"I think I do, Barclay," Kirk answered, his teeth set. "He constructed several annihilation devices out of, God save us, cardboard boxes; the antimatter in each was held safely in a magnetic field, until it could be triggered by canceling the field and bringing the antimatter into contact with the surface of the box."
"Correct!" Barclay exclaimed, sarcastically clapping his hands. He was enjoying this. "In fact, he built four such devices. At once this political movement I'm talking about became the second most powerful military force in the Federation, right after the vaunted Starfleet. Three annihilation bombs were taken to different cities on our made-up planet, watched over by the most trusted people of the movement. Each was ready to detonate his or hers, and die, should circumstances require it.
"So on a certain day," Barclay continued, "this scientist visits the president of his planet and demands a political role for himself and his followers. Without revealing the specific nature of the power now backing his words, the scientist tells the president that if the movement's terms are not met, the capital of our hypothetical planet will be reduced to ruins. The old fool assumes this is a nuclear threat, similar to ones made time and again by simple-minded political activists of all stripes since the twentieth century. A thorough search for a nuclear device is made, and of course it is unsuccessful. No such device exists.
"The government does not agree to the movement's terms. The heroic scientist at the heart of our little fiction decides that the burden is his, and his alone, to carry. He volunteers to sit somewhere in the capital area, waiting, with a harmless-looking cardboard box in his lap. Where better than a spaceport, say, to pass the time?"
Barclay stopped to light a cigar. He puffed as everyone in the room silently watched him; Kirk noticed that Max, Dave and "Jones" seemed as drawn in by Barclay's tale as Kirk himself was; "Smith," on the other hand, looked only vaguely interested.
Barclay built a finger's worth of ash, and then continued. "The deadline passes. The scientist awaits a message from the leaders of the movement, who have heroically remained in the capital to the last moment—and beyond it—in an effort to come to terms with the government. The scientist is out of touch with his comrades; he waits for some word to be brought to him."
"And then what, Barclay?" Kirk prompted.
Barclay shrugged and gestured with his cigar; a small roll of ash fell to the cabin floor. "Unknown, I'm afraid. Something rather unexpected must have happened. The word was not given, yet the device was detonated—with the promised devastating effect."
"And a million people died," Kirk said.
"Couldn't be helped," Barclay returned. He drew on his cigar and exhaled blue smoke. "But one leader of this hypothetical movement remains—to carry on the struggle. And there are three annihilation devices remaining to help him do so, Kirk … which is why I don't think you'll surrender me to the local authorities. After all, Captain, you don't want to be responsible for another million—or two million, or three million—deaths, now, do you?" Barclay smiled cynically.
"You son of a bitch," Dave snarled, rising. He leapt at Barclay—who withdrew something quickly from somewhere inside his jacket. Kirk saw a flash of steel, and then Dave cried out with pain as he collapsed on top of Barclay. There was blood.
Dave's move had been too quick for Kirk to do anything to cover him—but he fired a stun charge at Barclay, who collapsed backward to the floor from his sitting position. His cigar rolled toward Kirk's feet; the captain pitched it into the fireplace and wiped his hand on his shirt.
"Keep those three covered, Sulu," Kirk snapped as he went to see what he could do for Dave. He rolled the man over; he had a stab wound in his gut, just under the solar plexus. Kirk didn't have a Starfleet medikit, and had only a hazy idea of what to do with one—but there was a woodsman's first-aid box in the cabin head, and Kirk fetched it. He used a compression bandage and bellyband on Dave and administered a shot of something the label said was designed to slow his metabolism. It's for snakebite, Kirk said to himself, reading the label on the injector, but it may help slow the bleeding by reducing his heart rate. Kirk wondered whether a shot for pain was contraindicated, and decided that it was; it might, he thought, slow Dave's system to the point of death.
Kirk threw a bedcover on Dave and adjusted it. The bloodstained knife had fallen near Barclay's hand; Kirk saw it was one of his own dinner knives. The bastard must have palmed it last night, Kirk thought. I wish to God I'd seen this coming.
