The Enterprise, flanked by the Siva and the Kali, had made all the elaborate preparations that were necessary for Terran approach before they reached the orbit of Mars. It was standard and mandatory procedure. The system of satellite weapons linked throughout the inner Sol System would obliterate anything coming closer without proper authorization and a cleared entry channel from the Imperial Control Center in Londinium. Terra’s defenses were flawless, as any ship foolish enough to try and penetrate it learned.
Kirk sat in the con, tense, but not really nervous. It was all set, and either it worked, or nothing was going to matter anymore; at least, not to him. He found himself glancing at Sulu, and wondering again just what the man’s ties to DelMonde were. It was an uncomfortable wondering, a feeling of having been played, yet not really knowing how or what for, coupled with the even more uncomfortable suspicion that it was going to turn out to be in your own best interests. At least he knew now why Sulu had conditioned Valley and Costain the way he had. Useful tools, yes - but not for Kirk and his ship, except as a fortunate side-effect. He tried to remember what precisely had led him to this conclusion. More than anything, it was Sulu’s singular, jaunty refusal to even consider a way out of the Imperial trap that had been set for them - until the Intrepid informed them that they had been ordered to act as guard for an Imperial shuttle conveying Don DelMonde’s party to Terra. It was a farewell message. Captain Sesek was obviously not suspect, and he intended to keep it that way. Kirk even did Illyana O’Niall a favor by not contacting the Artemis. But upon hearing of DelMonde’s journey, Sulu suddenly began suggesting an elaborate plot to save their skins, not once mentioning DelMonde, but utilizing Valley and Costain’s Federation technological skill. Elaborate plot, all right, and all dependent on the assurances of a couple of alien women that their devices, their ability, were enough.
Kirk had to admit that the women had an air of efficiency about them. Sulu had told them what he wanted, and the amount of time they had to produce it. They had looked at him attentively, eyes full of sick worship and eagerness to please, then had turned to each other and exchanged a few half-articulated sentences.
“We’ve already done the preliminary work on the verilium-obstitrate...”
“...easy enough. It’s creating something powerful enough to punch through...”
“...circuitry is similar enough to be able to divert power from the engines. If...”
Valley had suddenly smiled. Costain had nodded in understanding, then turned humbly to Sulu.
“We can’t put out the defensive screens exactly as you wanted, but we can do it.”
“Given the time limit,” Valley had added. “But we’ll need Commander Spock’s assistance.” Her eyes lowered and Kirk saw Spock glance at Sulu, though the Security Chief didn’t look at him.
“That’s okay, honey,” he said. “If you can spare the time, Spock,” he added silkily to the Vulcan. Spock had kept his eyes on Sulu - studying, as usual - and nodded.
So Spock had been kept busy with the technical work, Sulu was coordinating the actions of the Security force, with Paget at its head, and Kirk had only to worry about perfecting the acting he’d be required to do. And, just in case, playing out his farewells with Marlena. Why she was giving in to him, he didn’t know, and didn’t care to analyze too closely. He preferred to think that she, too, was simply saying farewell. The first had been rape, of course, and he’d enjoyed the fight as much as he’d enjoyed the melancholy willingness of the nights after. It had been a very long time since he’d had her willing - unless one counted her tactics during the Caros affair. And unless one counted that, it had been a very long time since he’d had her at all. The rape was satisfying. It released a year’s worth of resentment and patience and disappointment. He’d taught her exactly what the word meant, had sent her to Sickbay, something he’d never done before. He had never used on her the kind of brutality so common with lesser women. But she was bruised that night, even though he was careful not to mark her face. She was still Captain’s Woman, she still deserved some respect. He could still hear her cries, her pleas...
“Jim... it can’t be...”
“I assure you, Marlena.” Her loveliness, even through the terror - or perhaps because of it - overwhelmed him. Trust to the Empire, and all the arrangements they’d made for their personal lives went up in smoke from the fire that took him. He pulled her to him, kissing her demandingly. She tried to pull away, protesting. He growled, “Trust me, Marlena,” and laughed mockingly. She fought like a wildcat. It only excited him more. Being able to dominate her completed him as nothing had in a year. He beat her, as much as he had to to force her submission. She wept, begged him, and he kept telling her that it was all over and he intended to spend what was left of his life enjoying her, willing or not. She cried all through the act, curling up beside him when he had climaxed, sobbing desolately. He turned to her after the call from Terra, after he’d spoken with Spock. His manner disquieted her, and she approached him.
