Part One

Stardate 7508.6

(January 2274)

On the Air

“G ood midday, and welcome to Mestiko This Week. I’m Hanni orLitza. Before much longer, it will have been a dozen years—a dozen Mestiko years, I should say for the benefit of our nonnative viewers—since the Pulse ravaged our planet. For those years, we have looked outside our domes and tunnels to see a surface barren of life. Now, the Zamestaad and the Federation are about to institute a program that they claim will begin the gradual process of restoring the surface to habitability. Will this program be successful? Is it too slow a response to Mestiko’s needs? Or is it, as many claim, merely another step in an insidious agenda to transform Mestiko into an alien colony, or worse?”

Hanni turned to face the second camera, maintaining his earnest expression but making sure his pose still afforded a good view of the elaborate tattoos on his left cheek and neck, which the director considered more photogenic than the ones on his right. “Joining me to discuss these questions today are Blee elTorno, former councillor and current chief of staff to the Jo’Zamestaad.” The on-air monitor cut to a close-up of Blee, a dainty, soft-featured woman who was unusually young for a person of her status. “Nal Kotyar, leader of the Payavist Inward Party.” Kotyar was a tall, lean Tazokkan woman, her tattoos basic and simple, serving the traditional function of denoting caste and family rather than the modern, purely decorative use that the Tazokkans scorned. If not for that and her pinched, haughty expression, she would have been quite a beauty. “Dr. Marat Lon, the Federation’s chief scientific advisor to the Zamestaad.” Dr. Lon was a lean, ascetic-featured human, yellow-pink of skin and covered in fur over much of his body, though his neck was not quite as stubby as most humans’ and his head was less fur-covered than it had been several years ago. “And Odra maVolan, spokesman for the mar-Atyya spiritual movement.” Like the human, maVolan was entirely devoid of tattoos, his faith considering them impure. But with no body hair to compensate, his skin seemed austere and naked, like a blank parchment. His eyes were whitish as well; he had been blinded by ultraviolet exposure following the Pulse and had refused offworld treatment to cure it.

“Thank you, Hanni,” maVolan interposed, taking his introduction as an invitation to speak. “I’d like to begin by protesting the use of the Gelta term Mestiko for our world, which should be more rightly called hur-Atyya.”

“Uhh, thank you for pointing that out, sir. Of course, in mar-Atyya belief, our world is hur-Atyya, the Home touched by God. And of course, this network intends no slight to the linguistic or religious preferences of any of our world’s diverse peoples. For clarity’s sake, however—”

Kotyar interrupted. “Then why continue using a name in the language of the Gelta? Those neckless wonders are all but extinct now. And it serves them right for conspiring with the Dinpayav to keep the Pulse secret from us.”

“That’s absurd!” Dr. Lon exclaimed. “It was the Gelta government’s own choice to keep the secret, at a time when the Federation was preparing to initiate first-contact proceedings. We simply respected their—”

“Please, Dr. Lon,” Hanni said, reasserting himself.

“You’ll each get a chance to speak. Actually, I’m glad you brought that up, Nal, because I’d like to begin with a recap of the events of the past twelveyear. As you say, it began when Gelta scientists discovered a rogue pulsar, now popularly called the Scourer, entering our star system.” The screen showed a graphical representation of the Scourer and its trajectory through the Hertex system. “Many astronomers had suspected the presence of a massive body due to the changes they had begun to detect in the orbits of the outer planets, but only the Gelta’s deep-space telescopes were in the right position to detect the narrow cones of deadly radiation that sprayed out from this spinning orb.

“At the time, a Federation precontact team was clandestinely monitoring our world—”

“Spying, you mean,” said Kotyar.

“—and communicating with the Gelta scientists. Opinions remain divided on what role the offworlders played in the decision to keep the discovery secret from the people.”

“What?” It was Lon again. “There’s no doubt what happened. The whole thing is thoroughly documented in the contact team’s records, all of which have been public for years.”

Kotyar scoffed. “As if that were an unbiased source.”

Hanni tried to continue. “While Mestiko—or hur-Atyya, if you prefer—remained in the dark, the Federation debated what action, if any, it should take. Eventually an experimental array of force-field satellites was deployed to shield Mestiko from the pulsar’s radiation, but the Federation’s delay in dealing with the crisis meant that the shield was deployed with mere hours to spare.”

“Now, that’s not right,” Lon said. “Mestiko was in no danger until the emission cones intersected it, so there was no point in acting any—”

“Dr. Lon, please. You’ll be given a chance to rebut.”

“Typical,” Kotyar said. “You’ve been letting this alien monopolize the discussion already, and now you’re promising him more time while the rest of us have hardly gotten a word in.”

“I assure you, everyone will be given an equal chance.”

“Then why are you only echoing the Dinpayav party line about the heroic Kirk of Starfleet saving us from the Pulse? What about the large numbers of Payav who sincerely believe that the Federation set the Scourer on us in the first place in order to soften us up for conquest?”

“So it is written,” maVolan intoned. “The mar-Tunyor were sent to bring about the Cleansing and test the resolve of the faithful. The Scouring Fire was their instrument.”