Kirk got to his feet and turned to the three Leaguers. "Max, you didn't know about the New Athens plot." It was a statement, not a question.
Max shook his head numbly.
"But you two did," Kirk said to "Smith" and "Jones."
"Not me!" the latter said quickly. "I didn't know a damn thing about this, Captain!"
"Quiet!" ordered "Smith."
"Jones" rolled quickly away from "Smith." "Going to stab me, too, you louse? Look, Captain, my real name is Teodor Vladsilovich. I live in McIverton. I was a chapter head in the League, sort of a noncommissioned officer. God help me now, but I swallowed most of what the League stands for and tolerated the rest."
"What did you know about the plot?" Kirk demanded. He looked at Cogley. "Don't say it, Sam."
"Mr. Vladsilovich is aware of his rights under the law," Cogley said mildly. "I need not remind him of them."
"I don't care about that," Vladsilovich said. "Look, Captain, I was minding my own business, holding meetings and rallies and fund-raisers when Barclay and this guy 'Smith' show up and demand a place to stay, one where they won't be seen."
"When was that?" Kirk asked.
"Three days before New Athens went up," Vladsilovich said. "I found a house for them in Gregory's Landing. They told me they'd come west because the cops back east were after them for incitement to riot. I believed it; after all, it's a sucker charge, and the police frequently harassed our members at rallies.
"The house I got them was owned by a League member who was in New Athens on business. Uh, he never came back. You understand?"
"I think I do. Go on."
"Then New Athens happened, and I finally put two and two together. Everybody scattered. I went and hid in the Gregory's Landing house with Barclay and his friend, here; I thought the government would be looking for me, too, and I didn't have anywhere else safe to go. Max, here, came with me."
"Who is Max, anyway?" asked Kirk.
"Both Max and Dave were sergeants at arms at our meetings. Dave met us later."
"And who's 'Smith'?"
"I'm warning you, Vladsilovich," hissed "Smith"—but Sulu had him covered. "I'm warning you, creep," the helmsman said. "Smith" turned, saw the phaser pointed straight at him, and settled back, glaring at Vladsilovich.
"His real name is Holtzman," Vladsilovich said.
Kirk was startled. He turned to face the other man. "You're not the scientist—"
"His son," Holtzman said proudly.
Barclay was still out. Kirk first tied Holtzman's hands and feet together, and then tethered him on a short line to the base of the heavy kitchen table. He then trussed the unconscious Barclay. The captain then conducted a quick search of the two bound men and found nothing.
"Vladsilovich, Max, I'm accepting your parole," Kirk decided. "Sulu, arm them. We need another couple of phasers on our side. Burke's ten minutes are almost up." Kirk had decided that Max and Vladsilovich might be fools, but they were not mass murderers and had had no prior knowledge of the New Athens plot. Besides, he had to trust them; he needed their help.
Sulu issued weapons to the two of them. "Traitors," Holtzman snarled from the floor. "Traitors to my father's memory, traitors to your race, traitors to humanity." He spat.
"I ought to wipe that up with your face," Kirk said. Holtzman shrugged as best he could in his bonds.
Kirk looked out the window. Now he could see a line of troops, at least the eighty he'd expected and probably more, openly forming at the edge of the clearing in which Kirk
's cabin sat. Yeah, there's a combat phaser, too, Kirk thought resignedly. Well, Burke, you're still not getting Barclay—or the Boy Wonder, either. And I'm not going to sacrifice these other three to your appetite for revenge. You want a fight, you'll get one.
Kirk and the others waited.
"The ten minutes are up, Captain Kirk," came Burke's voice over the loudspeaker. "Use a white flag at the window to signal your intent to surrender."
Kirk stepped closer to the window, where he could be seen plainly, and gave a signal of an entirely different kind … but one even more ancient.
"Very well, Captain," Burke said. "On my order, the force will advance." There was a moment of silence … but in it, Kirk heard a distant rumbling. It grew louder by the second. He wondered what it was; it seemed to come from the sky.