After she’d returned from Sickbay, she was despairing, weary and saddened. She clung to him, saying she understood. She said she was sorry for all she’d done, sorry for using him, sorry for not loving him. And she promised to be his woman for the time left. He’d made love to her more in the last four days than he had in all the months of their conspiracy. She hadn’t mentioned returning to their previous arrangement now that they had a chance of survival - but Kirk was certain she’d get around to it. Then it was his game - and he had yet to decide how he was going to play it.
The intercom beneath his hand signaled, and he switched it on. “Kirk,” he said.
“Preparations complete, Captain,” Paget’s voice said. “All tie-ins to the engines are ready for testing.”
“There’s no time for a test,” Kirk returned. “Just tell Valley and Costain it had better work.”
“Yes, sir. Paget out.”
Kirk glanced at Spock, and was very surprised when the Vulcan said softly, “And what can you do if it does not?”
Spock had run as many checks of the theory and technology behind Valley and Costain’s work as he was able. It all tallied, it made sense, it should work. Still, he could not believe it would. Imperial chauvinism, he knew, but women simply could not, in his mind, provide an answer where men could not. But then, they were simply carrying out Sulu’s ideas, implementing their god’s will. God. He found, oddly, that he could easily believe that. The thought that had been plaguing him ever since Sulu’s game had been interrupted returned: how had Sulu known of his meld? It had been irrelevant, but with death at Imperial hands no longer so certain a thing, with Sulu’s inevitable vengeance pointedly postponed, it became a consuming interest. How? How? If he could but find that out, reverse or alter it, could he escape the Tartaran retribution that waited so avidly? Sulu frightened him. The emotion stuck in his belly, a sick, helpless feeling. No Vulcan should fear, especially not a Terran. Yet he did, and somehow felt justified. Look at what he is, he wanted to say to his fathers, then tell me it is cowardice to fear him! He would make a Vulcan worthy of all our history, would he not?
Spock laughed bitterly, silently. The slash of the blade still burned on his chest, the slap on his cheek, the agonizer - and the words. Brand Marlena? Would I if I could? Kal’aroun, sweet possession... He brushed the thought away. He could never make her his legal concubine, would never break her proud spirit. Break her? Never. I must not let her see how Sulu has trapped me. I will not allow my humiliation to touch her. And still, how did Sulu discover it? Is his mind so strong as to break my commands? If so... if so... Am I in greater danger than I supposed? Could I truly be incapable of stopping him, all his threats aside? The thought froze his blood. What a feast this fear will make you, hawk.
There was but one thing that kept the fear in check. If Valley and Costain’s devices worked, there would have to be a great race - with no time for Sulu to engage in idle pleasures. And if they failed... The ship had been rigged for self-destruction. The Empire would use nothing from the Enterprise.
And he would be dead and safe from Sulu’s grasp.
Sulu silently and efficiently eased the Enterprise into orbit around Terra. He had never felt the thrill one was supposed to at coming either to the Imperial planet, or ‘home.’ His home was parsecs away - and getting closer. He could feel it, almost like a tangible quivering in his soul. That was where the thrill lay.
He shut it out, and concentrated on his duty. He had done all he could. It was up to Ruth and Jilla’s skills now, and timing, and Kirk and Spock’s acting ability. He sighed, a little longingly. Not even the Empire itself could conquer him - not unless he let it. He’d been almost content, almost satisfied, almost ready to allow it. He’d done so well with his precious Federation beauties, so well with Spock... It could have been a proper time to die.
But they wanted to take Del, and he couldn’t let them do that. That hurt deeply, and he’d had to think of a way to save him. That it meant saving himself and Kirk was incidental - but he was glad it would save Spock. The Vulcan deserved every ounce of tender care he had to give. And to save Ruth and Jilla - it isn’t Saturnalia, but, enjoy anyway, Don. I hope my small gifts can please you.
