STAR TREK: TOS #85 - My Brother's Keeper, Book One - Republic

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Mitchell returned his scrutiny. “What business is that of yours?”

  “You made it my business.”

  “And if I were planning to go through with it? What would you do ... report me to Bannock?”

  The lieutenant swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to betray his friend. But if he let Mitchell pursue his plan alone, he would almost certainly get caught ... and wouldn’t that be another form of betrayal?

  There was a third option open to him, of course. A way to ensure that his friend wouldn’t get caught. In the beginning, it had seemed like the most onerous course of action, the one tack Kirk wasn’t prepared to take.

  But the more he thought about it ... the more he [149] considered what Mitchell would do in his place, were their positions reversed ... the more justifiable it seemed to him.

  “Well?” the underclassman prompted.

  “Quiet,” said Kirk, having resigned himself to his fate. “I’m trying to plan our getaway.”

  Mitchell looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. It’s going to be a hell of a ride.”

  As Mitchell rested the back of his head against the wall of the lift compartment, he acknowledged an insistent ache behind the bridge of his nose. But then, he always felt that way when he missed too much sleep.

  The night before, Commander Mangione had woken him with her announcement that all cadets had to stay in their quarters. And after that, of course, he had been unable to fall into a deep sleep again.

  But the plebe couldn’t blame tonight’s missed slumber on Mangione. This was entirely his own idea ... this waking up in the wee hours to sneak down the corridor and slip into an empty turbolift, which could then carry him to his ultimate destination.

  After all, if he was to be successful in his mission, it was important that he execute it when most of the crew was in bed. Mitchell had believed that from the beginning—and once his accomplice had joined in the plot, he had thought so too.

  Abruptly, the lift doors opened. The cadet roused himself and took a peek outside. The corridor was empty.

  [150] He turned to his confederate. “Ready?”

  Kirk took a breath. “Ready.”

  Together, they emerged from the turbolift, made a left, and followed the curve of the corridor. Before too long, it brought them to a set of sliding doors. The sign to one side of them identified the facility beyond them as the sensor control room.

  Mitchell looked around. There was no one in sight, no one to question them or wonder what they were doing. Just as he had hoped.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said.

  The plebe approached the doors and watched them open for him. They revealed a room about four meters square, with overhead lighting that picked out tiny iridescences in the duranium bulkheads.

  There was only one piece of equipment in the room—a large, gray bank of controls that vaguely resembled a transporter console, but was actually the ship’s main sensor board. In a way, it was a little disappointing. Mitchell had expected something more imposing, more impressive, considering it ran every bit of sensor equipment on the Republic.

  “Come on,” said the underclassman, leading the way inside.

  Kirk took a last look around, satisfied himself that there were no witnesses present, and followed Mitchell in. A moment later, the doors slid closed behind them.

  Working quickly, Mitchell brought up the sensor logs for the night before, knowing they would go a long way toward telling them what they wanted to know. At the same time, Kirk punched in [151] security-baffling sequences that would cover their tracks instantly, ensuring that no one on the bridge would be aware of their intrusion.

  If someone happened coincidentally to run a diagnostic, they might detect a glitch in the system, but they wouldn’t suspect it was two cadets sticking their noses in Starfleet business. And by the time they got down there to check it out, Mitchell and Kirk would be gone.

  Anyway, that was the plan.

  “What’s taking so long?” asked the lieutenant.

  The underclassman spared him a glance. “Nothing. I’m getting it.”

  “Get it faster,” Kirk urged him.

  “Your wish,” said Mitchell, “is my command.” He turned to the blue screen near the center of the console. “Here we go.”

  A moment later, the screen lit up. But, to the underclassman’s surprise, it had nothing on it. No graphics, no text ... no information at all.

  He stared at it, dumbfounded. “I don’t get it.”

  “You must have done something wrong,” the lieutenant told him.

  Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t think so. Unless ...”

  The alternative occurred to them at the same time.

