. For the couple of weeks we talked about—until I can get out from under that load of red tape."
McCoy snorted. "You should have a little mustache and a derringer. Isn't that de rigeur for riverboat gamblers?" He paused. "You'll do anything to avoid a physical, won't you?"
Kirk thought for a moment, nodded. "Just about."
McCoy cracked half a smile. "You know I shouldn't do this. It shreds the Hippocratic oath all to ribbons. But what the hell—even if you lose, you come in soon enough. Right?"
"My word," said Kirk. He gestured toward the far end of the gym, where the other crewmen were working out. "So? Who's your champion?"
He fully expected Bones to pick Silverman. The security officer was clearly the biggest and strongest in the room.
But the doctor surprised him.
"Ensign DeLong," said McCoy, "would you step forward?"
A feminine figure detached herself from the crowd. She was tall, slender—almost awkward looking.
Kirk shot McCoy a questioning glance.
"Didn't you know?" asked the doctor, obviously pleased with himself. "DeLong is our resident expert in dallis'kari."
Kirk grunted. Of course, Bones had known which weapons Kirk had an affinity for—and that the dallis'kari wasn't one of them.
"Something wrong, Jim?"
Kirk chuckled. "No, Doctor. I guess I've made my bed. Now I'll have to see if I can lie in it."
Moments later, DeLong had taken down the matching dallis'karim from the wall. She handled the complex ball-and-thong arrangement gracefully—almost affectionately.
"Doctor McCoy tells me you're an expert with these," said Kirk.
"Sort of," said DeLong, looking up from her inspection of the weapons. "A couple of planetary silver medals, a couple of bronze." She smiled. "I hope there'll be no hard feelings, sir."
"You mean when I lose, Ensign?"
"Well … if you lose, sir."
She sounded apologetic. As if she felt sorry for him.
This is what I get, he told himself, for not getting around to the new-personnel bios yet. What else don't I know about my crew?
He made a mental note to go over the files as soon as this was over. Assuming, of course, he wasn't a captive in sickbay.
DeLong handed him the dallis'kari and he took it. Both of them spread the things out, until the weighted balls hung where they were comfortable with them. One tandem depended from the knotted thong in Kirk's right hand, the other from the thong in his left.
"Ready, Captain?" asked DeLong.
"As ready as I'll ever be," said Kirk.
They circled, each moving to the right, each jockeying for position. There were good-natured cheers and hoots from the crewmen all about them.
DeLong feinted, and Kirk half fell for it. He only barely managed to avoid her low, looping attack.
"Somebody call sickbay," jeered McCoy, from somewhere behind him. "Tell them to warm up my instruments."
Another feint, and Kirk nearly fell for it again. This time, a ball glanced off his shoulder as it whirled by.
Kirk muttered beneath his breath. He'd better try something fast, he decided. The longer this went on, the less chance he'd have of winning.
And since he knew only one trick …
He gambled that on DeLong's third attack, there'd be no feint. As she lunged, he tossed one end of his dallis'kari at her leading hand, the other at her feet.
If it had indeed been a feint, his weapon would have spun uselessly and hit the floor. But it seemed he'd gambled right.
The higher tandem wrapped itself around DeLong's own weapon, confounding her attack, while the lower tandem caught her by the ankles.
Helpless, she pitched forward, but Kirk caught her before she fell far. For a moment, her body slumped against his.
Unexpectedly, he found her face only inches away. There was an expression of surprise there—shock almost. And something else, which he had trouble identifying.
In a moment, it all turned to anger. As Kirk helped her to her feet, she twisted away.
"That was a dirty trick," said DeLong, bending to untangle the thongs around her ankles. The blood had rushed to her face, accentuating her displeasure.
"Aw, come on, DeLong," said another crewman. "You were beaten, that's all."
She flashed a look at him, and he fell silent. "A gentleman doesn't throw the dallis'kari," she said. "They only do that in the streets."
Kirk hadn't known—though now that he thought about it, the fellow who'd taught him that trick had been a street-fighter.
DeLong pulled the last strand of thong away. With a flourish, she rearranged Kirk's weapon, then picked up her own where it had settled to the floor. Finally, without another word, she replaced both dallis'karim on the wall—and left the gym.
Kirk felt McCoy's gaze on him. The doctor approached as the other crewmen dispersed.
"As far as I'm concerned," Bones said softly, "you've won your respite. But I don't think you've made a friend in DeLong."
Kirk scowled. "No, I imagine not." He clapped McCoy on the shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'd like to have a word with her."
And he followed DeLong out the door.
She was already at the end of the long corridor when he emerged from the gym.