If it works. The cloak, the extra power, the punch through the shields for the Tantalus... Quite a scheme. A giant boost for the cause, Del’s life, my proof, all in one. If it works.
Then I can get back to Spock. I can hardly wait.
“Message from Control Center,” Holden reported, and put it on the screen before Kirk gave the order. Kirk ignored the breech of procedure. After all, the crew didn’t believe they were getting out of it. He didn’t really believe it.
“Identity confirmed, the Emperor welcomes Captain James T. Kirk and the crew of the I.S.S. Enterprise to Terra,” a harsh, disembodied voice said. “The following personnel will transport to coordinates five one point three zero, negative point zero one, zero, in exactly five minutes from mark: Captain James Tiberius Kirk, Commander Spock Scarnlrn’an, Commander Takeda Sulu. Personal guards are not required, but will be permitted. Mark.”
“That’s it,” Kirk muttered, and stood. Spock and Sulu gave up their duties to subordinates and the three left the Bridge together.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” Kirk said. Spock nodded. Sulu grinned.
Marlena waited in the transporter room, along with Ruth and Jilla. Kirk kissed Marlena with a wry grin and, “I hope this isn’t goodbye.” Sulu spoke quickly to both Ruth and Jilla, stroking blonde and burgundy hair. “I’m counting on you,” he said, and they assured him they wouldn’t disappoint him. Sepak arrived, Spock pointing out that, as a Vulcan on Terra, he should feel the need of a guard.
Just before the five minutes were up, Sulu turned to discuss a final detail with Kirk, his eyes flashing meaningfully at Spock. It took only a fraction of a second for Spock to understand, and his farewell to Marlena was swift, intense, and silent. Then Kirk said, “Energize,” and Sulu smiled at Spock - and the Vulcan shivered.
Sepak had never expected to see Terra, except, perhaps, as a member of a conquering army. He found the circumstances of his arrival annoying, unpleasant, and somewhat embarrassing. Still, it was his duty to die with, and if possible, for the Commander. On Terra itself, one was allowed the illusion of being armed. Each Terran carried a sword: Sulu, as his own traditions dictated, carried two, the samurai’s katana and wakasashi. He and Spock wore the traditional weapons of Vulcan, ahn-woon, the effective leather sling and garrote, and aro’din, a slim, sharp dagger. To Terran eyes, the carrying of edged weapons was romantic and masculine. A fantasy, as those same weapons were impractical and nearly useless against the phasers of the Imperial Guard, and the skill of the Warrior Elite.
They were met by a unit of guards in full dress uniform, properly saluted - and surrounded - all with the air of courteous military pomp. Sepak was certain the commander of the guards knew this was a funeral procession, even if the men didn’t. He concentrated on keeping his expression unreadable, though the distaste for these Terrans was overwhelming. They were being escorted - marched - from the Control Center, Kirk being informed that accommodations had been arranged in the White Tower. Sepak almost smiled. How unsubtle these Humans are - even Vulcan has heard of the Tower. Why all this ceremony, with all its false respect, if they then make their true intentions so obvious?
The Tower was an imposing structure - centuries old and centuries deadly. The air of tyranny hung heavily on it, and Sepak found he could at last respect something Terran. Perhaps then it would not be so degrading to die there.
The Emperor, of course, sent his regrets at being unable to greet his illustrious guests personally. He had to attend to the many preparations for the decorating ceremony. He hoped they would be comfortable. Sepak had no doubts that they would be - for the rest of their very short lives. He shared the Commander’s doubts as to Valley and Costain’s abilities. But still, he thought, I am prepared to believe in miracles.
Spock found himself the object of curious, covert stares from the personnel of the Control Center. He knew what they were thinking: Vulcan half-breed. It was grimly amusing. But then, the whole procession was grimly amusing. Terrans were such fools. If this were taking place on Vulcan, their slim chance of survival would not exist. Vulcans did not play at subtlety, or if they did, it was not badly done. On Vulcan, they would have been executed immediately.