  “They’ve erased the logs,” said Kirk.

  It was an extreme measure—a measure Bannock and his staff would never have undertaken unless they were concealing something so vital, so sensitive, they couldn’t take the least chance of its being discovered.

  Mitchell swallowed. He hadn’t anticipated this. [152] Cursing sharply under his breath, he deactivated the monitor as quickly as he could. Then he turned to his companion.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Kirk didn’t answer, but his expression was desperate. Clearly, he wanted to be out of there as much as Mitchell did. Maybe more, considering everything he had to lose if he was caught.

  Naturally, the doors seemed to take an eternity to open for them. Finally, they began to slide aside, giving the cadets access to the passage outside. Unable to wait any longer, they slipped through the opening sideways.

  But before they could go anywhere, before the cadets could even draw another breath, they realized they weren’t alone in the passageway. In fact, the underclassman thought, they were surrounded.

  The barrel-chested Commander Rodianos was blocking the corridor to the right of them, while the unusually solemn-looking Chief Brown occupied the corridor to the left.

  For a second or two, no one spoke. But then, no one had to. Clearly, Mitchell and his friend had been caught dead to rights, with no hope of concealing the fact.

  Finally, it was Rodianos who broke the silence. “I believe Captain Bannock would like a word with you two,” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MITCHELL STOOD beside his friend Kirk in the Republic’s briefing room, his chin thrust out, and endured Captain Bannock’s iron stare. The man was seated across from them, his leathery face as dark and foreboding as the underbelly of a threatening storm cloud.

  “Frankly,” said Bannock, his voice taut with indignation, “I expected this kind of insubordination from Mr. Mitchell here.”

  Thanks, the cadet replied inwardly. I love you, too.

  The captain turned to the other cadet, his eyes like ice chips. “But not from you, Lieutenant.”

  Kirk flinched a little. He looked as if he had been lashed with a cat o’ nine tails.

  “What have you got to say for yourself?” asked Bannock, ignoring Mitchell for the moment.

  [154] The muscles rippled in the lieutenant’s jaw. “I ... tender no excuse for my actions, sir.”

  Inwardly, Mitchell smiled. Kirk had had his chance to shunt the blame onto the plebe and he had resisted the temptation to do so.

  “No excuse?” the captain rumbled, fixing the upperclassman on the spit of his glare. “No explanation, either?”

  Kirk shrugged. “I made a bad decision, sir. I let my curiosity get the better of me and I regret it.”

  Bannock glanced at Mitchell, though he was still speaking to the lieutenant. “The way I see it, Mr. Kirk, you were trying to help a friend. Is that a fair assessment of the situation?”

  Mitchell frowned. The captain was giving the upperclassman a second opportunity to deflect blame—a second shot at walking away with an unblemished record. But if he knew Kirk, the man would stand his ground.

  A moment later, the lieutenant shook his head. “Not at all,
sir,” he said. “I acted entirely of my own free will.”

  Attaboy, the plebe cheered within the privacy of his mind. Show the bastard what you’re made of.

  The captain turned back to Kirk and scrutinized him for a while. Then he harrumphed disapprovingly.

  “The truth, Lieutenant—and we all know it—is you did try to help a friend. And you’re trying to help him still. But let me tell you, Mr. Kirk ... in this case, your loyalty is misplaced.”

  Bannock darted a look at the underclassman that would have melted a glacier. “Cadet Mitchell,” he [155] said, “is not your friend. He’s a plebe, and a very irresponsible one at that. The more time you spend with this man, the more you learn from him, the further you’ll get from that captain’s chair you seem to covet.”

  That one hurt, thought Mitchell. He could tell by the way Kirk’s eyes narrowed, by the way his lips pressed together.

  Still, the lieutenant didn’t cave in. He remained utterly silent, enduring the punishment of Bannock’s remarks.

  “Nothing to say on the subject?” asked the captain.

