Reichard stowed the utensils from the meal he had prepared and served, planting himself comfortably across the campfire from Indri, Kirk on his left and Chekov to his right. Chekov refilled his cup from the pot suspended above the campfire. As he sipped the strong, black brew, a playful smile flickered across his face. "You realize that Kyptin Kirk is more than just kyptin," he announced to Indri and Reichard.
"Indeed?" Indri turned to Kirk across the remnants of the once vigorous blaze. "Is our mad Russian stirring up memories of your brief career as an admiral, or is there more?"
"Is nothing as trivial as mere admiral, Indri. If I understood Spock correctly, he was made baron or knight or some such," Chekov responded, before Kirk could.
"I was made a duke, Pavel, and I was knighted, too," Kirk clarified. "Trust me, in reality it didn't amount to a mound of space dust."
Reichard feigned a hurt expression and attempted to bow, despite being seated. "Your Lordship! Your humble companions are most hurt and embarrassed that you have failed to tell us of your exalted rank. We have neglected to show you the honor to which you are entitled!"
"I doubt," Indri added, wryly, "that he's particularly wounded by that. However, it does suggest the strong possibility of an interesting story."
Kirk chuckled. "Actually, my part was pretty peripheral, guys. Spock turned out to be the real epicenter of that particular weird quake."
"Spock isn't here," Chekov pointed out, "and he is terrible at telling stories anyway. All facts, nothing else. You're elected to tell story!"
Kirk rolled his eyes. "There's a difference between being elected and being drafted, Pavel."
"Then consider yourself drafted," Reichard returned. "I, for one, am dying to hear about this, your Lordship."
"No need to make fun of me, Ken; I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else, and most of the time it's Starfleet issue, like the rest of you." Kirk stared at the coffee in his cup, momentarily, as if collecting up memories. "Let me see, it was after you and Indri had moved on from the Enterprise, Ken, and not long after Ensign Carpenter had returned to the crew as a lieutenant, if I recall correctly. It all started, of all weird places, in a changing room..."
2292
Captain James T. Kirk, Doctor Leonard H. McCoy and Captain Spock materialized in what looked like the fitting room of a very posh tailor's shop. Before any of them could react to their surroundings, a costumed attendant appeared out of what seemed to be nowhere.
"Greetings, most honored guests! My name is Montague, First Assistant to His Majesty's Chief of Protocol. His Majesty, King Peter, will receive you shortly. I must request, as his representative, that you don proper attire for being presented to His Highness." Montague gestured toward a group of doors in one wall. "Suitable attire has been prepared for each of you, based on the measurements provided by Starfleet. Captain Kirk, your garments are in the first alcove; Doctor McCoy, yours are in the second; and Captain Spock, you will find yours in the third. If you would please?"
The three men moved toward the indicated rooms. Doctor McCoy was the first to emerge; he was holding a triangular bit of cloth with four cords dangling from it, one from each of two corners, and two from the third. "What is this thing? A demented idiot's version of a sling?"
Montague scurried over to the doctor. "It is a garment called a codpiece, Doctor McCoy. Allow me to assist you in donning it." He took the garment, and tied two of the cords around McCoy's waist. "If you would pass the other two to me, under yourself?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"He is not kidding, Doctor," Spock responded, stepping out of his changing room. "Based on Montague's costume and my own, I conjecture that the court here is trying to simulate the appearance of the courts in Medieval Europe."
"Exactly correct, my good Vulcan." Montague finished tying McCoy's codpiece. "I believe that we manage to do so fairly well, other than the occasional, necessary concession to modern security."
Kirk emerged, the codpiece tied clumsily. "Okay, Montague, I give up. I can't get this thing on right."
"For a first time, you did quite well, Captain." Montague adjusted it a little. "Especially doing it solo." He looked at the three beings. "I must go, now; I shall be mingling with the crowd. I shall be doing my best to assist you in proper etiquette. Eustace, Chief of Protocol, will be in shortly, and give you your final instructions."
"You make it sound like a military operation in enemy territory, Montague," Kirk opined.
"As far as you're concerned, isn't it pretty close? And in a most unfamiliar uniform." Montague smiled subtly. "Don't worry, worthy gentlemen. Once you're past being introduced and presented, it'll be pretty much the same inane small talk you'd have to put up with at a Starfleet reception when civilians are present. It'll be a lot of old biddies gushing about your past bravery, and retired generals or the equivalent trying to one-up it. Your greatest struggle will be to remain civil and awake."
"Sounds to me like the military action would be easier," McCoy gibed.
"Probably safer and more pleasant, too," Montague agreed. "Look, gentlemen, you will do fine. Now, I must be going. Eustace will refine the details, and make sure things go perfectly when you are presented to His Majesty, King Peter." Having said that, he slipped out of the room.
"That boy's good, Jim. I didn't even see the door."
"It is concealed behind the tapestry," Spock said. "The technique was common in the Medieval era."
Before either of the men could respond, another individual appeared. Balding and slender, he was of slightly more than average height and distinctly more than average activity. Indeed, he almost seemed hyperactive as he fluttered around McCoy and Kirk, simpering and adjusting their garments as he spoke. "Of course, we must have things just so. One simply doesn't find oneself presented before royalty every day, after all. There, now, that's much better. Mustn't look sloppily dressed when we're presented; no, that wouldn't do at all."
"Would I be accurate in presuming," Spock asked, "That you are the chief of protocol?"
"Yes, yes, that's me. I'm Eustace, His Serene Majesty's Chief of Protocol." He continued to flutter around Kirk and McCoy as he spoke. "No time for introductions, no time." He turned to inspect Spock. "Ah, typically Vulcan: perfect the first time. Excellent, utterly excellent."
Eustace shifted to view all three individuals. "Gentlebeings, His Royal Highness will be receiving you shortly. Captain Kirk, you will go first. Do you see the red light by the door?"
He squinted for a moment. "I see it, yes."
"It is your cue. When it turns green, proceed through it, toward the red circle in the carpet. When you reach the center, kneel, bringing your chest as close to your thigh as you can. Doctor McCoy, you will go next. When the light turns green, you enter, moving to the perimeter of the circle, behind and left of Captain Kirk, kneeling as he is. Captain Spock, on the light turning green again, you will move to the position behind and to the right of Captain Kirk, symmetrical to Doctor McCoy. Simple enough?"
"All but the bending and kneeling; I'm not as limber as I once was," McCoy gibed. "What happens after that? I hope we're not going to have to hold that posture long. I'm no spring chicken anymore."
"I shouldn't worry. His Royal Highness is indubitably aware of such issues. You are all most respected and honored guests. His Majesty has a remarkable sense of theater and fitness in this sort of thing, most remarkable."
"No doubt," Kirk interjected as soon as Eustace paused to take a breath. "But it would be very helpful if you could give me some idea of what will happen after Spock's in place."
"Oh, of course, of course. I am so sorry! I do get so distracted, on occasion. It's quite hard to predict, you know, quite hard. He will acknowledge your presence, naturally, but just exactly how he will do it is quite unpredictable. Just remember, no matter what he does, don't flinch. He's the master of whatever he uses for such things, so you have nothing to fear, absolutely nothing..." Eustace looked at the timepiece on his wrist. "Dear me, I simply must be going. Now do watch for that green light, gentlemen, and be ready." Without waiting for a response, he fluttered his way out a concealed door.
"Well," Kirk opined, "he was strung tight. I guess I'd better go stand by that light and wait for my cue."
Kirk had barely reached the door when the light shifted to green. "Wish me luck, gentlemen!" He stepped through the door.
On the other side of the door, Kirk found himself in a great hall, one that looked like a modern version of Medieval stonework. Even to Kirk's eye, it was obvious that the stones had been cut and laid without mortar, but given the great distance the arches spanned they had clearly been reinforced with trititanium or transparent aluminum supports. The hall looked every bit of twenty meters wide, and at least twice that long, perhaps more. His point of entry had been from the middle of one of the longer walls. Before he could take time to do more than register the great hall, and see the circle in the center of the floor, a spotlight flashed onto him. He realized that it was his cue to move. Overhead, as he walked, he heard the address system announcing him.
"Lords, Ladies and Worthies of His Majesty's court, allow me to introduce our guest! He is the recipient of the Palm Leaf of the Axanar Peace Mission; the Grankite Order of Tactics, Class of Excellence; the Preantares Ribbon of Commendation, both First and Second Class. His remarkable courage and valor have earned him the Medal of Honor; the Silver Palm, with cluster; the Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry; and the Kragite Order of Heroism. Scion of the Federation's Starships, the courageous friend who risked his career and his life to rescue his comrade in arms, I present to you Captain James T. Kirk, of the starship Enterprise!"
To Kirk's amazement, the voice managed to time the announcement so that his name was announced just as he reached the center of the circle. As Kirk put his right knee to the floor and his chest to his thigh, he swept his right arm in front of himself, and to his side, in what he hoped would be interpreted as a respectful flourish. The hall was filled with applause and cheering.
Almost as suddenly as the cheering began, it ended, as the voice spoke a second time. "Honorable Lords, Ladies and Worthies of His Majesty's court, allow me to introduce Captain Kirk's trusted companion in adventure, who stood at his side, joining his comrade in a rescue mission that could have brought a brilliant career to an ignominious end, the bearer of a Vulcan katra, initiate of the Vulcan fal-tor-pan, and physician extraordinaire, I present to you Doctor Leonard McCoy!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw McCoy take his place, just to one side and behind him. Again, the court was filled with loud cheering, and the speaker quieted them.
"Finally, Lords, Ladies and Worthies of His Majesty's court, allow me to introduce our third and final guest, a trusted friend and comrade of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy, the one whose katra was borne by his friend Doctor McCoy and returned in the fal-tor-pan, the recipient of the Vulcan IDIC award, as well as more awards for achievement and excellence in science than I can list, the intrepid comrade for whom his comrades risked life and reputation to rescue, I present to you Spock of Vulcan!"
As he expected, Kirk saw Spock take his position exactly symmetrically to McCoy, kneeling as the others had. The hall again filled with cheers. When the announcer spoke again, the cheers seemed, if anything, to grow louder. "Worthy courtiers and subjects of His Royal Highness, Peter, High King of Walven, I give you the Federation's Representatives to our vote. Arise, honored guests! Receive a Walven welcome!"