He saw the mocking respect accorded Kirk and Sulu, although Sulu’s double swords received genuine regard - one who wore them had earned them, even if a disinherited and disgraced member of the Warrior Elite. He remembered Darius with sudden clarity. Eons ago, it seemed, that they had played this game with easy contempt. And thought that it was how to win. How wrong we were - but then, how much more we know now. And yet... wrong, but not foolish. We did not then have the means to openly rebel - or we did not know it. Except for Sulu, of course. So much I missed by not looking deeper than his mask. Yet see what peril looking deeper has brought. How frightening that open rebellion against the Terran Empire seems safer.
They waited in their apartments. The captain of the guard had informed Kirk of the timetable they were to follow, and there was nothing to do until they were called to the ceremony. Sepak had unobtrusively checked the security of the rooms, then positioned himself near the door, which the guards had deliberately left open. Sulu had walked over to one of the windows, and had been staring out into the yard below, apparently unmindful of anyone or anything. Spock himself used the time to reformulate and reassess all the preparation made on the Enterprise, well aware that it was an exercise in futility, meant only to hasten the passage of time. Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Spock glanced toward the door - then caught Sulu’s slow, casual pivot from the window. A Tower guard announced suddenly, “His Imperium, Don DelMonde.”
And Spock understood.
The Don was tall, with an aura of warm darkness even though clad all in white brocade and ermine. The regalia was simple: the carved circle of gold that signified Rigel at his chest; a tasteful circlet of ivory on his brow, inset with a small piece of faceted, blue dylithium surrounded by twelve dots of gold; the signet ring on the forefinger of his right hand. The brocade cape he wore was lined in blue satin, edged in pale blue ermine. He smiled, a cold, disdainful Imperial display of teeth - but his dark eyes rested on Sulu and Sulu alone.
“Captain Kirk,” he said with an acknowledging nod. “Commander Spock.” But still his gaze stayed on Sulu. “My Consigliore, Jerel Courtland.” The palomino Equian took a half-step forward, eyes lowered, nodding. “Lady LiLing.” A beautiful Asian girl bowed elegantly. “A pleasure to meet such esteemed Imperial warriors. My congratulations on your decorations.”
Spock glanced at Sulu. The Security Chief had not seen Courtland, not even the lovely, obviously interested young woman. His face was expressionless, his eyes hooded - but riveted to the Don as though they could do nothing else. The silence between them was more of a greeting than DelMonde’s polite words had been. It was alive, almost thrilling, intensely personal and totally exclusive. No one and nothing could interrupt that flow, no one and nothing could even hope to join it. Spock understood, and laughed at his own temerity. How could he have ever hoped to control Sulu when Sulu had DelMonde’s love? God, savior, Del. And love.
Sulu had felt the respect for his swords, for samurai as he had walked with the guards. He felt Sepak’s disdain, Spock’s thoughtful worry, Kirk’s bravado. He felt the glee of the captain of the guard, the Imperial messenger’s not-very-secret insolence, the air of death around the Tower. He felt, too, the thin thread of need that bound Ruth and Jilla to him even across the distance of a planetary orbit. Yet he knew that he had felt nothing at all, nothing in ten years, nothing but faint echoes until Del’s soul at last touched him again. He knew that the Don was approaching before the Tower guard had announced him, even before he recognized the footfalls. Del. Don DelMonde. His Imperium. How Del would have laughed at the title had they been alone.
His eyes didn’t see Del’s. There was no need to, they burned in his mind’s eye every hour of every day. He didn’t see the grand clothing, the regalia, the tall, handsome, elegant form - any more than Del saw his uniformed body, the double swords, the unreadable black eyes. They looked at one another with their beings, saw only the life, the soul. Ten years, and nothing had changed. The love was there. You care!
So do you.
So I do, Don. So I do. Ten years. Can you know how I’ve missed you?
DelMonde’s heart was pounding as the Tower guard announced him. It was an expected courtesy that he pay a visit to the Enterprise’s captain, and a grand joke for the Imperial guards to enjoy later - the dead meeting the dead. It was also as good a way as any to finally confront his allies. But none of that was the reason he was there, none of that was making his blood race through his veins. Sulu... Sulu... The name was a litany of hope and fear within him. Have you been taken from me, my hawk? he thought. What has the Vulcan done? Come to me, come, hawk, I need you!