Inevitably, Lon interrupted again. “That’s insane! Federation technology is nowhere near capable of moving masses of that size.”

“So you say.”

“Dr. Lon, please, let’s avoid name-calling here.”

But Lon talked over Hanni. “That’s why we had to use a shield in the first place. There was no chance of diverting the pulsar.”

Kotyar, in turn, talked over most of Lon’s second sentence. “A shield that didn’t work.”

“If it hadn’t worked, none of you would be alive right now. It was an experimental technology operating in an intensely irradiated environment—it’s amazing it worked as well as it did.”

Blee elTorno spoke for the first time. “With respect, Doctor, that’s easy to say if you didn’t live through the Pulse, or its aftermath. Yes, we are fortunate to be alive and we are grateful to the Federation for its role in that. But in no way can the word well be used for anything we endured in the Pulse.”

“Indeed,” Hanni said, taking quick advantage of the opening to get back on course. “The consequences of the Pulse were truly devastating. More than a billion dead in the Pulse or the ferocious storms immediately following it. More dying ever since due to famine, lack of medicine, violence, and suicides. Our planet rendered barren, our people huddled underground. Even the heavens themselves have been rearranged. Our moons have shifted in their orbits, with Varnex growing and shrinking in the sky with each cycle and Kifau pulled out of orbit altogether to become an independent planetoid. Mestiko’s own orbit is changed, bringing more extreme seasons.

“And our relationship with the worlds beyond our star system is forever changed as well. Now we have been thrust into a community of alien worlds whose power and advancement dwarf our own, dependent on them for our very survival…and sometimes at the mercy of their factional disputes. It was two years before the Federation brought us satellites to clear the toxic smog from our air, and almost immediately those satellites became weapons in a territorial clash between them and the Klingon Empire, hurtled from the sky to bombard refugees and orphans. Councillor Traal, leader of the Norrb nation and one of the leading forces behind Payav survival in those early years, gave his life to bring an end to this conflict.”

Lon had been struggling to restrain himself, but only until Hanni took a breath. “We didn’t bring the aerostats—the satellites, as you call them—earlier because our initial priority was arranging basic shelter and survival. Since then, they have successfully purged the nitrogen oxides from your atmosphere and have been reconfigured for ozone production.”

“This is mar-Tunyor propaganda,” maVolan said.

“Our world is the holy abode of life, and its regeneration has come despite the alien elements.”

“Yes, we’ll be addressing that issue shortly,” Hanni told him. “Certainly, our relationship with alien races has been a source of controversy. For nearly a twelveyear, we have depended on their technology and resources for our sustenance, and for the hope of our world being made habitable again. And yet many complain that the offworld powers act more for their own interests than ours. They say not enough has been done to improve living conditions, to provide medicines for the diseases that ravage our close-packed populations. Many feel the Zamestaad itself is an instrument of alien policy, more interested in appeasing powerful interstellar states than tending to the needs of Mestiko.”

“Don’t downplay it like the media always do,” Kotyar spat. “Let’s not forget that Raya elMora herself was implicated in the conspiracy to arm insurrectionist factions with alien weaponry.”

“Excuse me,” Blee interposed. “Jo’Zamestaad Raya had no awareness at first that Alur orJada was smuggling Klingon weapons to Mestiko—specifically, to militant Payavist factions that to this day are allied with the Inward Party and the mar-Atyya. Once she learned of this and was provided with proof by Admiral Kirk, she herself came forward—”

“Former Admiral Kirk,” Kotyar interrupted. “He’s been demoted. Even his own masters must think his performance was inadequate.”

“He took that demotion willingly so he could command his ship against V’Ger,” Lon said.

“Yes, and isn’t that interesting?” Kotyar shot back.

“The Federation had only three days’ notice of this so-called V’Ger and were able to save their homeworld without a single life lost. Yet they had the better part of a year’s notice of the Pulse and allowed half our population to die! That proves the lie behind their claims that they wish to help us.”

“We’ve done nothing but help you! The Federation has devoted massive resources to the restoration of Mestiko. We’ve spent years gearing up for the major terraforming effort we’re about to undertake, tasked dozens of ships to ferry personnel and materials here. That’s part of the reason Earth was so underdefended when V’Ger came.”

“Oh, so now it’s our fault you almost lost your homeworld? Supposedly.”

“The point is, we were willing to put our own world at risk to help yours. The least you could do is show some gratitude.”

Kotyar thrust out a bony finger. “There it is! That Dinpayav arrogance, this insistence that we should be down on our knees thanking you for the meager scraps of food and medicine you give us.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that,” Blee told her. “Let’s remember all Dr. Lon himself has done to restore our atmosphere.”

“And of course, the Jo’Zamestaad’s puppet, the puppet’s puppet, does her best to underline the Dinpayav doctrine of infallibility. Every time the good people of Mestiko dare to challenge the alien party line, the government and the media remind us of how they’ve saved us from annihilation, and we’re not allowed to question their sincerity for fear of seeming to trivialize the disaster. Well, I’ll tell you, no one has profited as much from the Pulse as the Dinpayav have. Except maybe for Raya elMora and her cronies, who seized power only by virtue of being the ones who were left, and who’ve used the disaster to justify trampling our national sovereignty.”