As the three beings stood, the great hall erupted into an even greater roar than before. Someone really knows how to stage things, Kirk mused. I can't believe this is spontaneous; it's too well coordinated. I'll bet Eustace scripted it all. He fixed his gaze on the only seated figure in the hall, a man of somewhat more than average height, bedecked in a rich cloak, clothing that looked like it had come from Louis XVI's wardrobe, and a crown that would have been at home in the Tower of London. For an instant, their eyes locked, and what seemed to be a playful grin fleetingly formed and disappeared on the monarch's face. King Peter stood. The crowd became quiet again, watching expectantly.
The king looked over the crowd, his gaze finally locking again with Kirk's. Dropping the heavy robe back onto his throne, he pulled a very business-like sword from the scabbard at his side. Without taking his eyes off Kirk's, he began to walk toward the captain, swinging, indeed almost juggling, the sword in a complex ballet around himself as he walked. Kirk met the king's steady gaze, a small smile on his face. Even when the sword leapt from one hand to the other, or flew high into the air, he stayed focused on the eyes of the approaching king.
Perhaps three meters from Kirk, King Peter stopped his forward motion, the sword still maintaining the intricate dance. "Captain James Tiberius Kirk, put your left knee to the floor."
Silently, Kirk obeyed.
Peter moved forward again. Kirk felt the sword tap his left shoulder briefly but firmly. "Captain Kirk, in recognition of your remarkable gallantry, and courageous service both to the Federation in specific and Humanity in general, we now declare you a Knight of our Royal Court." A second sword tap fell on Kirk's right shoulder. "You are hereby elevated to the Peerage, and we make you and all your heirs Duke of Islandus Novus Volcanus." Kirk felt the tip of the sword nick his cheek. Almost immediately, he saw Eustace run up and apply an adhesive bandage to the wound, and King Peter return his sword to its scabbard. "And wearer of the Royal Plaister. Arise, Sir James, Duke of Islandus Novus Volcanus, and receive the welcome due you."
Kirk rose, and suddenly found himself wrapped in a bear hug. Instinctively, but carefully, he returned the hug. In one ear, he heard the monarch whisper, "We'll talk in private later."
If anything, the resulting cheering was louder than before. While Peter walked back to his throne, McCoy and Spock hurried up to congratulate Kirk on his knighthood, barely beating the rest of the crowd to him. Within moments, the crowd swept the three of them apart.
How long he faced an endless stream of faces congratulating him, trying to ingratiate themselves with him, and trying either to out-gush the last person, or one-up his record of courage and bravery before the subtle interruption, Kirk wasn't sure. It seemed interminable and he had gotten to the point where he was hearing without really listening, saying "You don't say!" or "Oh, really?" or other empty phrases just to show the appearance of attending to what was being said.
Had it not been for the individuals moving through the crowd with trays full of goblets of juices or the medieval version of canapés, Kirk suspected that he might have succumbed to boredom. It was while a retired general was relating a long, involved, vaguely familiar-sounding story about some great victory he had achieved in what sounded like a vaguely familiar peacetime surface maneuver that he heard what was obviously Montague's voice whispering in his ear. "Your Lordship, His Majesty the High King Peter would be pleased to receive you and your friends in private in about half an hour or so. There is a door almost in the center of the wall just in front of you. Nod if you see it."
Kirk looked carefully. There was an entry to a corridor that appeared to lead to the restrooms. Just to one side of it, there was an unassuming door, barely discernible in the elaborate decorations of the wall. Kirk nodded, making an inane comment to the elderly general pontificating in front of him.
"Excellent," Montague responded. "As swiftly as you can, without being obvious, make your way there. The door will only open for you and your companions." Kirk sensed, rather than heard, Montague disappear.
Kirk drained his glass and traded it for a full one. As he did so, it dawned on him that the aging military leader before him might be willing to assist in his passage through the crowd. Kirk listened a bit more carefully. It was clear that the story was moving rapidly to its climax.
Continuing to nod occasionally, Kirk drained his glass, managing to finish it just as the old timer finished his tale. "Don't think I could have done better myself." He deposited his empty glass on a passing tray. "Listen, you seem to be a real pro with surface combat. Could I enlist your assistance?" Kirk nodded toward the hallway that led to the lavatories. "One too many beverages, and it looks like an intimidating gauntlet."
"Of course, of course," the man said, obviously flattered. "Know how it is. Weak bladder myself. Just follow my lead, youngster. I'll get you there in no time."
The general cocked his head to one side, and pretended to be listening. "Speak up, will you?" he whispered loudly, plugging one ear and winking at Kirk. "I'm in the middle of mayhem. Yes, yes, very well, I'll see to it." He straightened up. "Follow me, Captain. Military summons, and you're included."
Having said that, the older man began making a beeline toward the corridor across the room, alternating between deflecting would-be interruptions and urging Kirk to try to keep up. Inwardly, the captain smiled. If he's as good on the battlefield as he is here, we need him teaching battlefield tactics at the Academy. Kirk saw the general deflect an attempted intrusion by a pair of matrons intent on simpering at him. Forget the battlefield. He needs to teach tactics for survival at Starfleet receptions.
Within a matter of a few moments, Kirk's escort maneuvered him to the door Montague had pointed out. "I'll leave you to your labors, Captain," the general smiled, extending his hand. "When I saw Montague standing near you, I figured you'd be meeting His Majesty in quieter quarters. I hope you weren't overly bored by my modernized version of the Battle of Fredricksburg."
Kirk accepted the offered hand, shaking it. "No wonder I felt like I should have recognized it. Thank you, my friend."
"You're quite welcome. Now hustle in, and I'll stand rear guard until you're safe."
Kirk saluted the general, and retreated through the door.
On the other side of the door, Kirk found himself in a comfortably appointed room, with three freshly laundered Starfleet uniforms conspicuously displayed near doors to changing rooms. He took the hint, emerging clad in the uniform he had recently shed. Spock and McCoy arrived through the portal, thankful to be able to shed their ceremonial attire.
"I guess we wait for the King and his negotiating team, Jim," McCoy opined.
"I expect so, Bones. Chances are that the poor fellow will find escaping the crowd considerably harder than we did."
"Indeed," Spock responded. "Neither Doctor McCoy nor I had the benefit of the escort you managed to find."
"No genius on my part there, Spock. But until the royal retinue arrives, I'm going to make myself comfortable."
"Please do, gentlemen. May I offer you more suitable refreshment?" All three men turned to see a tall, thin man bearing a tray full of beverages. "Captain, I believe you would prefer black coffee, a preference that I share." He deftly shifted his grip on the tray, giving Kirk a cup full of coffee. "It is one of Walven's own strains of Coffea robusta, and it is considered gourmet quality."
Kirk sipped it cautiously. "It's excellent," he agreed.
Before Kirk could say more, the man had moved on to McCoy. "For you, Doctor, I believe a mint julep?"
"Somebody did their homework well," McCoy grinned, accepting the cool, tall glass. He took a sip. "Just the way I like it. My compliments to the bartender."
"Thank you, Doctor. I mixed it myself. Captain Spock, I understand your preference is water, sweetened with a little birkeen."
The Vulcan received the offered glass of what appeared to be water. As he sipped it, one eyebrow raised. "Remarkable. It tastes freshly prepared."
"Oh, it is, I assure you. There's a Vulcan ecology dome in the Botanical Gardens. It gets used for more than education." The man poured himself a cup of coffee, settling down across from Kirk. "One issue that worries the people of Walven about the decision to join the Federation is the apparent aversion the Federation has to monarchies. On Walven Four, people have become rather fond of the pomp and ceremony at court." He sighed. "Well, some folk have, anyway. And it does keep the tabloid press and the paparazzi employed."
Kirk nodded. "It does seem like the Federation dislikes all monarchies, but it's only the absolute monarchies, really. Now, here on Walven Four, the monarchy isn't absolute at all. Rather than having absolute power, like the kings of ancient Babylon and Egypt, to all appearances the king serves primarily a ceremonial function, more like the monarchs of England in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Since the king is apparently mainly a figurehead..."
"Captain," Spock interrupted.
"Oh, hush, Spock. Let him talk; I want to hear what he has to say," their host responded, interrupting Spock. "Please, Kirk, do go on."
Puzzled by the uncharacteristic interruption, Kirk picked up again. "Anyway, since the monarchy here is apparently mainly a ceremonial thing, there should be no trouble. The elected officials look like they thrash out the governmental decisions."
"I notice that you're talking about appearances, Captain. How about your thoughts on the realities?"
McCoy looked like he was going to add a comment, but was silenced by a pointed stare from their host.
Kirk took another swallow of coffee. "Oh, the reality is pretty much the same as everywhere else, as far as I can tell. Despite the two elected chambers doing all the visible decision making, the real government collects in private, talking it over. Now that's where the king's real power lies: he has the privilege of speaking first and last at all such gatherings, as well as in between. I guess the best analogy I know would be to the chief of a Native American tribe; he begins the talk, adds wisdom through the discussion, and does not allow it to conclude until he feels that the issue has been discussed adequately. As respected as King Peter is, his opinions carry considerable weight; otherwise, he's more or less on an equal footing with the rest."
"Remarkably insightful, Sir James. You were prepared well."
"I'm a history buff, in all honesty," Kirk smiled. "It was fascinating."
"What I want to know is how you folks got missed when the Federation first formed," McCoy butted in. "You're smack-dab in the heart of Federation space. There's only a couple of parsecs between you and, say, Elas and Troyius."
"Oh, we weren't missed, really. As a small, struggling Terran colony with a monarchy, we simply were not on the initial list offered the privilege of forming the Federation. I think we were a bit too insignificant, at the time. Be that as it may, about thirty years ago, the vote to join the Federation was scheduled, but we experienced an acute governmental crisis that forced a delay, and it never got rescheduled."
"Basic, bureaucratic inefficiency, right?" McCoy returned.
"Essentially."
"So, what was the crisis?" the doctor asked.
"My father's death. It was ruled an accident. I was only twelve when King Edmund and his skiing party were buried in the avalanche and..."
A sudden look of embarrassed comprehension registered on Kirk's face. "Your Majesty! If I have offended..." He started to kneel.
"Oh, forget it, Kirk," the now-revealed king responded. "Even when they've been looking me square in the face as you were, most folk don't recognize me without the royal rags, and anyway I treasure the rare moments of candor that not being recognized affords me. In public, you'll have to use all the mummery. Here in private, I'm Peter, or just Pete."
"Hey, Pete!" The three turned to see Eustace entering. "Did you save me any coffee, or have you bums guzzled it all?"