He said polite, properly Imperial things to Kirk. Years of acting kept his face and voice impassive as he acknowledged Spock. But from the moment he was through the doorway, he knew only Sulu. His fear for Sulu vanished, replaced by the ever-present fear of Sulu’s magnificent power, followed quickly by fierce joy and relief. Whatever Spock had done, Sulu was still his. The love, the need, the worship ran to him from ebony eyes, and he joined the ethereal embrace with respect and love and need of his own. Sulu felt the fear, understood it, accepted it as he had since Tarkus, and blessed Del for still loving. Del knew the evil, the self-loathing and gently repudiated it, giving blessing in return. I am grateful for your strength, my hawk, for your caring. I thank you for all you have taught me. My love, and all that I am, I freely give you. And take all that you are in return.
The fear subsided, as a falconer’s does when a priceless companion returns to his glove, and DelMonde found himself wondering how he had ever let this marvel leave his side. No more separation, Sulu. We belong together. After ten years, I offer. I know you won’t refuse.
Jerel had known the first meeting of the Don and his hawk after ten years would be intense. He had carefully prepared himself to remain aware of the fact that he was with the Don constantly; the feelings between them had grown comfortable over the years. He knew the Don’s emotions would be tuned to Sulu, for many good reasons, not the least of which was the need to ascertain whether or not Sulu was still Del’s hawk. And he had also told himself how much it would hurt, particularly since the situation at the palazzo was so unsettled. But he hadn’t known, and the pain and envy tore at him for all his preparations. Del loved Sulu with an exclusiveness he could never hope to breach - or match. And it was the duty of a good Consigliore to step back, step aside. He didn’t look up as the usual pleasantries were exchanged, and only stole one glance at his rival and replacement. It was when the Don was ready to leave. Del said a casual farewell to Kirk and Spock, then paused, a hesitation so slight no one else would’ve noticed, and said, quietly, “Commander Takeda.”
Sulu’s voice was as rich and deep as his outpouring of devotion had been when he answered, simply, “Don.”
And Jerel looked for, and found, the adoration in Sulu’s black eyes.
As the Don turned and left, Kirk looked quizzically at Spock. He’d watched carefully for an interchange between DelMonde and Sulu, and had been more than surprised when the only thing the Don had said to the Security Chief was his name. They didn’t even seem to really acknowledge each other’s presence. And the Don himself was nowhere near as impressive as Kirk had been led to believe. He was a handsome man, and an imposing figure in his Imperial regalia, but no more so than any good Fleet captain. What was so special about him? Sulu certainly hadn’t acted as though there was. And from Spock’s shifting gaze, Kirk could tell that the Vulcan was looking for it - and hadn’t found it. His puzzlement over Sulu’s motives deepened, and with it his skepticism concerning their chances for escape. It might be prudent to arrange to talk to DelMonde alone.
He was completely confounded when Spock murmured, “A most interesting man,” and Sulu answered with an almost embarrassing pride, “Yes. He always has been.”
The Don sat in an overstuffed chair, unmoving, silent. It wasn’t the quiet of contemplation. Jerel knew that silence well. This was isolation, a deliberate act of non-thought. It had been Del’s attitude since leaving Rigel. Nothing seemed to penetrate it. Certainly not LiLing’s delighted squealing about how good it was to be home, and her meant-to-be-charming fretting about how to present herself at Court. Del hadn’t spoken to his Consigliore. There was nothing to discuss anymore. But Jerel had hoped he would talk with his friend. Now, even that was too unlikely a prospect to worry over. The Don had his hawk as final comfort and funeral rites. And Jerel realized ruefully that it had been the cause of Del’s silence all along: preparation for the blessed event.
He turned angrily to stare out the window of their common room. He didn’t like what he was feeling, the jealousy that was eating inside him. He wondered bitterly why the Don had even brought him, and stopped the thought even more bitterly. A kindness, of course. Had he stayed on Rigel, his death would’ve been long and painful and humiliating. That thought made him think of Kelet, and that added to the pain inside him. There was no way now he could save the child from his scars. Had he ever learned to pray, or that there were gods who listened to Equian prayers, he would’ve done it for Kelet.