  A third opportunity, Mitchell noted. Clearly, the captain wanted desperately to let Kirk off the hook. But as before, the lieutenant didn’t seem eager to cooperate.

  “Nothing at all?” Bannock prodded.

  “Nothing I haven’t already said, sir,” Kirk replied. There was no rancor in his voice, no insolence. Just an unwavering resolve.

  Bannock sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table beside him. “You know,” he told the lieutenant, “I should send a message to your commandant and tell him what you’ve done. That would effectively put an end to any hope you had of a career.”

  Mitchell’s heart sank in sympathy. He could only imagine what his friend was going through.

  “But,” the captain went on in the same tone of voice, “I’ve decided not to do that. For some reason I can’t quite figure out, I’m inclined to give you a second chance.”

  [156] Kirk looked grateful.

  “See that you don’t blow it,” said Bannock.

  The lieutenant nodded. “I won’t, sir.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mitchell added.

  The captain glanced at him. “You should thank me, Cadet. You should thank me from the bottom of your heart.”

  But the plebe didn’t feel the least bit grateful. He knew that if he had been caught in the sensor room alone, his career would have been over before it began.

  What had saved him was Kirk’s involvement in the incident. Bannock couldn’t bust Mitchell without busting the lieutenant as well, and he was obviously reluctant to do that.

  The captain regarded the cadets for a cold second or two longer. Then he said, “Dismissed. Both of you.”

  Mitchell turned around with a bit more alacrity, so he got to the briefing-room door a little quicker. A moment later, Kirk followed, and the door whispered shut behind them.

  Taking a deep breath, Mitchell glanced at his friend. “Thanks for standing up for me in there.”

  Kirk returned the glance. “Standing up for you?”

  “You know,” said the underclassman, “sharing the blame ... and ignoring Bannock’s invitations to cut me loose.”

  The lieutenant’s expression changed. “You know,” he said, “I’m not so sure the captain was wrong.”

  Mitchell looked at him. “What?”

  [157] “What we did was stupid,” Kirk told him, his eyes hard and angry. “It was worse than stupid—it was childish. If Bannock didn’t want us to know something, we should have taken a hint.”

  Mitchell shook his head wonderingly. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  The lieutenant nodded. “Damned right I’m serious. And just so you know, I do want to be a captain someday. I want to command a starship just like this one. That’s why I can’t afford anything ... or anyone ... that might throw me off that course.”

  “Meaning me?” the plebe wondered.

  Kirk’s mouth twisted. “Meaning you.”

  Without another word, the lieutenant turned his back and walked away, leaving Mitchell standing all alone in the corridor.

  The underclassman felt a lump forming in his throat. He had begun to consider Jim Kirk a friend and a confidant. Obviously, he had overestimated the man—overestimated him greatly.

  But then, as the lieutenant himself had pointed out, even a guy with “intuition” could make mistakes.

  Kirk lay on his back, his hands tucked behind his head, and replayed the scene outside the briefing room over and over in his mind. He could see himself glaring at Mitchell, angry that he had let himself be sucked into the other man’s scheme.

  What we did was stupid, he heard himself say. It was worse than stupid—it was childish.

  Lying beside him, Phelana ran her slender [158] fingernails across the skin of his naked chest. Under different circumstances, Kirk thought, the sensation would have been a most pleasant one. As it was, he found himself frowning at the distraction.

  And just so you know, the upperclassman heard himself continue, I do want to be a captain someday. I want to command a starship just like this one. That’s why I can’t afford anything ... or anyone ... that might throw me off that course.

  They were hard words. Cruel words, maybe. But then, he had intended them to be cruel. He had meant to cut himself off from his friend as surely and irrevocably as he could.

  “He’ll understand someday,” Phelana said softly. “He’ll see it was all for the best.”

  Kirk shook his head. “No, he won’t.”

  “Come on,” she insisted. “We’re all here to build careers in Starfleet. No one wants to go home in disgrace.”