“Every nation in the world was devastated,” Blee countered. “We have to cooperate to survive. The Zamestaad simply facilitates that cooperation.”

“Facilitates the mar-Tunyor agenda, you mean,” maVolan said. “Aids them in keeping us weak and starving as they pursue their mad experiments to contaminate our blessed abode with the unclean spawn of other spheres.”

“Oh, please,” the human cried, “you’d have to be mad to believe that!”

“Dr. Lon,” Hanni said, “I’ve warned you about name-calling.”

Lon stared. “What about calling aliens ‘mar-Tunyor’? It means ‘touched by evil’! Doesn’t that count as name-calling?”

“We’re not in the business of censoring religious expression here, Doctor.”

“Then why,” Kotyar countered, “do you insist on only reporting the Dinpayav ecological dogma in your broadcasts? The majority of Payav believe that our biosphere is regenerating on its own, that these alien plants and animals being introduced are only going to suppress its recovery.”

“Pure superstition,” Lon said. “Most indigenous species have been driven nearly or completely extinct. Oxygen levels are falling because there isn’t enough plant life left. Nothing is going to recover without help. Now, the plants we’re seeding were developed for terraforming my homeworld, Mars. They grow rapidly and thrive in cold conditions, their dark color absorbs heat and accelerates the melting of permafrost, and they’re powerhouses of oxygen produc—”

“Their very existence is a desecration,” maVolan declared. “The people of hur-Atyya will not tolerate their presence in our holy abode. Nor will they tolerate a regime that allows free rein to the mar-Tunyor desecrators.”

“Our administration has done everything it could,” Blee said, “to respect the wishes of the people and ensure that the restoration effort remains Mestiko-oriented. We’ve pushed to guarantee that Payav are involved in as many key positions as possible and to ensure that as many native life-forms as possible are preserved and incorporated into the new biosphere.”

Kotyar turned up her nose. “Symbolism. Nothing but a sop to the people.”

“Hardly,” Lon said. “It’s a politically motivated, scientifically unsound policy that has served only to delay our work.”

“Your work to turn our world into another Earth!”

“It’s not like that! If you’ll just let me—”

“I’m sorry,” Hanni said, “but we’re out of time for this segment. When we return, we’ll examine viewer response to our poll question: Is the alien terraforming plan the answer to restoring our world, or should Mestiko be allowed to recover on its own? You may log your response during the break, if you haven’t done so already. The results should be illuminating.”

“No, they won’t!” Lon cried. “You can’t illuminate matters of scientific fact with opinion polls! Reality isn’t decided by majority rule!”

But the break had already begun, Lon’s microphone was off, and no one heard him outside the studio—while the people inside mostly ignored him. Hanni sighed in relief, glad for a respite from dealing with this contentious bunch. Still, the director looked pleased. It had no doubt been a most entertaining spectacle.

U.S.S. Enterprise

J ames Kirk leaned back in his seat as the playback of Mestiko This Week faded from the briefing-room monitor. He didn’t have to wait long for Leonard McCoy to make his opinion heard. “That’s what’s passing for news on Mestiko these days? What was that, an interview or a wrestling match?”

“It may seem like a travesty,” Theena elMadej told him, “but it reflects the growing mood of the populace.” Kirk recalled first meeting Theena a little more than six years ago during his second visit to Mestiko. She had been a bright, cheerful girl whom Raya elMora, the leader of Mestiko’s global council, had taken under her wing. Apparently, she’d been older than Kirk had thought, or perhaps Payav matured quickly, for now she had developed into a striking, elegant young woman of college age. She was officially offworld as part of her astrophysics studies yet had contacted Kirk to relay a message that Raya couldn’t send through formal channels. “Many Payav are frustrated that things are taking so long to get better. They’re eager for someone to blame, and the Zamestaad and the Federation are the obvious targets.”

“So naturally,” Kirk said, “it’s the traditionalists and Mestiko-firsters they turn to as an alternative.”

“And as you saw, the press is so afraid of being accused of pro-alien bias that it errs too far in the other direction, giving as much weight to ideological and inflammatory rhetoric as to hard physical evidence.”

“Most illogical,” Spock said from behind steepled fingers. Like Kirk, he wore the standard blue-gray duty uniform but was set apart by the high collar of the undershirt he wore beneath it (having not yet readjusted to the ship’s cooler temperatures after nearly three years on Vulcan). “Left to its own devices, Mestiko’s atmosphere would have taken centuries to recover fully, its biosphere tens or hundreds of millennia to regain significant biodiversity. The fact that most Payav alive today are expected to be able to resume surface habitation within their lifetimes is remarkable.”

This brought a sidelong glare from McCoy, who, unlike the others, was clad informally in a white short-sleeved medical tunic. “And here I thought you’d finally started to understand emotion,” he said. “It’s hard to be logical when you’re faced with deprivation and overcrowding, cut off from sunlight and fresh air day after day for years on end.”