He gazed down at the carefully tended gardens beneath the window. It was an incongruously beautiful sight for so infamous a death-tower. Perhaps it was intended as a pointed counter to the torture and fear of those lodged here. It fit the Imperial sense of humor. Still, it was beautiful. And quite suddenly, Jerel found he could almost be grateful to Sulu. If the love from his hawk could make defeat easier for Del to bear, who was he to begrudge it?
Who was he to expect it might have come from himself?
The anger returned. I’ve loved you, Del, I’ve been there, and still, it’s Sulu. He was about to plunge his horn through the glass with fury and despair, when Del’s voice said,
“Jerel, don’t.”
He spun around quickly as Del continued.
“The love I have for Sulu has always been there. You’ve never minded it before. It’s never taken anything from you. It never will. It’s a difference in kind, Jerel, not amount. I don’t love you any less now that I can touch him, or that he can touch me. Believe it, my friend. I’d hate to see you die doubting me. I’d hate to die knowing that you did.”
Blue eyes met black, as other black eyes had minutes before. The silence was giving now, warm regard. Jerel returned his Don’s smile with a rare, fleeting one of his own. “Do you know how they plan to do it?” he asked.
“No,” Del replied. “But I’m sure I’ll be told.”
Marlena tried to sit calmly in her quarters. The Tantalus was on, and tuned, but only sharp lines of interference showed on the screen. Terra’s defenses. It seemed inconceivable that anything could penetrate them. But Jilla and Ruth had assured their modification to the main phaser banks would do it, and Marlena believed them. Federation was neither cocky nor dishonest. But such precise timing! The punch would last a bare ten seconds, time enough for them to beam down, time enough for her to find the Emperor and activate the power of the Tantalus. It was all she had to do, but she was as apprehensive as if she were trapped on Terra with Spock. Spock, will I ever see you again? Sulu gave us the time to say goodbye. I wonder why? The answer tingled in her mind - his tender concern for Jilla, the panicked worry for Ruth. He loves, he knows what it is. Does he respect it in others? A new thought struck her. Is that why he’s never used the knowledge of Spock and me against us? Does he know, as Jilla asserted... do I really love Spock? Is it possible that he loves me? Sulu, if you could just let us know you, if you would only trust us...
She sighed, knowing it was a pipe dream. And it couldn’t matter, not anymore. She was lost. Even if the elaborate escape plan worked, if all went perfectly, she was lost. She closed her eyes, swallowing, putting the truth into words. I am no longer Imperial. She couldn’t be. It was what she had wanted, but how could she have known what it really meant? How could she have understood the danger? Sweet freedom, but in an enslaved universe, to be free was to die. If they lived, if Jim and Spock and Sulu came back alive, if they got away from Imperial retaliation and called the rebellion to Rigel - What then? Will Jim accept a return to mutual, deliberately non-sexual respect? What can I do if he won’t? Fight - and die.
The voices of Draco clamored in her ears: Act, pretend, play it, for the Family, for your brothers and sisters. Do what you have to and be loyal to Draco. But she couldn’t, not now, not when she’d known what it was to be more. Lie to Jim and plot behind his back? I can’t. It would be so obviously false, he’d see through it anyway, and break me or be merciful and kill me. Why did I give in to him?
Because it didn’t matter. She was dying anyway. What was a few last days of sacrifice, giving Jim what he needed? But a life of sacrifice? No, that she couldn’t do.
I’m lost, I’ll die. Why can’t I hope for a failure and the quick death of the ship’s explosion? I don’t want the dream to die, I don’t want Spock to die. I don’t want to die, but there’s no way to save myself. Is this Federation? Am I? If I am - Ruth, Jilla, how could I have helped do to you what has been done?