  The lieutenant sighed. “Mitchell is different. He doesn’t give a damn what happens to him.”

  His companion looked at him askance. “He has no ambition? No dreams of commanding a starship someday?”

  “None,” said Kirk. “He’s not the ambitious kind. He’s just in Starfleet for the fun of it.”

  Phelana smiled a bit uncertainly. “You’re joking, right?”

  He shook his head. “Not a bit.”

  The Andorian pondered the information, her antennae bending forward. “Then maybe he doesn’t belong here after all.”

  [159] Kirk looked at her, ready to argue the contrary. Then he saw the wisdom in Phelana’s words. “Maybe he doesn’t,” he conceded.

  Mitchell didn’t see Kirk even once over the next couple of days. On a ship the size of the Constitution-class Republic, which was built to handle hundreds of crewmen and still have room for amenities, that didn’t come as a real surprise to him.

  Then the ship came in sensor range of Alpha Varangis, the first star system on her survey swing. Mitchell and Kirk were both assigned to the science station on the bridge—and while they worked different shifts, they still saw each other coming and going each day.

  It didn’t change anything. The lieutenant didn’t say a word to the underclassman, and the underclassman didn’t say a word to the lieutenant. It was as if they didn’t know each other ... which seemed to be exactly the way Kirk wanted it.

  Mitchell didn’t like the idea that he and the lieutenant would never be friends again, but he could accept it. Life, he had learned, was like that. You win a few, you lose a few.

  However, his obligation to Kirk went beyond mere friendship. He had assumed responsibility for the upperclassman’s personal development, no matter how frivolously at first, and it irked him that a stuffed shirt like Bannock was preventing him from carrying out his mission.

  If nothing else, Mitchell wanted to have the last laugh on his commanding officer. If he saw a chance [160] to do that, he told himself, he would take advantage of it ... in a heartbeat.

  Unfortunately, that chance didn’t come during their three-day survey of Alpha Varangis. Everyone did his or her job and everything went according to plan. It was only as they were about to leave the system that Bannock changed everything with a surprise announcement
.

  “We’ve got new orders,” he told cadets and command officers alike, standing before them in the ship’s lounge.

  “What kind?” asked Mangione.

  “Apparently,” said the captain, “Captain Nakamura and his ship were supposed to represent the Federation at a diplomatic event. However, the Carolina has been assigned something described to me as ‘more critical duties,’ leaving the task of representing the Federation to guess who.”

  “Us?” Rodianos replied, straight-faced.

  “You guessed it,” Bannock answered, equally straight-faced. He included the cadets in a single glance. “No doubt, it would have been more educational for you to continue our survey course, but it’s not as if we’ve got a choice in the matter.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Gorfinkel, echoing the question on Mitchell’s mind.

  “A place called Heir’tzan,” the captain told him. “It’s in the Beta Bora system. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  Brown stroked his beard for a moment. “A member world, isn’t it? Newly inducted?”

  [161] Bannock nodded. “Along with its sister world, Heir’ocha.”

  “How cozy,” said the engineer, smiling his ear-to-ear smile.

  The captain eyed him. “Actually, Lieutenant, there’s nothing cozy about it. These two worlds have a history.”

  Gorfinkel grunted. “Not a good one, I take it.”

  “Not a good one at all,” Bannock agreed. “Once, it seems, there were two groups of Heiren on Heir’tzan. But a little more than two hundred years ago, both groups decided they could no longer stand each other’s company. One faction—the one that called itself the Heir’och—abandoned its homeworld and took up residence on a neighboring planet.”

  “That would be Heir’ocha?” asked Hogan.

  “It would,” said the captain. “At first, the Heir’och’s departure was just fine with the other faction, which called itself the Heir’tza. After all, they had their homeworld to themselves all of a sudden, free of bickering. But before long, the Heir’och and the Heir’tza were finding new reasons to bump heads ... economic, cultural, and even religious reasons.