"Nonetheless," said Simmons, "there was poison in her glass. And it didn't get there by accident."
"Are you suggesting," asked Stuart, "that someone else placed the poison in Vedra's glass?"
Chin frowned, looked down at her hands.
"I suppose," she said, "that would be the other possibility."
"But there was no evidence of foul play," said Paultic. "Was there?"
"None," responded Simmons. His voice had the ring of certainty.
"Kai," said Banks, "I know she was your friend. She was my friend too. But there's no use blaming anyone else for her death." His eyes seemed to lose their focus for a moment—to go liquid. "Though it would almost be easier if there were someone—wouldn't it?"
In his cabin, Kirk smiled. A nice touch, he remarked to himself. Banks, too, had been programmed well.
"Friendship is not the basis of my remarks," said Chin. "I'm speaking as a medical professional—trained in, among other disciplines, human psychology. And my professional opinion is that Gauri Vedra would not have knowingly committed suicide." She took a deep breath, let it out. "And as medical officer of this ship, I'm calling for a further investigation into the matter."
Simmons grunted, ruffled.
"There was an investigation," said the security chief. "An extensive one, I might add."
"Perhaps," said Chin, "not extensive enough."
Simmons's eyes narrowed, and his squarish face took on a blood-red hue.
Stuart turned to Martinez.
"Sir, this is highly irregular—"
But the captain held his hand up, cutting short his first officer's protest.
"Doctor Chin," he said, "is our chief medical officer. If she is not satisfied with the conclusion we've reached, then we must believe she has good cause."
Again, Kirk nodded approvingly. He himself could hardly have been more convincing.
"Commander Simmons," said Martinez, "you will kindly conduct a further investigation into Lieutenant Commander Vedra's death. I want you to take statements from everyone in the crew. Ask them where they were the night Vedra died—and whether their whereabouts can be corroborated."
Simmons frowned at Chin. "Aye, sir."
"What about the two scientists?" asked Paultic. "The pair we just picked up?"
Martinez nodded. "Of course, Mister Paultic—them as well. Doctor Brown and—what was the other man's name?"
"Zezel," said Paultic.
"That's right," said Martinez. "Zezel." He looked around the table. "We'll reconvene, then, when the results of Mister Simmons's investigation are available."
Reaching over, he flipped the switch that deactivated the recording unit.
It was the signal that everyone could go about their business. A more fastidious captain might have ended the meeting with more pomp and circumstance, according to the book. But Martinez, as a human, had never been one to stand on ceremony—so why should his android replica be any different?
One by one, the ranking officers of the Hood filed out of the briefing room, until only two were left.
"Coming?" asked Martinez.
Chin looked up at him. "You think my demand was unwarranted—don't you?"
The captain shrugged. "In a word, yes. You know that Simmons takes his job seriously—almost too seriously. If there was any evidence at all of a struggle, or even that someone had been in Vedra's room when she was exposed to the poison, he would have caught it."
She eyed Martinez. "Then, if you felt that way, why didn't you override my request?" Her face took on a softer cast. "Or do I already know the answer to that? Is it because of Althea?"
Martinez seemed to hesitate. Chin probably didn't notice it, but Kirk did. It was taking just a split second too long for Martinez to recall the pertinent data from his memory banks.
"Let's say," he answered finally, "I know what it's like … to need to know the truth. I understand how important that can be."
The doctor nodded. "You miss her, don't you? Still?"
The captain's eyes fell, fixed on the polished tabletop.
"Still," he said.
Chin leaned forward. "It may be," she said, "that we'll never know what happened to Vedra. But no matter how this second investigation turns out, I want you to know—"
Martinez stopped her with upraised hands. "No need for that," he said, "Doctor." A sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Now get out of here."
Chin rose. "Aye, sir."
On her way out, she laid a gentle hand on the captain's shoulder. A moment later, the door to the briefing room opened and she exited. It closed behind her with a whoosh.