“I do now appreciate that logic alone is insufficient,” Spock said, sounding oddly casual about the profound epiphany his recent mind-meld with V’Ger had brought him. “But it is still useful, especially in situations wherein the indulgence of emotion can lead only to increased frustration rather than productive change. What the Payav need is patience and discipline.”

“Well, nobody outside of Vulcan ever won over the masses by appealing to their reason. And I have my doubts about Vulcan.”

“I fear Dr. McCoy is right,” Theena said. “Tensions are running high, and the mar-Atyya and Payavist factions are winning over the people with their appeals to faith, tradition, and purity.” She shook her head.

“The mar-Atyya have become much more militant since the Pulse. They always taught that Mestiko was specially blessed by God. But after the Pulse and the Klingons…the terrors inflicted on our world from outside…they came to conclude that not only was Mestiko blessed, but the rest of the universe was cursed. They condemn anything from outside as evil, and more and more of the people are willing to believe them. Or at least ready to try something different, feeling the Zamestaad’s policies are accomplishing too little.”

“And that’s why Raya sent you instead of contacting me openly,” Kirk said. “She’s weak enough politically already, without making it look like she’s calling for alien help.”

“Exactly.” Theena’s brow furrowed, though she had no eyebrows to move with it. “Her stature has never fully recovered since the Alur scandal. It has been a struggle to balance her support for the eco-restoration program with her efforts to avoid alienating the people further. Dr. Lon condemned her ‘politically motivated’ limits on his efforts, but if she had not taken those actions, she probably would have been deposed and replaced with someone openly hostile to the program.”

“But what’s the alternative?” McCoy asked. “Do they really think the planet can regenerate on its own? That whole extinct biomes can somehow magically regenerate themselves?”

“The mar-Atyya have advanced what they call a ‘purity-based’ program of restoration. It uses only those indigenous plants and animals that have survived the Pulse and encourages a traditionalist lifestyle as laid out in their holy texts. They argue that living in this way will demand little of the ecosystem and help regenerate it, and that purging it of alien elements is necessary to restore its proper balance and vitality.”

McCoy scoffed. “Superstition and quackery.”

“Yes,” Theena said, “but with enough real science dressing it up to make it sound credible. And it appeals to the rank and file of Payav far more than the idea of importing alien plants and animals to replace extinct native forms.”

Kirk leaned forward. “Tell me, Theena…if there’s so much anti-alien sentiment on Mestiko, what does Raya believe I can accomplish there?”

Theena smiled. “You still have your supporters on Mestiko, Captain. Raya is not the only one who remembers how you have helped our world. The mar-Atyya’s coalition may be gaining ground in the war over public opinion, but the other side is still fighting, and Raya believes you could strengthen them by lending your voice. You do have quite a reputation for saving worlds.”

Kirk tried not to fidget. He was still embarrassed by the reputation he’d gained after muddling his way through the V’Ger encounter, but he was beginning to understand it was a tool he could wield to his advantage. “Still, that reputation could backfire. You heard the insinuations that Kotyar woman made.”

“Even so, Raya feels another cool head on the scene could aid matters. An upheaval may be imminent whether you come or not, Captain, but if you are there, you may find a way to help us, as you have before.”

He studied her. “Even though Raya can’t publicly admit she wants my help.”

Theena shrugged. “Politics.”

Kirk sighed. “I know all about politics. Why do you think I went back to starship command?”

Mestiko

“Y ou’ve been avoiding me, Jo’Zamestaad.”

Raya elMora winced as the familiar voice called out from down the corridor behind her, accompanied by heavy footfalls as the speaker hastened to catch up. Smoothing her features, Raya turned to greet her pursuer. “Not at all, Asal. I’ve simply been too busy—”

“Don’t try to sandstorm me, Raya,” Asal Janto said.

“I can tell when you’re trying to dodge an undesirable encounter. Remember how you made me change clothes with you in the bushes outside our dorm so you could sneak away from Hodi orManat? I could barely fit into your things, I was so embarrassed trying to race back inside!” Asal’s jowls shook as she laughed. In these times of scarcity, the councillor from Domtos was no longer as chubby as she’d been in their university days, so her skin hung a bit loose. As a member of the Zamestaad, however, she was still able to keep herself fairly well fed.

Raya didn’t share in her jocularity, however. “I’d rather you didn’t invoke our past friendship, Councillor, considering the agenda you’re no doubt here to advance.”

Asal’s expression hardened. “You make it sound as though I’m the one who betrayed you. I never made deals with any Klingons.”

“You know that’s not fair! I didn’t know Alur was—”

“And once you found out, you said nothing!”

“Until I could be sure it would be safe!”

“To protect your own interests!”

“To preserve the goal of restoring our world! We can’t let that fall prey to petty ambitions.”

Asal shook her head. “The words are like the Raya I knew, but the commitment is not there. You used to be so strong, so determined not to compromise. When we rallied for the environment, you were right there at my side.”

“That is still my commitment!” Raya exclaimed, stepping closer to loom over her former friend. “My goal is unchanged. But unlike you, I am able to see that achieving a goal requires the willingness to change one’s methods. I’ve learned that sometimes you cannot reach the destination by the path you assumed and must find another way. You still think you can blindly barrel forward and triumph on ideological purity alone.”