"Dregs at the bottom, that's all that's left for slow pokes like you, Useless. Serves you right for taking so long to get here." The king poured Eustace a cup and handed it to him.
Eustace dropped into a chair. "Got trapped by an old biddy whose mouth runs at Warp Nine, whose brain is in a parking orbit, and who just had to be introduced to the new duke. I think that woman could have out-talked an echo." He shook his head in mock agony. "Good thing General George rescued you, or you'd still be fighting your way here, Kirk."
Kirk smiled. Neither of these men were as stodgy and boring as his first impression and expectation had suggested; being away from the pomp and show changed them dramatically, and definitely for the better, especially Eustace. Obviously the hyperactive, fussy twit they had met in the dressing area was a persona that Eustace put on and took off, just like he did with the fancy clothes. "That man needs to teach Reception Tactics at Starfleet, Eustace; he's good. Would one of you explain what I was dubbed in there?"
"Well," Eustace replied, "you're now the ruler of about five square kilometers of hot lava in the middle of the Avanan Ocean; that's the 'Duke of Islandus Novus Volcanus' gibberish. 'Knight of the Royal Court' means you have the unparalleled privilege of dressing in the required idiotic outfit and putting up with the pomp and all in the Great Hall. 'Wearer of the Royal Plaister' means I raided the King's First Aid Kit and put a bandage on you after Pete nicked your cheek with his sword."
"It sounds like it doesn't amount to much more than a puff of space gas, to me," McCoy opined, struggling to keep from snickering.
"It did sound considerably more significant before Eustace explained it," Spock agreed. "Your Majesty..."
"Peter, please, Spock. We're in private, and in a 'snoop-proof' room."
"As you wish. As you spoke of your father's death being ruled accidental, I observed a slight change in your voice, one that I have learned, in Humans, to associate with doubt of the truth of an official report. Might I ask if I have judged rightly here?"
"Most astute of you, good Vulcan. You are quite correct. There is reason to suspect that my father was assassinated." Peter stared off into space for a moment before he spoke again. "None of this information is public knowledge. I assume that I may trust your absolute discretion?"
There was a chorus of reassurances, culminating in McCoy wryly saying, "At my age, Pete, you'll be lucky if I remember it long enough to divulge it, even if I wanted to, which I don't."
Peter smiled. "I doubt that your memory is as poor as you claim, Doctor McCoy, but I trust that, as a physician, your discretion is above reproach." The monarch faced all three beings again. "Are any of you familiar with the group that calls itself 'The Tower of Ares'?"
Kirk responded first. "I think we've all heard of them. From what I've heard, they're a fiercely militaristic, anti-government, anti-establishment, religious group. They refuse all involvement in government, and in all military service other than their own. I guess they're a cross between the Klingons and the Quakers, if you can imagine that."
"They also refuse all medical care, too, even to the point of refusing routine medical examinations, unless it's done by one of their own. Most groups of any size have a physician or two in them, just to handle that." McCoy chimed in. "Strange bunch, altogether."
"Many Federation members do not tolerate them," Spock added. "The expressed concern is that the group would be an ideal hiding place for clandestine Klingon or Romulan operatives."
Walven's king nodded. "We suspect the same." Peter turned to his Chief of Protocol. "Eustace, would you cue up the avalanche sequence?" He turned back. "What you are about to see has not been seen off-planet, nor has it been seen by more than a handful of people on Walven Four."
A panel slid aside on a wall, revealing a viewscreen. On it, a scene showed a party skiing. Without warning, a massive bank of snow began sliding toward the party, engulfing them completely. The video clip ended, and the panel slid back into place concealing the screen again.
There was a long silence. Peter finally broke it. "In case you're wondering, the recording was my father and his skiing party. There were no survivors. Was there anything that struck any of you as odd?"
"It looked like it was shot from an extreme range," Kirk offered. "I can't imagine a photo hunter being satisfied with that wide of a shot if it was possible to come in tighter."
"An excellent point, Captain. It was shot by one of the paparazzi, with a long-range lens. Only the part with the skiing party was sold to the broadcast media. The full sequence was given to the Royal Family for me to view only after I ascended the throne. He was paid well for it, very well." Peter turned to the Vulcan. "Spock, I would be most interested in your thoughts."
"I could not provide anything but the most preliminary and approximate of opinions without a more detailed analysis using topographical data on the area and the computers on the Enterprise, Peter."
"It is said that a Vulcan's rough approximation is better than most Humans' careful calculations. I am quite willing to make do with an approximation."
"As you will." Briefly, Spock was lost in concentration. "I estimate that a volume of snow approximately fifty meters square by two centimeters thick, at a depth of two point five meters, with its leading edge five centimeters back from the face of the snow bank was transported out. The ensuing collapse of the overlying snow then initiated the avalanche."
Kirk and McCoy looked at Spock in astonishment. Peter nodded. "In short, the avalanche was staged, and used as a weapon to kill my father."
"That is the appearance," Spock responded. "The sudden drop of a nearly perfect square of snow was just barely perceptible, but very suggestive."
"I agree completely. The man who made the recording did not notice it. No one else did, either, until I had it put through a frame-by-frame analysis shortly after I ascended the throne. By then, it was long enough after the fact that the statute of limitations had run out, and I felt that starting an official investigation that could not lead to a conviction was a waste of time and effort. As it turns out, a member of a Tower of Ares base owned that particular ski resort then, and still does now. Furthermore, the owner paid for it in cash.
"As near as we have been able to determine, the local base of the Tower of Ares is having outside money fed into it, by individuals covertly bringing in gemstones to sell. The Crown has bought a few. Isotopic analysis indicates they are mostly of Romulan and Orion origin.
"Of course, the immediate significance to you is obvious: your being here means your life is in jeopardy. If those opposed to joining the Federation are willing to commit regicide, killing you to prevent Walven from joining the Federation would be nothing to them. I am no longer at risk. Having learned from what happened with my father, I have arranged that the vote over joining the Federation will go on, even if I am killed. There is no use in killing me, now. Any or all of you, however, might be viewed as reasonable targets for assassination, hoping that your death would deter the Federation's accepting Walven."
As usual, Kirk responded fastest. "We're accustomed to our lives being in jeopardy; it's pretty much a daily issue on a Federation starship. Frankly, as far as the Federation brass is concerned, we're all expendable. Your warning is appreciated, and I'm sure the threats will be different, but it really doesn't change anything for us."
"Spoken like a seasoned warrior," Eustace put in. "Pete, you chose well knighting this one."
"Thanks, Useless," the king gibed back. "I'm so glad you approve." The grin on Peter's face made it obvious the two men were fast friends. He turned back to Kirk, McCoy and Spock. "Gentlebeings, at this point, your task is to sell me on the decision to join the Federation."
"Actually, we're here to assist in overseeing the elections, Peter," Kirk responded. "Or at least, that's how I understood my orders."
The High King nodded. "I realize that, Kirk, but let us not fool ourselves. The vote recording and tallying systems used here on Walven were bought from the Federation; they were installed and are maintained by Federation personnel. We have taken care to make sure we have the best available. Later on, Eustace and Spock can go through the system and Spock can test it out by whatever means he finds suitable, to prove that it is as good as it is. There is essentially nothing to oversee. Thus, your real mission is public relations. Again, your task is to convince me."
Spock came as close to looking puzzled as a Vulcan could. "I was under the impression that you were highly supportive of the idea of joining the Federation."
The monarch refilled his cup from the flask and sipped his coffee for a moment. "You are, of course, utterly correct, Spock. However, as Kirk pointed out so accurately, I remain only one voice among many. Unquestionably, I am an incredibly influential voice, but I remain only one. Someone, and I suspect it's the same someone that has been pouring funds into the Tower of Ares, has been putting a good deal of money into a campaign to keep Walven Four out of the Federation. I've heard all their arguments and their response to ours. Here, in private, I will be the devil's advocate. Convince me."
"Consider the military and security aspect," Kirk offered. "You'll have the full might of Starfleet protecting Walven Four, as well as access to Starfleet training for your own military. Also, in terms of criminal investigation, you will have full access to our forensic, investigative and clandestine forces, as well as our training institutions."
Eustace looked at the king. "Pete, I think this guy's forgotten his astrography. We're almost in the heart of Federation space."
"Eustace is quite right. It would be cold swimming on a white dwarf before the Federation let hostile forces penetrate this deeply without putting up a major fight. And as for crime labs, we've got some of the most sophisticated ones there are, and we're already thoroughly connected with your clandestine arm. In fact, we're training some of the Federation's forensics and clandestine people." The king shook his head. "You're going to have to do better than that."
"There is also the cultural, educational and scientific aspects: access to the Federation's artists and musicians, universities and technical institutes, research and development, as well as the people of the Federation connecting with your artists and musicians and educational and scientific institutions," Spock offered. "On top of that, there would be new markets available for your planet's resources."
"I have subjects involved in several Federation research efforts, others studying at the most prestigious universities on Earth, Alpha Centauri, and Vulcan, as well as numerous other Federation planets. Trade is already vigorous, particularly in some of our unique wood and gemstones, but in manufactured and agricultural goods as well. There are some tariff issues, but they're minor. As for artisans and musicians, we have a vigorous exchange already, and I do not think it is likely to end. It might move some of the intellectuals and money moguls, but not the common folk. Nice try, but not good enough."
McCoy shook his head. "You're dead right, Peter; these two are totally off base. The key to this sales job are those old biddies we endured in the court."
Spock looked at McCoy, barely able to restrain his astonishment. Kirk, too, was clearly surprised at McCoy's comment. Peter and Eustace were both intrigued, and clearly curious.
"Oh, quit staring at me like I'd grown horns or something. Think it through. Those biddies came from all over the Federation, just to be seen in your Royal Court, and to hope to be presented before it. Most of 'em have loads more money than they have sense, and are not only renting whatever fancy costume they need to be in court, but also staying in your hotels, buying overpriced meals and souvenirs. Half of 'em are probably dragging along a daughter or a granddaughter they want presented at court. That's another kiloliter of change dumped into your Royal Pocket, and the pockets of endless merchants, taxi drivers, restaurateurs, hotel managers and who knows what all else. I can't imagine you'd put up with wearing that ridiculous outfit otherwise. Now, they find out you're not in the Federation, and they'll figure there'll be Klingons and Tholians and Romulans and Orion Slavers and heaven knows what else lurking around every corner, planning to rob 'em and probably kill them on sight. Poof! There goes the tourist trade straight out the window."