Paget was almost glad he had several things to keep track of. It gave him a convenient excuse to pace. From the transporter to the phaser controls to the engineering screen and back, checking on the cloaking device, the altered banks, and two alien women on whom continued existence depended. They were calm, waiting, sitting on the transporter platform, quietly discussing their sabotage of Terra’s defensive screens. They made it seem simple, routine, as though it were something they did every day. The only thing that kept him from going over and slapping the insanity out of them was that Sulu had put his trust in their craziness. Boss, why do you do this to me? he thought anxiously. My life depends on women you’ve turned into religious fanatics. I hope it works. I hope you’re right. And what would you say or do if you knew I doubted you? I don’t want to die, but that’s the surest way I know of. Yet - if you’re wrong - shit, I’ll die anyway, what’s the difference?
He’s the difference. ‘Jer, you’ve disappointed me.’
I’d die of a heart attack right then. So what that I’d already be dead? He’d find a way. Boss, couldn’t you hate me just a little?
No, on second thought, remember Rand, remember McCoy.
Be a little indifferent, maybe?
He takes casual pleasure indifferently.
No way out, is there? Not even death.
‘You’re hysterical, Jeremy. I can’t have a chief bodyguard who gets...’
Paget, you’re gonna scare yourself to death!
He determinedly walked to the intercom, checking that it was still open to the Captain’s quarters. Lieutenant Moreau waited for his signal. Split second timing. Use the phasers, signal Moreau, beam down Costain and Valley, and wait. That would be the hardest, waiting for Sulu’s call to beam up. If it didn’t come before Terra’s satellites blasted the hell out of the Enterprise...
It wasn’t my fault, Boss.
‘I know, Jer. I’m still disappointed.’
Why me?
Del was startled when the guard, who had just informed them that they were to leave for the ceremony in fifteen minutes, returned seconds later to announce, “Captain Kirk.”
Kirk? What could he want? Why now, when all he wanted was privacy? Del sighed, spared Jerel an almost exasperated glance, then rose politely as the Captain came into the room. DelMonde noticed that the man still had the piratical bravado of a successful starship commander. He answered Kirk’s arrogant smirk with a disdainful smile of his own until the guard had withdrawn from the room. Kirk’s bravado disappeared the moment the guard was out of sight. The arrogance was an integral part of his being. Del acknowledged that with a nod. “Very gracious of you to return my call, Captain Kirk.”
“Of course you realize that the best strategy for them is to make it look like we killed each other,” was Kirk’s blunt answer to his greeting. “One of us, probably you, is going to be an enemy of the Empire. Your ‘agents’ will murder Fleet’s heroes in the midst of the decorations ceremony. Our ‘agents’ can then murder you, and expose your anti-Imperial sentiments. The Empire then steps in and takes charge of the whole disaster. They may even say you had a vendetta against Fleet. That gives them a plausible explanation for my ship being blown out of the sky, and a reason to crush the entire DelMonde line.”
It was Jerel who cautioned, “Captain, this is not the time or place...”
Kirk didn’t take his eyes off DelMonde. “Why should they bother with surveillance at this stage of the game? Haven’t they covered every bet? Is there any way we can get out of this?”
“Is there, Captain?” Del asked softly.
Kirk shrugged. Del saw that the man was not quite as resigned as he should have been. There was a faint glimmer of hope deep in the hazel eyes.
“My Security Chief thinks there is, but then he’s willing to put his faith in a couple of alien women he’s brainwashed.” Kirk shrugged again. “Do you believe in miracles, DelMonde?”
The laughter welled up in him, deep, rich, relieved, and he didn’t try to stop it. He saw Jerel’s head lowering, a half-grin fighting with the calm features. We’re going to live! he thought exultantly. Sulu, how can I thank you? It was Jerel who regained his composure first.
“Alien women, Captain?” he said, and Del realized that his Consigliore had left it to Kirk to discern what the laughter meant. With reprieve came renewed caution, and he was grateful for Jerel’s presence of mind. It was only then that he began to wonder about ‘alien women he’s brainwashed.’ He made the connection before Kirk said the names.
“Costain and Valley. Senator’s daughters. Miraculous, wouldn’t you say? If you believe in miracles.”
There’s something he’s not saying, Del thought. Sulu must be confident, it’s me he’s risking. You’re not putting all your cards out yet, are you, Kirk? But I will, for Sulu.