Martinez looked straight up at the monitor. In accord with the protocol with which he'd been programmed, he waited until Kirk spoke first.
"Your impressions?" asked Kirk.
"Paultic," he said, "is easily duped. We may need to replace him, at some later date, in order to have free rein in communications. But for now, he represents no problem."
Kirk nodded. "And Chin?"
"She has a lively curiosity," said Martinez. "And therefore, she is a potential danger to us."
"Recommendation?"
"Patience," said Martinez. "Until the machine is assembled again, we have no way of replacing her. And if we tried to dispose of her in more obvious ways—say, as we disposed of Vedra—it would be difficult to convince the humans that the two deaths were not linked. It would raise too many suspicions."
Kirk nodded. "I agree. It is too early in the game for that. But make certain that Chin is monitored—closely."
"Aye, sir," said Martinez.
Kirk placed a booted foot up on the cabin console and leaned back further into his chair.
"What about the transport of the machinery? And Brown?"
"We are approaching Midos Five now. Naturally, the crew is aware of our destination. And that we are to beam our cargo down to the planet, along with Doctor Brown. But no one among the humans has an inkling of what's in the containers. Also, since we left Exo III, there has been more than one privileged communication to me from Starfleet Command—so no one in the communications section wonders where our orders came from."
"You have done your work well," said Kirk.
Martinez inclined his head only slightly. "I only seek the fulfillment of Doctor Korby's plan. As we all do."
"Yes," said Kirk. "As we all do."
By way of dismissal, he leaned forward and deactivated the monitor.
Chapter Six
KIRK FELT ESPECIALLY CHEERFUL as he took the command seat. For once, everything seemed to be going his way.
Earlier this morning, Bones had given the P'othparan—his name was K'leb, apparently—a clean bill of health, and cleared him for teleport. At this very minute, in fact, there was probably a little going-away party taking place in the transporter room.
On top of that, his physical had been postponed—perhaps for quite some time, if he played his cards right. The misunderstanding with Ensign DeLong had been ironed out, despite that little bit of confusion en route. And Trank Seven was next on the agenda.
"Mister Chekov," he said.
The Russian swiveled in his seat.
"Aye, Keptain?"
"Would you lay in a course, please, for Tranquillity Seven, in the Gamma Theta system?"
Chekov grinned his baby-faced grin. "Already laid in, sair."
Kirk chuckled. He might have expected as much.
"Thank you, Mister Chekov."
"Thank you, sair," said the navigator, never one to conceal his enthusiasm.
Kirk glanced at Spock. The Vulcan was standing at his usual post, by the science station.
"All systems go, Mister Spock?"
"Go, sir?" asked Spock. "Is go not a verb?"
Kirk grunted. "It's an old usage, Spock. From the early days of manned flight. It means operative."
Spock arched an eyebrow. "In that case," he said, "all systems are indeed go."
Kirk shook his head. It had taken him
a while to know when his first officer was truly perplexed by human behavior and when he was only being ornery. This incident, he decided, was definitely in the latter category.
And why not? Spock was probably looking forward to this shore leave as much as anyone. Even if Trank Seven wasn't exactly his kind of place, it would at least be an interesting diversion—from a sociological point of view.
"Mister Sulu," he said, "since all systems are indeed go, please be prepared to take us out of orbit—just as soon as our young friend has beamed down."
Sulu didn't turn around—probably because he was laughing, and he didn't want to offend Spock.
"It will be my pleasure, sir," he said. And it did seem as if he said it with some difficulty.
The captain tapped a stud in his armrest and opened a channel to the transporter room.
"Scotty?"
"Aye, sir," came the answer. Somehow, Kirk thought, it sounded a bit tentative. Or was it his imagination?
"How are things going down there?" he asked.
This time, there was a definite hesitation on the other end.
"Well," said Scotty, "there's been an unexpected complication—sir."