"Doc Mac's got a point, Pete," Eustace admitted.
"You're dead right I do, Eustace. And call me Leonard, or Doc, or anything other than 'Doc Mac,' will you? Then there's the whole sports angle. Once you're in the Federation, your planetary leagues can get into the Federation sports leagues. Off planet teams'll have to come here on occasion, for the home games. Think about how many die-hard fans are going to traipse along to watch 'em. There's another batch of change dumped in the planetary till." McCoy was obviously warming up on the subject. "Toss in the cash that'll flow in for broadcast rights, and the cash that you can rake in if you tie in to some of the Federation only broadcasts, especially the Federation Olympics. Add to that..."
"Enough! Enough," Peter laughed. "You've overwhelmed me! Eustace, I think the good Doctor has put his finger on our approach. The regular folks will be thrilled to have more sports to watch and an ongoing supply of tourists to fleece, and the money mongers will drool at the thought of the additional revenue."
"No question about it, Pete," Eustace agreed. "Now, all we have to do is decide how to peddle the idea. Any ideas, anyone?"
"It seems to me logical to suggest that the crew of the Enterprise become involved in local sports, and perhaps other cultural activities," Spock offered. "Particularly if some of them could be seen with yourself or members of your court. That would, I believe, achieve a very positive public relations program reasonably rapidly."
Peter nodded. "You have hit the nail on the head, Spock, especially if they spend money freely. Tell you what, why don't we start with you three joining the Queen and I at the piano recital tonight. I've got a box reserved. It's the final stop on Amanda Adeodata's interstellar tour."
Spock's eyebrow raised. "Remarkable. She is the most accomplished pianist in the Federation, and has been called a feminine Mozart. I should definitely wish to join you."
"She's feminine, and she's a female version of Mozart, all right," Eustace agreed, "But she's not Federation. She's one of us, a native of Walven Four."
"If she's that all-fired good, count me in!" McCoy chirruped.
"I'd be honored to join you, too, Peter," Kirk said.
"Excellent. We have room for two more," Peter replied. "Do you think you could find ladies to join us? Lucy, the Queen, would probably appreciate some feminine company."
Almost simultaneously, Spock and Kirk said, "Uhura!"
"I agree," McCoy chipped in. "She'd kill to join us."
"Think Nurse Webb would join us, Bones?" Kirk asked.
"She'd jump at the chance."
"Good!" Peter stood up. "I will arrange to transport the party in the Royal Limousine."
"Just one question," Kirk said. "Do we have to, ah,..."
"Nope," Eustace answered, before Kirk could finish asking. "You don't have to wear Court Costume. Starfleet dress uniform will do fine. If the ladies want to wear evening gowns, that's quite acceptable, but not required."
"That's a relief," Kirk confessed.
Peter looked at Eustace. "Can you think of anything else we need to cover? Seems to me we have hit all the things we had on the agenda."
The chief of protocol rubbed his chin pensively for a moment. "Don't think so, Pete." He turned to face Kirk. "We'll need a list of crew members and sports they're interested in watching or participating in, of course and those with specific interests in the arts and such. Think that'll be a problem?"
"It should be easy enough. Is there anything else?"
"I think not. Eustace, you will see to it that time and place for tonight are communicated to the Enterprise?"
"I'll see to it." Eustace drained his cup of coffee. "If there's nothing else you folks need, I'll get you where you can transport back without getting mobbed."
"And we must head back and mingle with the persons of our Royal Court." Peter sighed. "Back into our Royal Rags."
*****
The voice net speaker chimed, and was answered. "Yes?"
"Is the area secure?"
"It is. The line is secure, too. What have you learned?"
"Federation sent two Humans and a Vulcan. They're going to be at the Adeodata performance tonight."
"A Vulcan? Oh, that's too good to be true. He'll be perfect. You'll put a plant in the audience, to make sure?"
"Already done."
"Perfect. Tonight, then. Out."
The connection broke, neither traced nor noticed.
*****
"I didn't think we'd ever get past that crowd of gawkers," McCoy complained as he helped Nurse Webb settle into her chair in the Royal Box. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear half of 'em were here just to see you, Your Majesty. And the cameras and the video recorders! I bet the lighting will give us all sunburn."
"We are a major drawing card, Doctor," the king responded. "Our Royal Appearance at an event brings in larger crowds, but it limits our activities rather significantly. It also forces us into activities we might not have preferred."
Curiosity overcame Kirk's caution. "Oh? For example?"
"Broccoli."
"Broccoli?"
"Yes, broccoli. We were informed that many of our subjects were eating dolorously poor diets. To encourage them to eat more wisely, we had to be seen eating broccoli, and appearing to enjoy it. It was a challenge, believe us."
"Hush! It looks like things are about to start," the Queen interjected.
Even as she was speaking, the master of ceremonies strutted on stage.
"Your Serene Majesties," he bowed to the box as he spoke, "And ladies and gentlemen of the audience, welcome. Our guest tonight needs no introduction. She is Walven's favorite daughter and the premier pianist of our day. Without further ado, I give you Amanda Adeodata!"
The man stood aside, and a tall, almost willowy woman came on sage. Striking though her beauty may have been, the first thing that caught the eye was that she was entirely bald, even to the point of lacking eyelashes.
"Look at her long, thin fingers," McCoy hissed. "I'll bet she has Darbeaux's Syndrome." Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced his mediscanner.
"Oh, put that thing away, Doctor McCoy," Uhura whispered back. "Can't you just sit back and enjoy? Marie, do something with him, will you?"
As quickly as the mediscanner appeared, it disappeared. Even as it did, the celebrated pianist took her place at the keyboard.
Once the music began, they were all thoroughly enraptured by the virtuoso performance Amanda Adeodata provided them. The music had been an eclectic mix of old classics, popular music, and her own original compositions. Although she had been playing continuously for nearly two hours, it seemed to have been only a few moments between her sitting down to play and standing up. A stagehand brought her a microphone.
"Could we have the lights up, please?" she asked. Obediently, the house lights came up. "Every once in a while, I like to do a request. Is there someone that has a particular piece that they'd like me to play?"
Dozens of hands went up. "Oh, my, if I played all your requests, we'd be here until lunch tomorrow." She studied the audience carefully for a moment. "Sir, you--the one in the blue shirt, ninth row back. Would you stand up and tell us all what you'd like to hear?"
Tentatively, an older man stood up. He looked around, as if to be sure that there was no one else standing before he spoke. "Could you play Vulcan Harpers: A Son Vanquished By His Father for us?"
Amanda smiled. "I think we can manage that. It is a fitting end to my tour. You see, years and years ago, Daddy had to make a business trip to Vulcan. I was only five, and he decided Mama and I would come with him. Now, Mama loves harp music, and since there was a Vulcan harp competition going on, we went. At the end, there were only two harpists left, tied for first place: a father and his son. Both had received perfect scores all through. To break the tie, the judges decided to have each one do an improvisation off the same five-note motif. For all of me, the son's music stood above the father's, but the judges gave the father the victory.
"Later, in our suite, to my parent's surprise, I played both pieces on the electronic keyboard in the parlor. Mama said I had them note perfect. Daddy had the keyboard print out a couple of copies of what I'd played, and took one to the judges." Amanda giggled before continuing. "I did have it perfect. Not bad for a kid!
"Anyway, that contest launched my career. Years later, I found the printouts Daddy had made, and wrote Vulcan Harpers: A Son Vanquished By His Father from them."
For a moment, Amanda had a far away look in her eyes. "I've often wondered if the two Vulcans I was trying to honor ever heard the piece, and how they felt about it." She shook her head. "Either way, I've got a pre-recorded track of a Vulcan harper doing the harp section, but it is so much nicer to do it live. Anyone out there that plays the harp, would you please stand up?"
A small number of individuals stood up, including Uhura. Spock remained seated.
"Oh, come on, Spock, stand up," Uhura whispered. "You're a championship Vulcan harper, after all."
Reluctantly, the Vulcan stood. He had no more than reached an upright posture than Amanda spotted him. "A Vulcan! Oh, how delightful! Do please come join us, sir! It's been just ages and ages since I've had the pleasure of playing this piece with a Vulcan."
Spock looked at the king, who nodded assent. As swiftly as he could, he made his way to the stage. As he was ushered onto the stage, Amanda looked at him, an odd expression on her face for an instant, quickly replaced by a smile.
"Thank you so much for being willing to accompany me." She signaled someone off stage. A stagehand brought in a Vulcan harp, handed it to Spock, and disappeared. "Will this instrument be suitable?"
Spock accepted the instrument, looking it over carefully. "Eminently so, Madam. It is a T'Shall harp, approximately equivalent to a Terran Stradivarius violin. As great an honor as it is to accompany you, the honor of playing a T'Shall harp is even greater."
Spock ran his fingers across the strings, then tightened two or three. He began playing, to familiarize himself with the instrument. The pianist's hand flew to her mouth and she went pale. "Have you heard the piece? You played the son's aria as if you knew it by heard."
Spock nodded. "I have heard your composition many times, Madam. I have both harp parts committed to memory."
Amanda smiled and curtsied. "I am honored that you delighted in the music so much."
"I suspect that I had both harp parts memorized before you wrote Vulcan Harpers: A Son Vanquished By His Father, Madam."
A faint pink tint appeared on her cheeks. "That's not possible, unless... Unless..." She shook her head. "It couldn't be. Sir, have we met before this evening?"
"Not to my knowledge, but clearly you have seen me once." Spock played a five-note sequence. "Only once has a son and a father competed as you have described in the Vulcan Harping Contest."
"Of course! And you were there!"
"I was, and I was defeated by my father, Sarek."
"Then...Then..." Amanda blushed which, with her totally bald head, was an impressive sight. "Then you are..." Her voice trailed off into an amazed silence.
"Yes. I am Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, the son who was vanquished by his father."
Amanda Adeodata bowed deeply, her forehead almost touching the floor. As she stood, she faced the audience. "Lords, Ladies, Gentlebeings and your Royal Majesties, this will be the highlight of my career." She faced Spock again. "May I have this recorded, Spock? I will want to relive this performance often, and no doubt others will wish to share it."
"If you wish."
Amanda nodded. "Excellent. Shall we begin?"