“Don’t underrate purity, Raya. Purity is what the people want. They want our world restored to what it was, and they want our people in charge of making it so. You obstruct that will at your peril.”

“I share that ideal, Asal. I have made every possible concession I can safely make to it without jeopardizing the effectiveness of the project.”

“And whose judgment of that effectiveness are you going by? That human Dr. Lon? Those Kazarite brutes? Is it me, or does each new wave of aliens get more unnatural?”

Raya suppressed her own instinctive reaction to the mention of the Kazarites, knowing it was impolitic and parochial. “The Kazarites…take some adjusting to. But their services are useful. They and Dr. Lon have already made remarkable strides.”

“At turning our world into a zoo for their castoff creatures. And meanwhile, they have done nothing to support our plans for a global radiation shield.”

Raya sighed. So that was where she was going with this. “Your plans, Councillor. Fortunately, the majority of the Zamestaad does not share your priorities.”

“The people do! Listen to them, and you will hear them demanding protection in case the Pulse should happen again!”

“It never will!” Raya insisted. “The Scourer is leaving our system and will not come back. We have surveyed the skies for light-years around and found nothing approaching us. Nothing like the Pulse has happened before to any known world. It would be a criminal waste of our resources to put them into a defense against a threat that will never come again!”

“So they say,” Asal countered. “All you have is the Dinpayav’s word that it hasn’t happened elsewhere. And they were as surprised as we were when it happened here!” She shook her head. “You place too much faith in the aliens’ wisdom, Raya. You always assume the fact that they’ve been in space for a grossyear or two longer than we makes them so much wiser in all things.”

“Our own scientists confirm it, Asal. You know that.”

“And our scientists did not see the Pulse coming, either. What I know—what the people know—is that the universe is unpredictable, and we must be ready.”

“What is the point of being ready for a threat from outside when our world is still dying from within? Let us make sure we have air to breathe and food to eat first! Then we can debate what protection we need.”

“What is the point of restoring our world to health if we don’t know it will be here a generation from now?”

“We know.”

“The people don’t, Raya. They want assurances.”

Raya made herself relax and speak more softly. “Of course they do. They’re afraid. We all are. But sometimes it’s more important to give the people what they need than what they want.”

Asal gave her a pitying look. “You always were politically naive.”

“I am? You’re the one who refuses to bend her ideologies regardless of popular opinion.”

“I don’t need to,” Asal stated. “The people agree with me.”

Raya heard the warning in her tone but chose to ignore it. “Is that all, Councillor? I really am most busy.”

“Meeting with Kirk, no doubt.”

Ah. There was her real point after all, then. “Yes, I have heard that the Enterprise is making the latest supply run from Starbase 49. Naturally, I will extend hospitality to its captain.”

Asal wasn’t buying it. “And to your old friend Theena, who just happens to be a passenger on that ship?”

Raya suppressed another wince. Her back-channel contact might have slipped by most people, but Asal was more familiar with the details of her personal life. They had still been friends until the Alur affair, so Asal had known about the young orphan girl Raya had bonded with after the Pulse and treated as a friend and protegee ever since. There was no way Asal would believe Theena’s presence on Kirk’s ship was a coincidence. Raya had never been any good at deceiving her.

“No need to explain,” Asal said. “You hope Kirk can find one of his miracle solutions and stave off the coming upheaval, saving your career in the process.” She shook her head, her face showing regret that Raya couldn’t quite dismiss as insincere. “You should never have strayed from your commitment to our own people, Jo’Zamestaad. The future of our world—and of its government—lies with us, not with aliens. I only pray you recognize that before it is too late.”

Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu had flown many types of craft in his years as a helmsman and test pilot. Yet somehow he’d never expected that one of them would be a crop duster.

More precisely, he flew the Galileo III, one of the new multipurpose shuttlecraft assigned to the Enterprise. The flat, blocky shuttles, whose shape reminded Sulu of an axe head cleaving the air, could be customized for various mission profiles with attachable modules such as long-range impulse engines, compact warp nacelles, weapons pods, cargo units, and so forth. Right now, the Galileo was outfitted with a tank-and-nozzle assembly for aerial spraying and stout wings to improve its atmospheric performance. Since the Enterprise’s nominal mission here was to assist in the eco-recovery project, the ship had stopped off at Starbase 49, command base for Mestiko operations, to pick up these and other supplies for that effort. The starbase staff had been grateful for the extra help, giving the crew their first indication of how massive this undertaking was.

Still, there were signs of progress being made, as Pavel Chekov observed from the copilot’s seat. “It looks better than the last time,” the young lieutenant said, studying the view in the large virtual display that took the place of a window in this shuttle design. “No more brown gunk in the sky. And there’s green on the ground.”

“Not much,” Uhura added from behind them. “No trees, no flowers…hardly anything more than moss.”