Kirk felt the eyes of the bridge crew fix on him. They seemed to sense that their shore leave was in jeopardy.
"What kind of complication, Mister Scott? Is something wrong with the boy?"
"Oh no, sir. He's fit's a fiddle."
"Then what's the problem?"
"Well, sir, when Mister Clifford here conveyed our goodbye wishes t' K'leb, th' lad refused t' go. Unless …"
Scotty's voice trailed off.
"Unless what, Scotty?"
"Unless you go with 'im, sir."
"Me? Why?"
"It seems, sir, that when ye saved 'is life, ye … a' dinna know just how t' say this, but a' think ye adopted 'im."
Kirk felt the blood rush to his face. "Adopted, Mister Scott? Are you certain about that?"
He could almost see Scotty shrugging.
"That's what th' lad says. It's one o' their customs. When someone's life is saved, he's bound t' th' one who saved it."
Kirk looked to his first officer.
"Is there such a custom on T'nufo, Spock?"
It took a moment for the Vulcan to bring up the appropriate file. And another for him to scan the information within.
"I am afraid," he said finally, "I cannot answer that. The data I have here is insufficient to make a determination."
Kirk sighed, stood, and headed for the turbolift.
"Mister Spock," he said, "take the conn. But don't get too comfortable. I intend to be right back."
As the lift doors whispered shut, Kirk remonstrated with himself.
You should have seen it coming. Since when do things all go right at the same time?
The portal to the transporter room closed with a soft rush of air, leaving just the three of them—Clifford himself, Doctor McCoy, and the P'othparan.
The older man turned to Clifford and half smiled.
"You look," he said, "as if you'd like to have taken a powder too."
Clifford grunted. "It is kind of an awkward situation."
McCoy chuckled dryly. "That may be the understatement of the day."
He propped himself against a bulkhead and folded his arms across his chest. Scrutinized the P'othparan, who was sitting on the transporter platform trying to follow their conversation.
"Poor kid," said the doctor. "First he's wrenched off his planet. And now he can't go home 'cause of some goldarned ancient custom."
Clifford nodded. "It doesn't seem fair, does it?" He leaned forward across the control stand, careful not to nudge any of the settings with his elbows. "What do you think the captain will do?"
McCoy shrugged. "If I knew that, I wouldn't have stuck around."
Just then, the doors opened again.
At the sight of Kirk, Clifford pushed off the control stand and came to attention. The P'othparan shot to his feet a moment later.
Only McCoy remained in the same position. His eyes seemed to twinkle.
Kirk looked from one to another of them, his gaze finally coming to rest on the doctor. He frowned slightly.
"You remained here, no doubt, for medical reasons?" asked the captain.
"Why else?" returned McCoy. "The boy's still my patient until he leaves the ship."
Kirk was about to smile at that, it seemed to Clifford. But after a moment, he thought better of it and turned to the P'othparan.
K'leb looked at him hopefully, spoke to him in his native language.
"I need your help, Mister Clifford. What did he say?"
Clifford came around the control stand. "He said he was glad you'd seen fit to join him, or … no, to let him join you. To go back to T'nufo with him, I think he means."
"Would you explain," asked Kirk, "that it's all right to return to T'nufo without me? That I release him from any debt he may believe he owes me?"
Clifford did his best to translate the captain's words precisely, for it seemed to him that they were well chosen. But they didn't quite achieve what he had hoped.
The P'othparan's response was animated—and anguished.
"He says," Clifford translated, "that you cannot release him. You can only reject him."
Kirk thought for a moment.
"And if I reject him?"
Clifford relayed the question—and heard the answer.
"Then he will be forced to take his own life."
Kirk scowled, glanced uncomfortably at McCoy. The doctor, suddenly in a joking mood no longer, returned the look.
"Tell him," said McCoy, "that the captain has many people bonded to him here—on the Enterprise. Hundreds of them, in fact. And that he can't just go abandoning them to go live on T'nufo."