Spock lifted the harp again and sat on a tall stool that a stagehand had provided. For a moment, there was an expectant silence, finally broken by the Vulcan harp playing the five-note sequence. From there, the piano and harp danced with each other, the harp leading, until finally the harp dropped out, leaving the piano to conclude in an explosion of harmony and eager enthusiasm. When the last echo of the final note faded, the auditorium was filled with deafening cheering and applause. Adeodata stood and bowed; taking his cue from her, Spock did likewise. As the auditorium began to quiet down, she turned to Spock.
"I had intended to finish tonight's performance by doing an improvisation on a theme suggested by a member of the audience. After this evening and its revelations, I think I owe you the privilege of suggesting a theme."
Caught unprepared, Spock thought for a moment. "Would you use the piano to write your autobiography?"
"A worthy challenge! But for you, I'll try!"
She sat down at the piano again, and began playing. Initially, there were two separate melodies that fused, then produced a third melodic line that began simply, but rapidly grew in complexity, driving the first two aside, only to be joined be a fourth melody, one that initially clashed but by degrees harmonized. Suddenly, Adeodata stood, closing the piano. "I realize it sounds unfinished--but then, my life isn't finished yet, either." She giggled, which struck Spock as being out of place, even for a Human. "You've all been such a wonderful audience. Thank you for sharing this evening with me, especially Your Majesties, and of course, thank you, Spock of Vulcan."
Spock bowed slightly, and retreated off stage, to allow the audience to show their appreciation for Adeodata's performance without his being in the way. As he started to make his way back to the box and his companions, a man came out of the shadows. "Spock? A moment, if you please."
The Vulcan turned to face the Human. "How may I help you?"
"On the rare occasions that Amanda has made a live recording with another artist, such as yourself, it is her habit to ask that you join her in her dressing room for a few moments after the performance to iron out a few details on the possible sale of the recorded piece. If you would please come with me? I will see to it that the rest of your party is made aware of the delay and its reason."
Spock nodded his acquiescence, and followed the Human. After wandering through several corridors, he found himself led to a door marked "Amanda Adeodata."
"She will be with you shortly, sir. Please forgive the wait. She prefers to get into less formal attire, first."
"I understand." Spock stood at the door, patiently. After a brief wait, the door opened, and Adeodata's hairless head peeked around it.
"Come in, come in," she invited Spock. "We've a detail or two to handle, if you wouldn't mind?"
Spock entered the dressing room. Amanda had changed into a loose-fitting outfit, clearly chosen for casual comfort, and had discarded her shoes, her long, bare toes digging into the thick, soft pile of the area rug that filled most of the middle of the room.
Adeodata giggled. "Yes, I prefer being barefoot. As long and skinny as my feet are, finding shoes that fit comfortably is such a chore." She produced four recordings, all of which bore her autograph. "These are tonight's last two pieces. One I've signed is yours, one is for me, and the others are for our parents. I was hoping that you'd autograph them for me." She extended the recordings. Spock signed them all, pocketed two, and returned the others.
"There is the issue of the proceeds from marketing the recording. You certainly deserve a share in them."
Spock shook his head. "I have no need of the additional income. Such portion of the proceeds as you feel that I am due can be given to a charity, perhaps a fund for research into finding improved treatments and cures for rare medical problems."
"Good enough." She turned to a console, tapping on it for a few moments. A printer produced several sheets. "Just a document to make that official, for our mutual protection. If you would sign both copies?"
The Vulcan read the agreement, and finding nothing objectionable, signed both copies. Amanda did likewise, returning one to him, which he folded and pocketed.
Amanda Adeodata smiled. "I just want to thank you personally, one last time, both for tonight's performance, and for your role in triggering my career. You will always be a welcome and honored guest at my home, Spock of Vulcan." She lifted her hand in a clumsy attempt at a Vulcan salute. "Um, long life and prosperity?"
Spock returned the gesture. "Live long, and prosper, Amanda Adeodata. You will always be welcome to drink deeply at my well. I am grateful for the evening, as well. I suspect that you will be eager to return home. If there is nothing else, I will leave you."
"That's it, Spock, except to thank you one last time."
"You are most welcome." He stepped out into the corridor, and opened his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise."
"Lieutenant Jaeger here, Captain. What can I do for you?"
"I wish to ascertain whether Captain Kirk and the rest of the party are still awaiting my return."
There was a brief pause. "Uhura says they're in the limo, and they'll go on ahead. You can just beam up, and dodge all the cameras and video recorders."
"Very well. One to beam up."
*****
Spock returned to his quarters. A brief calculation indicated that his parents would be just finishing breakfast. He decided to call.
"Ambassador Sarek here."
"Live long and prosper, Father."
"Greetings, Spock. Your call is unexpected."
Spock could hear his mother's voice in the background, sending her greetings. "Extend my greetings to Mother for me, Father. I am certain you recall our discussion of a few years ago concerning the piece by Amanda Adeodata?"
"Clearly. The title was Vulcan Harpers: A Son Vanquished By His Father. As I recall, we were both curious about the source of the Vulcan harp music. Although the harp performance showed only marginal skill, it sounded very much like our improvisations in the All Vulcan Harp Competition."
"The puzzle is now resolved, Father. She was present at the competition. I will be sending a recording of her performance of the piece that she autographed for you and Mother."
"How did you get it, Spock?" The voice was Amanda's.
"Captain Kirk, I, and a few others from the Enterprise were invited to a live concert, Mother. She resolved our question."
"Who is the accompanist, Spock?" It was Sarek, again.
"I ended up taking that task. My companions felt it was logical. Since one of the companions was the High King Peter of Walven Four, I did not feel at liberty to decline."
"Eminently logical, son. Will you be bringing or shipping the recording?"
"Given the length of time until I am able to return home, I believe it would be more logical to ship it."
Spock could hear Amanda in the background, wishing that he would make a special trip with the recording. Sarek continued, making no comment about Amanda's illogical wish. "If you are in the capital of Walven, I believe it is late at night."
"It is seven minutes after midnight, local time, Father."
"According to your Mother, you need to get your sleep. Goodbye, Spock. Live long and prosper, my son."
"Live long and prosper, Father."
The connection broke, and the Vulcan began preparation for bed.
*****
Spock snapped awake at the chiming of the communications module. In a single fluid motion, he rolled out of bed and triggered it. He glanced at the chronometer: 0404, ship's time. "Spock here."
"Kirk here. I need you at the transporter room. Now."
"It will take six point three minutes for me to don appropriate attire, and at least an additional two point eight on the turbolift."
"Be here in fifteen minutes, Spock," Kirk interrupted. "Kirk out."
Despite being puzzled by the captain's unusually brusque manner, and equally unusual tone of voice, Spock dressed and made his way to the transporter room as rapidly as he was able. To his surprise, he found not only Kirk but also McCoy and Captain Scott in the transporter room.
"I am curious about the reason for the urgent summons, Captain," Spock said, moving to the transporter.
"The Walven police want to question you, Spock," Kirk responded. "Amanda Adeodata is missing, and you're their primary suspect."
"I see," Spock nodded. "Quite logical."
"It is and it isn't, Spock," McCoy responded. "Blast it, you've got no motive for such chicanery, plenty of reason to avoid it, and you're too logical to do something that stupid."
"I appreciate your sentiments, Doctor. However, I doubt that they will weigh heavily with the Walven police force, since I am probably the last individual known to have seen her."
Kirk and McCoy joined Spock on the transporter.
"I doubt that the Walven police suspect either of you. Unless they have specifically asked you to come, you need not accompany me."
"You're a member of my crew, Spock, a comrade in arms, and above and beyond that, a good friend being accused of a major crime," Kirk responded. "They have to face me if they want to accuse you."
"And that goes for me, too, Spock," McCoy added. "Double."
"Aye, laddie," Scotty chimed in. "An' if I didn't have t' stay here and take care of the Enterprise, they'd be facin' me, too. I doubt there's a soul on the Enterprise that wouldn't clamor t'be at your side."
The Vulcan nodded acquiescence. "I believe the Human expression is, 'That is what friends are for.' I am appreciative."
"Scotty, beam us down," Kirk ordered. "We need to get Spock cleared, first and foremost."
Scotty obeyed, without further comment.
An instant later, the threesome found themselves standing in a very functional office area, faced by several uniformed individuals. One individual stepped forward, toward the Vulcan. "Captain Spock?"
"I am he."
"Inspector Phillips. I need to ask you a few questions, sir. Strictly routine, I assure you."
"I quite understand."
The inspector gestured at a subordinate. "For the record, you have the privilege of remaining silent, since our conversation will be recorded and anything you say may be used as evidence against you. You have the right to have a legal professional present to advise you of further rights extended by the King's Court, and to protect your rights during this interview. If you wish, His Majesty's representatives will supply you with a legal representative. Do you understand your rights, sir?"
"I do."
Again, for the record, please identify yourself."
"Captain Spock, Chief Science Officer of the United Starship Enterprise, son of Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, and Amanda Grayson of Earth."
"Thank you, Captain Spock. Now in your own words, please recount your interaction with Amanda Adeodata last evening. Feel free to take your time, and include any details you feel are important."
Methodically, Spock related the previous evening's activities, from the time he was summoned to the stage until he transported back to the Enterprise.
Phillips nodded, listening carefully. When Spock had finished describing the events, the inspector waited another moment before speaking. "Are there any other details you would care to add?"
"I believe I have covered the events in sufficient detail."
"Let me clarify a point or two, if I may. You said you signed recordings of the evening's rendition of the last two performances. Did I understand you to say that you signed four?"
"Exactly. I signed four, and kept two. Amanda Adeodata signed them as well, keeping the other two for herself," Spock replied.
"You kept two, not three? Are you certain that you didn't actually accidentally take three, not two, copies?"
Spock's eyebrow lifted. "I am."
"Was there any conflict or disagreement between you and Adeodata?"
"No."
"Perhaps an exchange of blows?"
"No."
The inspector nodded. "Did you perhaps scratch yourself or see Amanda Adeodata scratch or wound herself while you were there, and not feel it was worth mentioning? Perhaps sustain some minor wound or other?"
"I was wearing a Starfleet dress uniform, Inspector. It covers essentially the same area as what I am wearing. You have my permission to look for wounds, if you doubt the accuracy of my description of events. Adeodata was similarly clad, except that she was barefoot." Spock's face and tone of voice were calm, but McCoy sensed that his friend was beginning to be nettled.
"I see," Inspector Phillips continued. "Most interesting. Then you would have no idea how Human and Vulcan blood got spattered across Adeodata's dressing room?"