“But it’s a start,” Sulu told her. “You should’ve seen it up close last time. I’ve hardly ever been anywhere so completely dead. Well, airless moons and such, of course—but those are supposed to be barren.” He suppressed a shudder. “Compared to last time, this is downright lush.” According to the briefings—which, in his new capacity as Enterprise second officer, he had studied more carefully than he would have as just a helmsman—the Kazarite ecologists spearheading Mestiko’s restoration were starting out with simple life-forms that could thrive in cold, low-oxygen, high-UV conditions. Some were indigenous species, but most were genetically engineered, imported from alien worlds, or both, such as the Martian “frostbuster” moss that was at the foundation of the new ecosystem. What lived below them at the moment consisted mostly of plant life, but those plants relied on insects, worms, and other such forms to pollinate them and to mix, aerate, and fertilize the soil they grew in. It was a barely visible ecosystem from this altitude but already a complex one and, as Sulu was well aware from his botanical hobby, a vital one. (Charles Darwin had once proposed that no other species had “played so important a part in the history of the world” as the earthworm, for plant cultivation would be impossible without it.) The chemical mix spraying from the shuttle helped sustain the whole biosphere: fertilizing agents and growth enhancers for the plants, tri-ox compounds and radiation counteragents for the invertebrates. Yet it was a carefully designed mix of organic compounds, gentle to the environment, as one would expect of anything designed by Kazarites.

“Try telling that to the Payav,” Uhura said. “From the broadcasts I’ve been monitoring, they’re getting pretty impatient with the pace of the restoration.”

Sulu shrugged. “Tell them I’m flying as fast as I can.” Even as he spoke, he was turning the shuttle for another pass, making it as tight as he could to save time. He wouldn’t have recommended the maneuver to a less experienced pilot, but he’d helped test this design while it was still in prototype. Still, he had to adjust for the steadily diminishing mass of the cargo tank as its contents sprayed out.

“On second thought, I don’t think most of them would listen,” said Uhura. She’d done her homework on Payav cultures, since her purpose on this mission was to work with the Kazarites on improving their translator algorithms to smooth over misunderstandings between them and the Payav. “The mar-Atyya and Payavist opposition have gotten them fired up about it, blaming the government and the Federation for not doing more faster. When they’re not just condemning aliens in general.” She couldn’t help glancing back at the other passengers in the shuttle: the Tellarite biologist Bolek and the bulge-headed, gas-masked Zaranite microecologist Havzora. True, they were no more alien to Mestiko than the humans were, but the Payav would probably not see them that way.

“Don’t they see the opposition is just doing that to gain political advantage?” Chekov asked.

“I’m not so sure,” Uhura said. “A lot of people are genuinely angry and frustrated. They want to believe there’s a quick and easy answer, and a lot of them would rather look for it in their old, comfortable traditions than in the things that aliens tell them. That’s probably as true of the mar-Atyya demagogues as of the people who support them.”

“Only because it suits their ambitions to believe those things,” Chekov replied. “Trust me—we Russians understand these matters.”

“You pessimists, you mean.”

“Is there a difference?” Sulu teased.

Before long, the tank was running dry, and Sulu set course for the compound from which the Kazarites were supervising the reseeding of this part of Mestiko.

“About time,” Bolek griped, though he had volunteered to come by shuttle rather than waiting for his turn through the Enterprise transporters, which were being kept busy beaming supplies to the surface.

The Kazarite compound was in a broad valley surrounded by mountains that sheltered it from the winds. It had been chosen because the terrain provided a natural confinement for the oxygen produced by the frostbuster moss, concentrating it enough within the valley to allow humanoids free movement on the surface for longer than was possible elsewhere on the planet. Finding a natural solution like this, rather than creating it with force fields or transparent-aluminum enclosures, struck Sulu as a very Kazarite approach. Although they had only recently joined the Federation, the Kazarites were already making a name for themselves as master ecologists, thanks to their empathic rapport with animals. Mestiko, a world not too far from their own, had become their most ambitious undertaking to date.

Still, to Sulu the valley looked more like parts of Earth than Mestiko or Kazar. It was mostly filled with a forest of small, young conifers imported from Earth, chosen because they were well adapted to cold, dry conditions and heavy snows. As the shuttle soared over the forest, Sulu’s eyes were drawn to a flock of Regulan pygmy eel-birds, whose shiny purple plumage, evolved to reflect the intense UV light of their hot primary star, made a vivid contrast to the deep green trees on which they perched.

Once the shuttle cleared the woods and neared the main research compound, Sulu saw a more alarming concentration of life-forms. A large crowd of Payav, wearing wide-brimmed hats, sun visors, and long-sleeved clothing to protect their pale skin, stood outside the compound’s main gate, waving signs and fists in the air and chanting things that Sulu couldn’t make out but that sounded pretty angry. “Mar-Atyya?” Chekov asked.

Uhura used a side screen to magnify the image. “A lot of them are. But most of them have tattoos.”

“Payavists?”

“Or just ordinary citizens who’ve been swayed by their rhetoric. The placards are condemning alien contamination of their holy ground.”