Kirk craned his neck upward; he couldn't see anything. Wait a minute! he thought. There's nothing up there—the flitters and jets are gone!
And the rumbling noise was becoming a vibrating, almost tangible thing. It's like a slow-motion earthquake, wondered Kirk. Small objects began to dance on the cabin's shelves as the entire structure began to shake slightly.
Kirk looked outside. Some of the troops were running away! Others had dropped their arms and were holding their hands against their ears; combat helmets had been discarded and were lying on the ground, forgotten.
Even inside Kirk's insulated cabin, the noise was fierce. Objects were now dancing right off the shelves and crashing to the floor, but Kirk could no longer hear the breakage. The duraplast windows were ringing in their frames, but they were holding.
What the hell is it? Kirk wondered. He looked outside again—and gasped.
The Enterprise was sailing slowly and majestically toward his cabin, over the gentle land, at an altitude of not more than one hundred meters.
Burke saw her, too, and cursed. He watched the troops drop their arms and run. Who wouldn't run from that damn thing? he thought.
It was over; Burke could not and would not risk his men against a starship. Of all the things Kirk might have done, could have possibly done, he had not imagined this. It was undefeatable; he was checkmated.
He turned to Perez, tears in his eyes. The defense minister nodded mournfully, understandingly; he put a hand on Burke's shoulder. A good try, Perez was saying. A very good try. But, Nat, they were just too big for you.
Burke turned and walked to his command flitter. Perez followed, covering his ears against the sheer wall of noise from the mighty impulse engines of the Enterprise. Burke didn't bother.
Kirk had never seen her like this before; he felt the sting of tears. His lady was coming to the rescue once more, and he was grateful again to the depths of his soul. God, she looks magnificent! he thought. She shone a brilliant white in the light of the suns as she effortlessly cruised the cobalt-blue sky.
And she was big! Kirk had last seen her close-up from the outside—only the day before?—yet that had been in space, where anything built by man was made less by the vast scale of the cosmos. But here, against only the smallest piece of that cosmos, she dominated all, becoming an Enterprise triumphant.
She had finally come to his valley. Here, in close proximity, were the two things Kirk loved the most in his life. He could never remember being so happy, of having such a sense of rightness about things. Spock, you're right, he thought dizzily. Humans can overdose on joy, after all. Kirk was buzzed on rapture … but not so much that he did not notice the appearance of a shuttlecraft from the stern of the Enterprise … a craft that would take him up to his other home.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
The Final Frontier
Captain's log, stardate 7520.7:
Lieutenant Uhura reports a hail from U.S.S. Hood, due to arrive in Centaurian standard orbit at stardate 7521.5. The Hood will assume our central role in New Athens relief operations, freeing us at last to go to Starbase Seven for ship's repairs.
The dissipation of the tachyonic interference blanket around Centaurus is accelerating, now that nearly two weeks have passed since the New Athens disaster. Today is the first day subspace communications frequencies in this sector have been clear enough to reach Starfleet easily, so I have had Uhura package all recent log entries and transmit them to Starfleet Command. Those logs include commendations for ship's officers Spock, Sulu, Chekov, Scott, MacPherson, and Flores. I am also proud to note that this ship and its crew have earned a "Well done" from Admiral Buchinsky.
It had been seven days since Kirk's return to the Enterprise, a week of refit, repair and redoubled efforts to bring additional aid to the population of New Athens.
Once Starbase 7 had passed the word that the Centaurian defense system had been deactivated, all manner of aid had been dispatched from virtually every important member of the Federation. Earth's nations mourned the destruction of the hospital ships Dooley, Cavell and Sakharov—but had quickly sent the Tutu, Barnard and Semmelweiss to replace them. They, and more than twenty other ships, were now in orbit around Centaurus, and the thousands of doctors and nurses aboard them—as well as desperately needed medical equipment and supplies—were now at work treating the injured. And more such ships were on the way. It was becoming a crowded sky again.