Spock's face remained impassive. "I do not know how it happened, Inspector. I would like to inspect the site before I hazarded an opinion on that question."
"Under the circumstances, Captain Spock, that might be imprudent. As a person, you understand, I believe your story. Certainly, it fits the facts that I know." He shook his head. "But as the King's Inspector assigned to the case, I cannot let my feelings get in the way of acting based strictly on the evidence. With your being the last person known to have seen her, and the Vulcan blood spattered on the floor..." The inspector let the sentence die unfinished.
"Although we usually prefer not to interfere, we request that our guest be allowed immediate access to the scene."
Surprised, everyone turned and knelt before the king.
The King gestured. "You may rise." Gratefully, they all returned to an upright posture. "When we were informed of the disappearance of our beloved subject, Amanda Adeodata, we realized that our Vulcan guest would be considered a primary suspect. We have the strongest of reasons to believe that the Vulcan is not involved in this crime, and suggest that it might be prudent to make use of his wit and skill in analyzing the crime scene."
"With all due respect to Your Majesty's wishes, there was Vulcan blood mixed with the Human blood at the scene. If I might beg your Highness' indulgence, that is strongly suggestive evidence."
"It is our suspicion that, since you have done sufficient testing to assure that the blood was Vulcan, you will also have identified the Vulcan blood type. Since we observe that the good doctor is present, we are willing to hazard the guess that he can give you the Vulcan's blood type." The king turned to McCoy. "Do we guess correctly, sir?"
McCoy bowed. "Your Majesty is quite correct. Spock, with your permission, I'll tell them, and get you cleared."
"Of course, Doctor."
"He's got one of the rarest Vulcan blood types: T negative," McCoy announced triumphantly.
"Excellent," Phillips smiled. "The Vulcan blood was S indifferent, one of the commonest types, if I'm not mistaken."
"With our guest cleared, we request that you allow him access to the crime scene."
"As Your Majesty wishes," Phillips responded, bowing as he did. "Does Your Majesty wish to join us?"
Peter shook his head. "As much as we wish we could, we must attend to other business of state, Inspector. We appoint Sir James and his companion, Doctor McCoy, as our royal representatives."
"As Your Majesty pleases. A preliminary report will be made available to the Crown as soon as possible." Phillips bowed deeply, again.
"We are grateful. Your willingness to cooperate will not be forgotten." The High King turned and left as suddenly as he had arrived.
Phillips let his breath out slowly. "Now, that was a shocker, and no mistake about it. But I think we all came out okay. Listen, please accept my apologies, gentlemen, and your Lordship. I didn't know you were that closely connected to the king. Look, I'd still like to get a sample of Captain Spock's blood collected, just to confirm his blood type, if you don't mind."
"I do not mind," the Vulcan responded, turning to face Doctor McCoy. "Under the circumstances, I conjecture that you came with the necessary tools for collecting the sample, Doctor McCoy."
"Sure did. Now, if you'll just bare that arm?" McCoy foraged in his medical kit, and drew out the necessary apparatus. As the doctor drew the blood, Phillips watched closely.
"Planning to take up medicine, Inspector?" Kirk asked, half in jest.
"Just a routine precaution; this way I can testify that it's really Spock's blood, not a substituted tube." Phillips straightened up. "I notice that there was essentially no bleeding after the blood was drawn, Doctor."
"Naturally not, Inspector," Spock interjected. "Rapid clotting on exposure to air causes us to lose less blood, and thus less water. It is an adaptation to the scarcity of water on Vulcan."
"Well, it looks like I get to be Inspector Lestrade to your Sherlock Holmes, Captain Spock."
"Hey, that would make me Doctor Watson!" McCoy chirped. "And you can be Wiggins of the Baker Street Irregulars, Jim!"
The starship captain rolled his eyes. "Wonderful, Bones. I'm sure that fulfils a life-long dream for us both. Inspector, since we have permission for Spock to inspect the scene, perhaps we could get moving?"
"The sooner the better, I suppose." Phillips turned to another officer. "Constable Gregory? Get us some transportation. Better get a wagon; there'll be several of us."
*****
Within a matter of moments, the party was at what had been Adeodata's changing room. Carefully, Spock inspected the room, standing in the doorway, consulting his tricorder frequently. The bare floor was marked by both red and green blood, and the furniture was tumbled about as if there had been a fight. Kirk and McCoy, accustomed to their friend's approach to such things, remained silent. Phillips, after a moment or two, broke the silence.
"I'd be interesting to hear your observations, if you don't mind, Captain Spock."
"The first thing that struck me was the absence of the rug that filled most of the floor."
Phillips shook his head. "You've got the advantage of me on that one; I didn't see the room earlier this evening. Do you have any evidence that there was a rug, other than your say-so?"
"The dust patterns on the floor should be sufficient evidence. Even though there have been at least six, and possibly as many as eight different individuals through the room since the rug was removed, the pattern of the dust still outlines the carpet somewhat. Perhaps low, tangential lighting would make it more visible."
Phillips gestured to a nearby constable, who produced a hand light that he turned on and put on the floor. Despite the signs of several feet having walked across the area, a vague outline of the carpet remained.
"Good going, Captain Spock. What else do you derive from the scene?"
"Judging from the pattern of the blood spatters, it is possible to deduce the location from which they originated. If I may enter the room?"
"Go ahead. The evidence collection team has been through the room thoroughly, and drawn their own conclusions, but I'd be interested in hearing yours."
Spock strode across the floor. "Both the Vulcan and Human blood appears to have been squirted from this location. Given the pattern, I would estimate that the tube through which it was propelled was no more than about one point one two meters above the floor. The Vulcan blood was applied first. See, there?" Spock pointed. "The Human blood spatter overlaps the Vulcan. Several other areas are visible where that has happened, but none where the Vulcan has overlapped the Human."
"Excellent, excellent!" Phillips was obviously pleased with the information he was gleaning. "Any other points to share?"
"One other, but I would appreciate Doctor McCoy's confirmation. Doctor, if you would turn your mediscanner on one or two of the larger blood spots?"
"Way ahead of you, Spock," McCoy grinned. "I suppose you're wanting to know if the blood on the floor has unusually high citrate levels."
"Precisely, Doctor. I strongly suspect that they do."
"Well you're dead right." McCoy's voice had a note of triumph in it. "I..."
"Hold on a minute," Phillips interrupted. "Citrate? What's the point in that?"
"Sodium citrate is the standard anticoagulant used in tubes to keep Vulcan and Human blood drawn for diagnostic purposes from clotting up before we can test it," the doctor returned. "Which means this blood was drawn at an earlier time, and then brought here to make it look like there had been a fight. But there's one other thing no one seems to have noticed. Anyone here smell flowers?"
"Oh, come off it, Bones. Folks like Adeodata often are given flowers before or after their performances." Kirk shook his head at his friend's naivete.
"There were none in the room when I was there after the performance, Captain. I am quite certain of that point." Spock turned to the doctor. "However, I do notice the odor. Your conclusions, Doctor?"
"I'm surprised you haven't guessed, Spock." McCoy was obviously enjoying scoring on his Vulcan comrade. "It's chloroform. Among the oldest inhalation anesthetics known, it's still about the fastest one there is." He consulted his mediscanner. "Inspector, if you've got an evidence bag on you, you might find a vial with a little left in it, hmm...over to one side of that dressing table there, just by the corner, I'd guess."
Phillips moved to where McCoy was pointing. Only a moment of searching revealed a small bottle, with a tiny amount of fluid remaining in it. After being properly photographed and identified, it was rapidly transferred to an evidence bag. "Excellent, gentlemen. If you ever retire from Starfleet, and want a job, let me know. You've achieved as much in five minutes as a whole platoon of trained constables and I did in a couple of hours. And we'd totally missed that vial of chloroform. Do any of you feel the need to inspect the site further?"
Kirk looked at his two companions. Both shook their heads. "I guess not."
"Then let's head back to the station. You folks can return to the Enterprise from there." The men began their trek back to their vehicle. Unfortunately, a crowd had gathered, and as they left the auditorium, microphones and lights and reporters jamming microphones in everyone's faces demanding a comment confronted them. Inspector Phillips brushed them aside. "That will do. You all know that we can't be giving statements at this point. Now clear the way, so we can get in our transportation, or I'll have to book the lot of you."
Most of the crowd melted away; only one diehard remained, standing by the vehicle's door, blocking entry. "Come on, Inspector. Tell us what's going on, will you? They won't even let us into the building."
Try as he might, the Inspector couldn't quite get the man out of the way. Finally, Spock intervened. "If I may have your permission, Inspector, I believe I can convince this individual to allow us entry to your vehicle."
"Just don't hurt him too much, Spock," Phillips returned.
Spock laid his hand on the reporter's shoulder, in a Vulcan nerve pinch. He caught the man, handing him to his colleagues. "He should wake up in four point six minutes, quite unharmed." Everyone shifted into the wagon, which gently but firmly pushed its way through the crowd.
Phillips turned to face the Vulcan, again. "Nice trick with the reporter, Spock. Charley's been one of the most obnoxious of the paparazzi lately, and he deserved what he got. I just hope he doesn't file assault charges against you."
"Thank you, Inspector, and I share your hope."
"Now that we're in a secure environment, Captain Spock, I'd be interested in how you add up the data you've gathered. Unless, like Sherlock Holmes, you want to spring it all on me at the end."
Spock was silent, thinking for a moment before answering. "As I read the evidence, Inspector, one or more individuals managed to gain entry into this room, armed with the chloroform. Once Adeodata was rendered unconscious, she was rolled into the carpet and carried away. Given Adeodata's probable body weight, added to the weight of the carpeting, I conjecture that there was at least one accomplice. After removing her from the room, the blood spatters were placed, and the room arranged to produce the appearance of a conflict. It seems to me probable that one of the two individuals who removed Adeodata in the carpet returned to leave the false trail, but it could easily have been a third individual."
"It also was someone who not only knew that there was going to be a Vulcan in the audience, but also who could get hold of Vulcan blood, Spock," Kirk added. "Moreover, it was someone who knew that the piece, Vulcan Harpers: A Son Vanquished By His Father was going to be requested, and that the Vulcan would probably be called on stage to perform, then back to her dressing room for a few moments. So we've got at an individual in the audience, too, to make sure that the harp piece was requested. Put all that together, and what I see is a well-organized group, with tentacles out in several directions where they can get critical information, slightly exotic resources, and plan something rapidly and effectively. Any names come to mind, gentlebeings?"