As the shuttle touched down, a Kazarite party came out to greet them, and the increasing hostility of the protesters’ cries made it clear that the “contamination” they found offensive was not limited to moss, birds, and trees. To Sulu, the Kazarites’ dark-hued, simian features, backswept black manes, and loose, homespun robes bespoke a quiet dignity and simplicity, but the translator caught cries of “Beasts!” and “Hideous savages!” from the protesters. He hoped Uhura could help overcome that perceptual gulf, but he doubted it would happen here and now. “Let’s get inside quickly,” he advised. “Make sure your phasers are on stun, but don’t do anything provocative.”

Sulu tried to get through the exchange of greetings with the Kazarites as quickly as possible, and they appeared to share his desire. “Maintain a calm bearing,” their lead ecopath, a soft-spoken female named Hogach, suggested once hasty pleasantries had been traded. “Show no fear. But avoid eye contact with the crowd.”

It was a nice theory but of little avail against someone already resolved to lash out violently. The protesters grew more agitated with each new person who exited the shuttle—each new alien polluting their soil, Sulu thought. But this was especially true with Bolek and Havzora. Someone actually screamed when the Zaranite disembarked, and a furor began to surge through the crowd. Sulu supposed he could understand being startled by one’s first glimpse of the slit-eyed gas mask that supplied Havzora with fluorine, but this kind of panic seemed beyond the pale on a world whose people had been aware of alien life for more than eight years now.

But then Chekov sidled up to him and pointed to several tattoo-free Payav at the front of the crowd, facing the protesters and rallying them. “Mar-Atyya,” he said. “They’re stirring up the crowd, driving them into a frenzy!”

“Get everyone inside, now!”

But the crowd was already surging against the fence, and projectiles began to arc over it. Sulu prayed that this was an unplanned attack, that they were only rocks or bottles. But even those could be dangerous. “Cover!” he cried, leading the landing party back toward the shuttle.

But then Hogach and the other Kazarites stepped forward and spread their hands, humming in the backs of their throats. The projectiles changed course in midair as though struck by a powerful wind, falling short of their targets. Sulu realized he’d just seen the Kazarites’ telekinesis in action. It wasn’t as powerful as the abilities of a Platonian or a Thasian, say, but it was good enough for Sulu.

The protesters saw it differently. Already stirred up into a superstitious panic, the Payav reacted with utter horror to the Kazarites’ seemingly supernatural abilities. Now one of the mar-Atyya was preaching loudly enough for Sulu’s translator to pick his voice out of the crowd. “Do you see, my brethren? This is the work of demons! With their foul sorcery they will collapse our tunnels upon us, crush our hearts in our chests merely by willing it! Unless we stop them here and now! Unless we purify our world!”

“Yes! Purify!” The cry went up through the crowd, the preachers echoing and reinforcing it. Sulu began to get a bad feeling, remembering that religious purification rituals generally involved one of two elements: water or…

Fire! As if making his thought manifest, a crude incendiary device flew over the fence. But Chekov darted forward and hit it dead-on with a phaser beam, vaporizing it in midair. “Good shot!” Sulu cried.

But other firebombs were flying over the fence now, and even with Sulu adding his own expert marksmanship to Chekov’s, they couldn’t stop them all. They did come prepared after all, he thought as some of the firebombs made it through, shattering on the ground and splashing flaming liquid on the foliage around them. Within moments, the trees were burning, the fire spreading from several points.

No, it’s even worse than that, Sulu realized. This was a well-planned attack. We were just the diversion—the excuse. They want to burn down the forest!

U.S.S. Enterprise

“T his is a disaster!” cried Marat Lon as he gazed at the image of the forest fire on the bridge’s viewscreen. “Kirk, we have to do something at once!”

Instead of responding to the doctor, Kirk spoke into the com pickup. “Sulu, assessment?”

“The fire’s spreading quickly, sir. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem for pine trees, but these are young and thin-barked. They might not survive.”

“Neither will the animals,” Lon added, his tone still urgent. “The eel-birds are nesting; their eggs will be lost, and they won’t breed again for another year! Not to mention the millisnakes, the groundhoppers—even if they could outrun the fire, where would they go?”

“All our firefighting resources in the area are being mobilized,” Raya elMora said, her face appearing in an inset on the main viewer. “But it will take time, and we have little still functional on the surface.”

“There’s no time for that,” Lon said. “Kirk, isn’t there anything we can do from here?” Lon had come aboard to supervise the transfer of supplies but now sounded as though he blamed himself personally for abandoning his work down below.

Kirk pondered for a moment, pacing the bridge. “Spock, how about using the ship’s phasers to cut a firebreak in its path? Sacrifice some of the trees to save the rest?”

“Feasible, Captain. Although it may not completely suffice on its own, it should delay the spread of the fire enough to allow ground crews to contain it.”

“You want to fire weapons on our planet?” Raya asked. “Captain, you must understand how tenuous the public’s sentiments are right now. Even the appearance of aggression from Starfleet, however beneficial the result, could spark a far greater conflagration than this.”

“We don’t have time to cater to Payav paranoia!” Lon cried, then reined himself in. “With respect, Madam Councillor, the preservation of that valley is urgent. The restoration plan is on a precise timetable, countless elements all carefully balanced, and losing this facility would be a massive setback for these species. Surely the people can be made to understand that.”