"Ensign," he said, his voice ringing out perhaps a little louder than he'd meant it to.
But DeLong kept going, as if she hadn't heard. A moment later, she'd turned the corner and was gone.
Still wet from his shower, Kirk activated his terminal and accessed the new-personnel files.
They were alphabetical. It was only by coincidence, then, that Denise DeLong's name came up first.
She'd grown up on Stanhague, one of the outpost worlds in the Moeban cluster. That made sense, of course. The dallis'kari had originated on Stanhague.
Her father, now deceased, had been a bioengineer; her mother, a metallurgist. No brothers or sisters.
Sure enough, she had earned all those medals in dallis'kari. Not to mention a few others in horsemanship and archery.
Good grades at the academy. Special training in mathematics, mechanical engineering, warp physics. Recognition for valor wh
en she saved two classmates from a chemical fire.
Now she was serving under Mister Scott in engineering. And judging from his official remarks, he was pretty impressed with her. Quite a compliment, Kirk noted—it took a lot to make Scotty sit up and take notice.
Kirk's study was interrupted by a priority message. He pressed the button on the console and Uhura's face appeared on the screen.
"Sorry to bother you, sir. But it's Admiral Straus from Starbase Three."
Kirk nodded. "Put him through please, Lieutenant."
Abruptly, Uhura's image was replaced with that of the admiral.
With his beady eyes and bulbous nose, Straus had always reminded Kirk of a Terran anteater. But his looks hadn't kept him from rising to the top ranks of Starfleet.
"Good to see you, Jim. You're looking well."
"You too, sir. What can I do for you?"
"Well," said Straus, "I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
Kirk thought about it. "The bad news, I suppose."
"I'd a feeling you'd say that." The admiral looked down at a readout on his desk. "All right, then. It seems that the Romulans have been getting a little frisky lately. Staging lots of military activity hard by Federation territory—though they haven't actually shot at anything. Yet."
"It sounds," said Kirk, "as if they're trying to draw us into a police action. Something that could escalate—and give them an excuse to begin hostilities."
"That's my guess as well, Jim. But I believe it's only a matter of time before they find an excuse—police action or not."
"So you'd like the Enterprise to patrol the sector—discreetly?"
"More or less. Basically, I just want you within shouting distance when things start to get hot." He consulted his readout again and muttered something unintelligible. "Which brings me to the good news."
Kirk chuckled. "I'm interested to hear the connection," he said.
"Simple," said Straus. "While you're passing time out there, you might as well take some of that shore leave your crew so richly deserves. And since there's a planet called Tranquillity Seven in that sector …" He let his voice trail off.
It caught Kirk off guard.
"Tran … Tranquillity Seven, sir?"
"Don't tell me you're disappointed," said Straus. "I thought you'd appreciate a little time off."
Kirk shook his head. "No, it's not that, sir. I'm looking forward to it. Very much."
"Good," said the admiral. "That'll be all, then. I'm sure your navigator—what's his name? Chekov?"
"Yes sir. Pavel Chekov."
"I'm sure he can find the way."
"I'm sure he can, Admiral."
"Just don't forget—you've got to be ready to hit the neutral zone on short notice. So don't go too hedonistic on me."
"Understood," said Kirk.
"Good. Enjoy yourself, Jim."
"Thank you, sir."
With that, the admiral's image faded.
Kirk saw in the reflective sheen of the darkened monitor that he was grinning.
Tranquillity Seven.
It had been a long time. And could there be a finer place to take shore leave? What starship crew wouldn't kill for a layover there?
His thoughts were interrupted by a beeping. When he responded to it, Uhura's face appeared on the monitor.
"Captain?" she ventured.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I tried to convince the admiral to leave a recorded message for you, but he insisted on speaking to you directly."
"It's all right," said Kirk. "I know how persuasive Admiral Straus can be." He paused. "Have you ever been to Tranquillity Seven, Uhura?"
The communications officer smiled in her mysterious way.
"Why, no sir—I can't say I have. But I understand it's quite a place."
"Well, you'll have a chance to decide for yourself, Lieutenant. We've just been sent there for shore leave."
Uhura's eyes lit up. "Really, sir?"
"Really. Do you think this might have a positive effect on morale?"
She grinned. "I'd be very surprised if it didn't."
"Just do me a favor," said Kirk. "Don't spread the word just yet. I want the command staff to hear it from me before they hear it in the rec."
"Aye, sir," said Uhura.
"Good. That'll be all, Lieutenant."
Uhura's dark beauty faded from the screen as quickly as the admiral's had—proving once again, Kirk noted, that there was no justice in the universe.
Now, what had he been doing before the admiral cut in?