Almost as a single voice, Spock, McCoy, Inspector Phillips and the constables present said, "The Tower of Ares!"
"I see," Kirk replied, "That we have all reached pretty much the same conclusion."
"Well, if it is the Tower of Ares, I suppose that we can expect a ransom note, or something similar," Phillips decided, "Probably in the next day or less. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the note wasn't on my desk when we get back to my office." He turned to the Vulcan. "Before we go, I'd like to know if you have any other observations, Captain Spock?" Turning to McCoy, he added, "Or if you do, Doctor?"
McCoy scratched his head. "Look, you asked Spock how many recordings he took, and made obnoxiously sure that it was two, not three, that he took with him. Did you have a reason for that, other than just being sure?"
The inspector smiled. "I certainly did. Only one was found in the dressing room, Doctor, and the officer who informed her father, Mister Bayes, of Adeodata's disappearance delivered it to him. As to what became of the other one, no one apparently knows."
"One other point, Inspector." It was Kirk's voice. "May I assume that you have checked the communication log for this room? It might give us an idea of the timing of the abduction, don't you think?"
"It was among the first things that we did, after gathering evidence from the site, Sir James." The inspector shook his head. "No incoming or outgoing calls at all after the performance. And the only computer access after the performance was probably the creation of the agreement that you signed with Adeodata. By the way, I would certainly appreciate a copy of that, just for the records."
"Unquestionably, Inspector," Spock responded. "I shall see to it as quickly as I am able, after I return to the Enterprise. Would a copy of the recording be of any value to you?"
Phillips smiled sheepishly. "Well, not exactly. We, ah, made ourselves one from the recording we found here, before it was turned over to her father. It seemed the logical course of action, just in case there was something in the recording that might be of value. And before you ask, we imaged the signatures on the recording, too."
Kirk looked at his two companions. "Any other thoughts, Spock, Bones?"
The two shook their heads.
"Gentlebeings, your insights have been remarkably valuable. I assume that I state the obvious when I make it clear that what we've learned and deduced here is strictly confidential. If His Majesty, the High King Peter, should request information of you, please feel free to share with him, but with no other."
"Not even his Chief of Protocol, Eustace?" McCoy inquired.
"As near as I can figure it, Doctor," the Inspector responded, "Telling the King and telling Eustace are about synonymous. But other than that, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this even from the crew of the Enterprise, as much as possible."
Kirk nodded. "I understand, Inspector. No sense in showing our hand until it's to our advantage, right?"
"Exactly, Sir James. Also, we have some very strict laws involving mistrials, if too much information gets leaked. I wouldn't care to solve the case, find the abductors, and then have them get off on a technicality." Phillips rubbed his chin. "Come to think of it, nor would you, I suppose. The other side of it is that we can use the information about the Vulcan blood to our advantage. If the perpetrators think we're still looking for a Vulcan..." He left the statement unfinished.
"I'm not sure I like the idea of using Spock as a decoy," McCoy snapped. "The last thing I need is to have to patch up his hide if a mob decides that this case needs tried by Judge Lynch, or whatever Walven's equivalent might be."
"Trust me, Doctor," Phillips returned, "The only thing Captain Spock will be bait for is the paparazzi. And as far as I am concerned, Captain Spock, nothing you do to them short of actual physical violence will bother me at all. In fact, if the physical violence isn't too severe, I might even put up with a bit of that. I have high hopes that you will give them the run of their life."
Kirk grinned. "Bank on it! Especially since I think I know an engineer and a few other starship personnel that will be more than happy to assist him in that endeavor. Is there anything else, Inspector?"
"No, Sir James. If you can establish a secure channel, however, I would be happy to share the results of the more formal analysis of the crime scene with you when they are available."
"Think Uhura can manage a secure channel?" McCoy quipped, looking at Spock.
"Knowing her, Doctor, I have no doubt that she can achieve a channel even the most determined paparazzi could not tap into," Spock responded, completely missing the rhetorical nature of the question.
"Trust me, Inspector, my chief communications officer can make a channel secure enough to defy the Klingons and Romulans. I doubt that anyone here is going to be able to tap it."
"Excellent, Sir James. Perhaps, as a gesture of interstellar camaraderie, she could be induced to teach a few of her tricks to some of my communications team."
"I can only ask, Inspector, but I'm sure Uhura would be willing."
As Kirk spoke, the wagon arrived in the garage at the station. The men returned to the office from which they'd left. On their way, they overheard someone complaining at another constable.
"Listen, if I have to wait for Inspector Phillips to come back, is there somewhere I can grab a nap or something? I was with a patient of mine all night last night, and I'm beat."
The desk sergeant shook his head. "Wish there was, sir; but if there was, I'm sure some of the fellows just coming off duty would have beat you to it. He'll be here soon, I'm sure. Could I offer you a cup of coffee, while you're waiting?"
Phillips, Kirk, McCoy and Spock entered the office area. Phillips gestured at the sergeant not to reveal his arrival.
"Thanks, Constable, I'll need it. Full day today. I just don't see what I have to offer you folks on the disappearance of Amanda Bayes. I'm her doctor, not her guard dog. Really, I could almost suspect you thought I'd kidnapped her." The fellow shook his head. "I even missed most of the performance, and I hear it was unique."
McCoy decided it was time to butt in. Before anyone could hush him, he blurted, "Well, son, if you're her doctor, you can offer a whole lot of useful information, like when the last time she had a blood sample taken, and who might have had access to it."
Surprised, the man turned around. "And who are you? Inspector Phillips?"
McCoy shook his head. "Nope, I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise. Who're you, besides being Amanda's personal physician?"
"I am Doctor William Darbeaux."
"Knock it off, kid, there's no way you're Doctor Darbeaux." McCoy snorted. "I met Doctor Darbeaux, oh, eighteen or twenty years ago, when he presented his first paper on Darbeaux's syndrome. He was older then than you are now."
"That would have been my father, Doctor McCoy." Darbeaux shrugged, wearing a half smile. "You're not the first person to make that mistake, and I guess you won't be the last. I have followed in my father's footsteps, and have continued his work. But since you've read about the syndrome, I suppose you've guessed that Amanda Bayes suffers from it."
"Yes, of course."
"Then you'll have to help me convince the police of the urgency here. Besides most of the hair on her body, about eighty percent of her ileum and jejunum are involved; without a specially prepared, elemental diet, she'll starve, quickly."
Inspector Phillips interrupted. "There is no need for Doctor McCoy to convince us of that, Doctor Darbeaux. Her father told us about the issue when he called us over her not having returned home. But rest assured, the evidence we have suggests that this has been pulled off by a group that would have the resources to handle providing the needed diet."
Darbeaux's brow furrowed with concern. "A conspiracy, then?"
"Well, something like that, but let's not run farther than what we know allows us, shall we?" Phillips turned to the sergeant. "Barney, why don't you let Doctor Darbeaux sit in my office, while I finish with these fine folks?"
The sergeant nodded. Before he could escort Darbeaux to the office, the doctor turned to Doctor McCoy. "Sir, father has always felt that you were one of the most resourceful and brilliant physicians that he's ever known. When they find her, if I need your assistance, can I draw on you and your sickbay? To avoid the publicity, you understand."
Kirk answered for McCoy. "As long as His Majesty has no problems with it, we'll be glad to help."
"Thank you." Darbeaux allowed himself to be led into the Inspector's office.
Inspector Phillips turned to the threesome. "Any other details you gentlebeings need to handle?"
"I don't think so, Inspector," Kirk returned. "Is there anything else you need from us?"
"For now, I think that we've covered all that is needed, Sir James. If anything else comes up, I'll contact you."
Kirk nodded, gesturing at his two companions to take their position, reaching for his communicator as he did. "Scotty, three to beam up."
The three men disappeared, leaving the Inspector and the constables behind.
*****
Once back on the Enterprise, Kirk knew that there was no point in returning to his cabin to try to get a little more sleep. He was awake for the day. Noticing that it was only a little more than half an hour until he was due to assume command again, he decided to head for the bridge and give whoever was on duty the chance to knock off early. As he stepped off the turbolift, Lieutenant Carpenter was in the captain's chair. Noticing Kirk's arrival, Carpenter was on his feet immediately.
"At ease, Carpenter," Kirk said. "There's no problem; I just got called down to the surface of Walven, and there's no way I'm getting back to sleep, now. You might as well knock off early, and enjoy a little extra free time."
"Thank you, sir!" Carpenter responded, gratefully. He surrendered the seat to Kirk, and moved off the bridge.
Looking around himself, Kirk was surprised to see Uhura at the communications console. "Couldn't sleep, Uhura?"
"More or less, Captain. I expect that everyone on the ship knows about the little problem that Spock had to deal with on Walven, and I guess a lot of us couldn't sleep after hearing. I thought that I'd see what the media on Walven Four were doing with the information they had. There's a lot of it already, and probably more to come."
"That fails to surprise me. We need a secure data link to Inspector Phillips, of His Majesty's Police, before I do anything else."
"Already set up, Captain. It'd take half the computer capacity of Vulcan a hundred years to crack the encryption, or so Spock said." There was a hint of a smile on her face.
"Uhura, you're absolutely the best. Let me see some of what you found. Mainviewer, please."
As quickly as Kirk gave the order, the main viewing screen was filled with the face of a newsroom talking head.
"After last night's virtuoso performance before His Serene Majesty, the High King Peter, Amanda Adeodata Bayes, Walven's most famous performer, has disappeared under circumstances that seem very questionable. It seems that she was last seen alive by the Vulcan member of the Federation's team sent here to oversee our vote on whether or not to join the Federation. At this point, all that we have been able to learn from His Majesty's Police is that her dressing room floor was spattered with both Human and Vulcan blood. Amanda Adeodata's whereabouts are still unknown, and the circumstances appear to suggest foul play. Moving to other news..."
The talking head disappeared, to be replaced by a picture of the front page of a tabloid:
Amanda
Adeodata Missing!
Blood Spattered Floor Suggests
Fight For Her Life
With Vulcan!
Although the constabulary refuses to speculate, or even to comment, the fact that the floor of her dressing room was spattered by her own blood and that of an unidentified Vulcan raises fears that there has been foul play. Is it a coincidence that the team sent here from the Federation to oversee our vote to join it not only was at the concert last night, but has a Vulcan in their group, who was invited backstage by the unsuspecting pianist? Details Inside!