Saul Weinstein was still handling things at Founders Park, but now with all the help he had always needed. With the authority of his Starfleet command rank, Kirk had declared martial law in the New Athens area and installed Weinstein as the area's surgeon general. He had also appointed Thaddeus Hayes—the chief of protocol who'd greeted him and Sulu in McIverton—as administrative head of the martial law district; that saved Kirk from doing the job himself. The captain figured that anyone who had started out as a labor mediator could handle the minor chore of running a disaster zone. Kirk had been right; Hayes was performing splendidly in the job. Wouldn't be surprised if that man has a future in planetary politics, Kirk thought.
Kirk also hadn't minded the thumb-in-the-eye that his declaration of martial law had given to the government of President Erikkson. Kirk had as much as said the government was incompetent to handle the emergency. It was true enough, though. According to Spock's report, no evidence that the government had ever dispatched a repair mission to the Defense Center had been found, and there had been no effective government presence at Founders Park—except for the presence of some local cops who had shown up anyway. Kirk wondered what Erikkson had been waiting for. The captain assumed that there would be some changes made in the next elections; Kirk might even send in his landowner's absentee ballot, for once.
Kirk had been briefly tempted to accompany Columbus down to McIverton to collect Galileo from Government Field—but he assumed that Sulu and Chekov would enjoy the trip even more without him … especially with six Security men at their side, each toting a number-two phaser and hoping for trouble. However, the pickup had been made without incident.
Bones and Joanna McCoy were still working in Founders Park, although they spent their nights aboard the Enterprise, now that there were doctors and nurses aplenty to cover for them and the transporters were working again. Dr. M'Benga was serving as the Enterprise's chief medical officer pro tem; Kirk was carrying Bones on his lists as temporarily detached from duty.
Kirk smiled as he recalled again that last landing of the Columbus, and how he'd emerged from his cabin to see Joanna McCoy stepping from the shuttle gangway, the first out. Bones had followed her out, medikit in hand; Kirk had gestured with a thumb toward the cabin and said, "Stab wound, Bones; he's on the floor. The other one's got phaser stun." McCoy had nodded quickly, mumbling a greeting to Kirk as he flashed by.
But Kirk hadn't noticed. He was looking at the living Joanna McCoy. No one had yet told him she was alive and safe; no one had had the chance. After standing still for a moment, Kirk had grinned sheepishly; he could not find the words of greeting and relief and joy he wanted.
But words hadn't been necessary. Joanna squealed, "Uncle Jim!!!" and ran to him and hugged him until he though
t his spine would crack.
Kirk hadn't minded that a bit.
Scotty and MacPherson, working as closely together as always, had completed repairs to the ship's badly abused internal communications systems and patched the impulse control centers enough to permit a safe trip to Starbase 7, where drydock personnel would shortly be swarming all over and through Kirk's ship. Spock was estimating a repair time of six weeks, five for the work itself and an extra week "to allow for human inefficiency." That was one of the things Kirk liked about Spock: With him, you always knew exactly where you stood.
Two days before, a Federation scout ship—U.S.S. Conrad—had pulled alongside. Her captain had taken formal custody of the five suspects in the New Athens bombing for transport to Earth. Kirk had sent along a sworn statement outlining Barclay's recitation of the "hypothetical" circumstances of the blast.
Sam Cogley had gone with them. Kirk had talked with the lawyer just before departure.
"Are you going to see this thing through to the end, Sam?" Kirk had asked. "Seems to be just your kind of case."
Cogley had stared into his coffee cup. "No, Jim, I'm dropping the case once my clients secure legal representation on Earth," he'd said. "I wouldn't mind defending the other three, but I can't do that without prejudicing the case against the first two. So I'm bowing out … but I'll suggest a few names to my clients."
"Why are you pulling out?" Kirk had asked.
Cogley'd nodded slowly. "A fair question. I owe you an answer, and I'll give it to you—as long as it never leaves this room."
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