Oh yes.
Recalling DeLong's file, he pondered it awhile longer. Weighed it against what had happened in the gym. And made his decision.
Denise DeLong switched off her monitor, automatically relinquishing access to the monograph on quantum mechanics that she'd barely been absorbing. She sat back in her seat and sighed.
Normally, such a monograph would have fascinated her, would have kept her mind buzzing with theoretical permutations for hours on end.
Tonight, however, she couldn't concentrate. All she could think about was what a fool she'd been.
She had been wrong to fly off the handle—she knew that now. The universe wasn't just an extension of the aristocratic enclaves on Stanhague. Hell, even the rest of Stanhague wasn't like the enclaves.
She should have expected that the rules would be different here. That men and women who had been hardened by the dangers of deep space would find the subtleties of good sportsmanship too fine a—
No. That wasn't fair—or true. Everyone she'd met on board the Enterprise had been well mannered, according to his or her own customs.
It wasn't the ethics of good sportsmanship the captain had violated. It was only the parochial set of ethics with which she'd grown up.
But that wasn't the entire reason for her anger—was it? If it had been someone else who'd defeated her as Kirk had, she might have kept her head. Perhaps even challenged him to a rematch, and regained some of her standing with her peers.
But Jim Kirk was different.
Since the first time she'd seen him—on one of his routine visits to the engine room—she'd had a crush on him. There was no other way to describe it.
She didn't know him well enough to love him—not nearly. But the attraction she felt was undeniable. She couldn't even pass him in the corridors without feeling her skin go goose-pimply …
DeLong shook herself. She ran her fingers through her curly brown hair, and again she sighed.
She was still just a green engineering ensign. She'd never have had the nerve to approach him—much less initiate a romantic liaison.
Why would Kirk even be interested in her? After all, there were more attractive women on board. Lots of them.
And so, when she was put in the position of facing him in dallis'kari, she'd wanted to impress him. To make him respect her, admire her. Hell, to make him notice her.
Then, in that one awful moment, she'd been caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. Her chance to impress him had been pulled out from under her. Instead, she'd been made to look foolish—inept.
And Kirk himself was the one who'd made her seem that way. Not by beating her fairly—or what she'd always thought of as fairly—but through a cheap, underhanded trick.
It had made him seem petty suddenly. As conniving as a street merchant, as common as a leering youth in gutter-gang ribbons.
Torn between attraction to him and revulsion, disappointment at her failure to impress him and anger at the one who'd made her fail—she'd snapped. Accused him of cheating, or come very close to it. She couldn't remember exactly what she'd said—her emotions had been boiling too close to the surface at the time.
And then she'd run off, shamefully. Like a spoiled little girl who couldn't get her way. Nor had she responded when Kirk called her—though he had to have known she was still within earshot.
DeLong shook her head. She was ashamed of herself, so ashamed. If o
nly …
She was startled by the sudden beeping of the monitor. Depressing the button that would activate it, she pulled herself erect.
When the beeper went off at this hour, it was seldom a social call. Most often, it was someone in engineering, asking for her help with some kind of problem.
But not this time.
"Ensign? Sorry to bother you while you're off duty."
Kirk's face was unreadable, the image of authority. But she sensed an undertone of irritation.
"That's … it's all right, sir."
"I'd like to have a word with you," he said. "As soon as possible."
Ice water trickled suddenly down her spine.
"Uh … certainly, sir."
"In fact, it might be best to have it now. In the briefing room—say, in ten minutes?"
DeLong swallowed.
"Ten … of course, sir."
"Good. See you there."
Kirk's face, still expressionless, faded from the screen.
Ohmigod, she said silently. Ohmigod.
A weight seemed to descend on her, making it impossible to stand up. So she just sat there, absorbing the enormity of the situation.
It was worse than she'd thought. She hadn't just embarrassed herself. She'd brought her whole career crashing down around her ears.
Why else would the captain have summoned her at this hour—and to the briefing room—but to relieve her of her duties? A mere reprimand could have waited until her next watch. And more than likely, it would only have been administered by Mister Scott.
But this was something more serious. Deadly serious, judging by the tone of Kirk's voice.
What had she said to him, there in the gym? She wished she could remember.
Balling her hands into fists, she brought them down on her desk.
Damn. She'd worked so hard to stand out at the academy. Put her whole body and soul into it—all to be just where she was now.
And in a single moment of anger, of wounded pride, she'd blown it to hell.
DeLong took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.
When she faced Kirk this time, it would at least be with dignity.
DeLong was already seated in the briefing room when Kirk arrived. Acknowledging her with a nod, he took a chair diagonally across from hers.
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