Kirk snorted derisively. Before he could make any comment, Uhura had brought up another newscast:
"Today's top news item is the disappearance of Amanda Adeodata, the celebrated pianist. All that we have been able to confirm is that she is missing, believed kidnapped from her dressing room, and that the floor of the dressing room was spattered with blood identified as belonging to Adeodata herself, and also with blood that has been determined to be from an as yet unidentified Vulcan. Although viewed superficially, this would suggest that there had been a violent altercation between Adeodata and a Vulcan, further consideration raises more questions than it provides answers. It is well known that Vulcans are both considerably more physically powerful, on the whole, than Humans, as well as being considerably swifter. Unless Adeodata was remarkably well versed in the martial arts, and there is no evidence that she is, how could she have moved fast enough to scratch a Vulcan? Moreover, it had to be far more than a scratch: the Vulcan blood was spread as widely as her own was. Given how rapidly Vulcan blood coagulates, she would have had to inflict a major wound on the Vulcan. Is this credible? In the opinion, at least, of this newscaster, it appears quite incredible. Furthermore, as the Vulcan demonstrated on Charles Martel, a reporter at the scene, Vulcans are perfectly capable of incapacitating Humans without bloodshed. Again, this makes the scenario even more confusing. Certainly, the Crown has made it clear that His Majesty does not believe that the Vulcan from the Enterprise is responsible, and perhaps this is why. We will continue to monitor this breaking news story, and will advise you of any further news that we uncover."
"Enough, Uhura," Kirk ordered. The main screen shifted back to displaying the area in front of the Enterprise. "I take it that the rest of what you've seen is similar?"
"Precisely, Captain. Sensationalist tabloids are all but claiming Spock has murdered her. Other media is suggesting that Spock is involved somehow, without naming him, but are debating whether we've got a kidnapping or a murder here. The police on Walven are being incredibly tight-lipped about it all. I..." Uhura broke off, tilting her head to one side. "Captain, we have a signal from the surface. Someone named Eustace is requesting a secure line to you."
"Eustace is King Peter's Chief of Protocol. Can you put him through to the main conference room?"
"Of course, Captain."
"Lieutenant Jaeger, you have the conn." Kirk moved as swiftly as he could to the conference room. Once there, he identified himself to Uhura, and the viewscreen on the wall showed Eustace's face.
"Sir James, His Serene Majesty, the High King Peter requests a conference with you. It is his majesty's preference, for security reasons, that the meeting be held in secret on the Enterprise. Will you be able to accommodate the King?"
"I am most honored that the High King Peter would be willing to grace the Enterprise with his presence, Eustace. Might I be so bold as to suggest that you might wish to send up a trusted member of your staff to ensure that all is properly prepared?" Kirk hoped that he wasn't skating on excessively thin ice.
"A remarkably astute suggestion, Sir James. I have a most trusted aide named Montague, whom I believe you have met. If he is suitable to you, he can make preparation. His Majesty would prefer to meet with you as soon as possible, preferably within the hour."
"Then the sooner we get Montague up here, the better, Eustace." Kirk smiled. "Your presence accompanying the King would be most appreciated, too, if your busy schedule will permit it."
Eustace grinned back, bowing slightly; Kirk realized he'd scored big points with that request. "I shall seek His Majesty's thoughts on the matter."
"Would you be able to give Captain Scott Montague's coordinates?"
"Naturally, Sir James. If you would summon the aforementioned worthy to your transporter, I will cheerfully provide them."
"Good enough. Is there anything else?"
"I think not."
"If you'll hold on, I'll transfer you to Captain Scott. Kirk out." Kirk toggled the line into background. "Uhura?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Get Scotty up to the transporter room as fast as you can, and transfer this line to him there. We're going to be beaming up one of the King's retinue, and hopefully shortly thereafter, His Majesty himself."
"Yes sir."
The communicator went silent. Kirk hurried up to the transporter room.
Within moments, Kirk was in the transporter room, and Montague was materializing. As soon as the transporter's sparkle disappeared Montague consulted the device in his hand. "Good, good. This area seems adequately secure, Captain Kirk."
Kirk nodded. "We try to stay as secure as possible, Montague."
"I'm not in the fancy Court Dress, Captain, and thankfully this isn't the King's Court. Monty will do just fine. Where did you plan to have your audience with His Majesty?"
"If it's just the King and a couple of other folks, I expect that the main conference area will be adequate," Kirk responded. "Will there be more than just a handful coming?"
Montague stepped off the transporter and moved toward its control console. "Nah, just His Majesty, and his Chief of Protocol. This is going to be a small troupe. I believe it would be prudent to limit the members of your crew in the conference room to yourself, Captain Spock, and if he's available, perhaps Doctor McCoy." Montague consulted his device. "Console looks clean, too. How about taking me to this conference area, please?"
Kirk stepped to the turbolift, and entered it with Montague in tow, still studying his device, standing in the entry of the turbolift, keeping it from closing. "Captain Scott, is there any way of making sure which turbolift comes for His Majesty and Eustace? This one is clear. Any way to make sure we get it the next time?"
"I'll see to it personally, Monty."
"My thanks, Captain Scott." Montague stepped into the turbolift proper, allowing the door to close, still studying his device. He almost failed to notice their arrival at their destination. Kirk nudged him, and the two men made their way to the conference area. Monty looked up. "Totally clear of snooping devices and such. I commend you, Captain, on how secure you keep the Enterprise."
Flattered, Kirk smiled. "That would be Captain Scott's work, really, Monty, but thank you."
"I guess that takes care of what I was sent here to do, Captain. Now that we are sure there is no risk to the King, we can get him up here. I guess I can go back to Walven, again."
"Not so fast, Monty." Kirk emphasized his disinclination to move by sitting on a corner of the conference table. "I need a couple of things first. Any idea how long this audience is going to last?"
"Nope."
"That figures. Maybe we had better plan for some coffee and sandwiches or something, don't you think? I mean, if it's going to take some time, we might need something to eat and drink. How about you getting something along those lines put together, and personally overseeing its being brought to the conference area and laid out?"
Monty nodded appreciatively. "Good thought; wish I had come up with it."
"Pretend you did."
"Since you insist. I'll see to enough for how many?"
"The King's party, plus two, I think--Spock and I." Kirk furrowed his brow for a moment. "I can't really see a whole lot of reason to pull Doctor McCoy out of Sickbay. My guess is that this scarcely a medical issue." Kirk walked over to the turbolift. "I don't suppose you've been filled in on what the King and Eustace have on their mind?"
"You're dead right there, Captain," Monty shrugged. "On the other hand, I don't suppose it's a bad bet that the topic will center around how the Adeodata disappearance will affect things, particularly the election."
"That was my guess too; I was just hoping for confirmation."
The turbolift door slid open. "That's the best I can do--just adding your guess to mine." He turned to Scotty. "Intrepid Captain, I must be on the surface briefly, and will be beaming up again, when I've made some preparations for His Majesty's visit to the Enterprise. As a token of His Majesty's gratitude for your continued assistance, is there anything that you would wish brought from the surface?"
As the turbolift doors closed, Kirk could hear Scotty's voice. "Well, now, I've heard good things about the whiskey from Walven. If His Majesty's generosity would..."
*****
Kirk, Spock, the High King Peter and Eustace congregated in the briefing room, with Montague and one of the Enterprise's security guards standing outside the door. Once the door was shut, Peter sat, the others taking their cue from him. Kirk poured coffee for himself and the two other Humans, Spock preferring to drink water. For a moment or two, there was an almost awkward silence.
Kirk chose to break it. "We appreciated your intervening this morning, Your Majesty."
"Pete. And it was the least that I could do, since I was the one that brought you folks there in the first place. I've read Inspector Phillips' report on the crime scene; he spoke very highly of the three of you, and the insights you had, especially you, Spock." The High King rummaged in his pockets, producing a recording. "By they way, Spock, this is a recording of the performance--they gave me one as a courtesy. If you wouldn't mind autographing it?"
"I would be honored." Spock reached for the recording, signing it. "It is a pity that Amanda Adeodata is not available to sign it for you."
"He'll just have to wait until she's found, I guess," Eustace commented. "Which brings us to the point of this trip, gentlebeings."
"Indeed," Peter continued. "With the events of last night and early this morning, it is obvious that those who wish to keep Walven out of the Federation are not above violence. Inspector Phillips has received a note from the kidnappers, indicating that Amanda Adeodata's safety hinges on the vote 'choosing properly.' It seemed reasonable to see if you wanted to reconsider our plans from yesterday."
Spock and Kirk locked eyes for a moment, before Kirk responded. "Frankly, I don't see that it makes a lot of difference. In all honesty, I figured there would be some risk for the crew anyway. It was going to be an all volunteer group going down, and I really can't see that the risks on a reasonably law abiding, civilized planet would be a whole lot more than combat with the Romulans or Klingons, even with covert hostiles." He shrugged. "They just get told to be on their best behavior, and to keep their eyes and ears open for possible threats."
Eustace nodded. "I figured you'd take that approach." He produced a small device out of a belt pouch. "Captain Spock, would you happen to have the lists of crewmembers and their preferred hobbies available? Particularly the sports that they prefer to play? If you did, you could just transfer it to my portable information system. Given that, we could accelerate planning things. The vote's only a few days away, you know, and we want to get the good will thing going as fast as possible."
"I can transfer it from my tricorder; it seemed logical to expect that it would be needed for this meeting." Spock sat his tricorder on the table and cued up the file. "Standard Federation information transfer protocols?"
"But of course." Eustace fiddled with his device. "Let 'er rip."
"Captain, I have given the situation some thought," Peter interjected, while Spock and Eustace were trading information. "I think it might be a good idea if some of your personnel were on the planet as tourists before the sports connection started. Would it be appropriate if the Walven sports leagues offered the challenges? It seems to me that such a course might be read as less aggressive on your part."
"I don't see where that would be any problem, Peter," Kirk responded. He sipped his coffee meditatively. "Getting the teams together might take a little time, you understand, but there would not be any problem with Federation rules or regulations. Spock?"
The Vulcan looked up from the tricorder. "The only difficulty would be with any prizes that might be awarded. A potential for accusations of conflict of interest might be possible if there were."
"It seems to me unlikely that there would be any prizes more than the losers buying the winners a good meal, Walven style," Peter replied. "That's our tradition, anyway."
Nodding, Kirk looked at Eustace. It appeared that the information transfer had been completed to his and Spock's satisfaction. "Eustace, the Federation has made it clear that, as long as we don't get e