“I believe in Sulu, Captain Kirk,” Del said. “It’s the same thing.”
“What are you two to each other, anyway?” Kirk asked harshly.
An exchange of information, is that it, Captain? Very well. “Friends. We owe each other a great deal.”
“My ship, for instance.”
Kirk’s statement had only a trace of hostility. “I’d never ask for it, Captain. I offer you an alliance. Sulu and I owe one another a more personal commitment.”
“Like his trying to save your life.”
Del smiled. “Perhaps.”
“That’s what I thought. If I were you, Don, I’d appreciate the gesture, but not hold my breath.”
“I’m not, Captain, believe me.” He saw Jerel’s contemptuous glance and agreed with it. Let Kirk misunderstand. Underestimating Sulu is very stupid. “But for conversations’ sake,” he asked, “what do I not hold my breath for?”
He listened as Kirk outlined the elaborate, nearly flawless strategy. Jerel snorted at the idea of women implementing it. Only the knowledge that it was Sulu’s strategy kept him from refusing to allow his Don’s life to be risked on females. Del had to admit he found it more than odd too, but he’d known for some time that Sulu considered these women special. And he trusted his hawk. When Kirk finished, he shrugged.
“Either way, Captain, what do we have to lose?”
“That’s why I’m here, Don,” Kirk replied. “You’ll cooperate?”
“I have to. It’s my neck, too.”
He was so consumed with unraveling Sulu’s puzzle that he forgot all about LiLing.
Captain O’Niall smiled pleasantly as the seemingly endless entourage of Senator Costain emerged from the shuttle that had come up from the surface of Epsilon Indi. It was impressive, she supposed, that she detected no sign of dissatisfaction from the Indiian people. They all seemed genuinely glad to be boarding an Imperial starship, and almost fawningly excited to be actually going to Terra itself. It made her wonder why Costain would jeopardize what was obviously a successful Imperial colony.
Of course, you’re jeopardizing a successful Imperial career with this move, she reminded herself.
True, came the reply, but I’m hardly a member of a satisfied colonial race.
The answer came when Costain himself finally stepped from the shuttle and greeted her. Relief was written all over his bearded face.
“Captain O’Niall, I can’t tell you how glad I am for the transport,” he nearly gushed. “When word arrived from the Emperor, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make the ceremony.”
Illyana nodded. “We in Fleet are ever at the Emperor’s service,” she replied with the correct mixture of pride and disdain.
“You must be pleased to have members of your own class given such an honor,” the Senator continued. “Particularly when one of the honorees is, like us, alien.”
“Us, Senator?” she questioned sharply. Around her, the Indiians repressed polite laughter. Costain actually blushed.
“Forgive me, Captain. I’ve lived on Indi so long…” He smiled. “They consider me the father of their people, and I must confess, I consider them equally my children.”
The man is a moron, Illyana thought disgustedly.
“May I present my wife, Karina, and my youngest son.”
O’Niall prepared herself to be polite to the Terran princess, and was shocked when a petite Indiian stepped forward with a properly Imperial curtsey. She carried a swaddled infant, whose brown hair betrayed his Terran ancestry.
“Captain O’Niall,” the woman said, and her voice was soft, her accent sweetly melodic.
“And my other biological children,” Costain went on, and again, the entourage laughed politely. Three more Indiian half-breeds, one teen-aged male, one pre-pubescent female, and a toddler female bowed respectfully. “My eldest is actually on the Enterprise,” Costain finished proudly.
With sudden clarity, Illyana realized that Senator Costain didn’t understand the nature of the Imperial summons, or what was meant by the ‘honor’ being given to the officers of the Enterprise. Not that he was actually going to make it to the ceremony. She had her orders. Had he been out of touch with the Imperium that long? No, according to her information, he was as under Kirk’s thumb as it was possible for a Senator to be. Was he a moron? No, a mental defect could not have successfully maintained a highly sophisticated system such as Indi for over twenty years. Was it possible that he was simply so naïve as to take Imperial politics at face value?
She studied his open, guileless face and settled on the final explanation. Now that could be useful, for, as far as she understood it, when the dust settled, he was exactly the kind of Imperial man the rebellion would need.