Clifford checked with Kirk before he passed it on.
The captain nodded. "Go ahead, Mister Clifford."
When the boy answered, it was in a tone laced with reason.
"He says," Clifford translated, "that he understands your dilemma. And that he will be happy to remain on the ship—as one of the many for whom you are responsible."
Kirk took a deep breath, let it out.
Taking it as a sign of acceptance, the boy smiled.
Flanked by Spock and McCoy, Kirk sat across the briefing-room table from the viewscreen and addressed the provincial high minister.
"So you see," the captain explained, "I have a rather unusual situation on my hands."
The high minister nodded. "Yes," he said, with only a trace of an accent. Years of trade with the Federation had gained him fluency in at least a couple of its languages. "I agree—most unusual. I admit that I had not thought of this possibility the last time we spoke."
"Your excellency," Spock interjected, "if we were to teleport K'leb back to T'nufo, would he truly destroy himself?"
"I would hope not," said the high minister. "But I cannot rule it out. The P'othparans are a people who value their traditions. And the life-bonding is a very old tradition among them."
Kirk opened his hands in an appeal to the T'nufan.
"Is there any way out of this life-bond? Any loophole that we can take advantage of?"
The high minister shrugged. "Well," he said, "K'leb could save your life. That would balance everything out." He paused. "But don't expect that you can merely stage a danger and have him rescue you from it. We T'nufans are quite sensitive to emotion in others—not unlike your Mister Spock. In P'othparans, perhaps because of their semiprimitive culture, the talent is even more highly developed. So the youth will be able to sense it if you're not actually feeling threatened."
He leaned forward. "And I must warn you, if he suspects that you're trying to deceive him in that fashion—it may be looked upon the same as an outright rejection."
"And the odds of him really saving your life," McCoy said, "are too staggering to even consider."
"Indeed," said Spock. And then, to the high minister, "What other conditions may break t
he life-bond?"
The T'nufan leaned back in his chair, pondered the question.
"None," he said finally.
Kirk grunted. "You mean I've got a companion for the rest of my life?"
The high minister's expression went from seriousness to disbelief to amusement—and all in a moment.
"For the rest of your life?" He laughed. "Of course not. Only for the year demanded by tradition."
Kirk felt a measure of tension go out of him.
McCoy chuckled. "A year? This life-bond only lasts for a year?"
The high minister confirmed it.
"Fascinating," said Spock, drawn for a moment into a reflection Kirk couldn't even guess at. "But it does not quite solve our problem."
"No," said the captain. "It doesn't. I still can't stay here with K'leb. And I certainly can't take him with us. There are some pretty explicit regulations against transporting unauthorized personnel."
No one responded—not at first. Then Spock and McCoy started to say something at once. And stopped just as abruptly.
"After you, Doctor," said the Vulcan.
"Oh no," said McCoy, shaking his head. "After you, Spock. You've probably worked out all the details already."
"Gentlemen," said Kirk, consciously exercising patience, "would one of you tell the high minister and myself what the blazes you've come up with?"
"Go ahead," McCoy told his fellow officer.
Spock shrugged. "All you need do, sir, is make K'leb a member of the crew. On a provisional basis, of course."
Kirk considered it. Of course, it was an underhanded bit of business. But wasn't it he who'd advised DeLong that rules had to be overlooked sometimes?
Nor was it a long-term solution to the problem. But it would at least give him time to work one out. And he wouldn't have to remain here in orbit until he did.
He turned to the high minister. "Any objections, Your Excellency?"
"No," said the T'nufan. "Nor do I expect any from the youth's family. As far as they're concerned, he'll be discharging his responsibility. The details will not perturb them."
"All right then," said Kirk. "It's all over but the paperwork."
"Good," said the high minister. "I'm glad we were able to reach a satisfactory conclusion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to find some additional facilities for the other refugees."
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