Kirk could see the struggle in Raya’s eyes. Those eyes met his, seeking his opinion, and he sent her his wordless encouragement. I trust your judgment and will support it.

“Very well,” she said. “Proceed with your plan, Captain Kirk. I will issue an immediate public statement explaining your action and urging calm.”

“Thank you, Madam Councillor,” Kirk said, settling back into the command chair. “Chief DiFalco, plot our new orbit. Ensign Ledoux, engage.”

As the two women guided the Enterprise to its new orbit, Kirk listened to the feed as Raya made her announcement to the people. In the meantime, Spock calculated the optimal location for the firebreak and sent the data to Ensign Nizhoni, Chekov’s second-in-command, at the tactical station. The young Navajo woman had the firing solution prepared by the time Monique Ledoux had settled the ship into a forced orbit over the burning valley. “We’re ready to fire, Madam Councillor,” Kirk reported.

“You may proceed.”

“Nizhoni—fire phasers!”

Kirk watched the viewscreen as the beams speared down through Mestiko’s atmosphere and struck the valley. He ordered magnification, but between the smoke from the fire and the vapor and dust that billowed around the impact point, there was little to see. Ledoux switched the viewscreen to terahertz imaging to cut through the smoke, allowing Kirk to see the wide swath the phaser beams were scything through the evergreen forest.

In minutes, it was over. The fire was still burning, but they hoped it would remain contained within the firebreak. Kirk ordered Ledoux to keep station over the valley in case another firebreak was needed. “Spock,” he said, “is there anything else we can do to fight the fire from up here? Say, use a tractor beam to suck away its air supply?”

“Doubtful, Captain. The intervening column of air is several dozen kilometers deep, and—”

“I fear we have more immediate concerns,” Raya interrupted. “Apparently, my address was ineffective. I’m getting reports of riots breaking out in dozens of major cities.”

VosTraal, Mestiko

R aya slumped behind her desk as she watched the monitors, which cycled among images of the riots raging across half of Mestiko. The government’s security forces were being overwhelmed in city after city—at least, where they hadn’t broken ranks and stood with the rioters. No, Raya. This is beyond rioting now. Call it what it is—a coup.

She glanced over to the two large guards who stood inside her office door, mirroring the two who guarded its other side and the two more inside the outer office door, and so on. She was beginning to doubt they would be enough. Kirk had offered to send down his security people to protect key government facilities, but she knew that would only make things worse. The mar-Atyya had orchestrated their coup deftly, stirring the people into a xenophobic fury. They had provoked Starfleet into action with the fire and used its response as an excuse to launch an open revolt. There was no way it could have happened so swiftly had it been spontaneous. They had been plotting insurrection for some time, just waiting for the right excuse. Perhaps even waiting for Kirk himself. Asking for help from Enterprise security would only add fuel to the fire.

Besides, Raya had heard from Theena about what the Enterprise’s crew was like now. So many aliens in one place, of more species than Raya believed she had even heard of, and many of them downright frightening in appearance. Raya liked to consider herself cosmopolitan, but her dealings had been mostly with humans, Klingons, and Vulcans, species who differed only marginally from the Payav norm. It had been something of a shock when she’d met her first Kazarite, and she’d barely avoided an embarrassing outburst of fear at the first demonstration of their psionic abilities. She knew that the rank and file of Payav would react even more badly to the alienness of Kirk’s crew than she would, and would not be as circumspect in expressing it.

Now, there’s an understatement for the ages, she told herself as she studied the monitors. The Kazarites and other offworlders had already been beamed to the Enterprise or the other ships in orbit for their protection. But Raya had no such recourse. Kirk had implicitly offered it, but she would remain with the Zamestaad for as long as that institution existed.

“Madam Councillor?” It was Blee, calling from the outer office. “Councillor Asal Janto is here to see you.”

Raya’s eyes widened. What could she possibly want now? Raya had grown too cynical to imagine that her estranged friend would want to—what was the human expression?—”kiss and make up” in the face of crisis. “Blee, advise the councillor to return to her chambers and wait there. Have a guard escort her.”

Blee’s voice was tentative. “Uhh, Madam Councillor…she has several guards with her already. And I don’t think they’ll react well if I send her away.”

Raya absorbed that for a moment. Perhaps I haven’t grown cynical enough. “Send her in, then.” She nodded to the guards to permit it. No point asking them to throw their lives away for a lost cause.

Asal dared to look apologetic as she entered the room. Her guards waited outside but held the door open. “So,” Raya said. “You’re their figurehead.”

“More than that, Raya. I stand for the majority of Payav who support the mar-Atyya movement in its opposition to alien incursion and its commitment to shielding our world from all external threats, natural or otherwise.”

Raya stared. So this was about her absurd radiation-shield plan? The mar-Atyya must have promised to support it in exchange for her allegiance. “They’re a band of fanatics, Asal! Can you really believe the policies they’ll impose will have any grounding in reality, any chance of solving the problems that face us?”

“They chose to place their support behind me, a secular leader. That should answer your question.”

“You, secular?” Raya scoffed. “In title, perhaps. But you have always been driven by faith. You always assume that your own self-righteousness will let you triumph over any problem.”

“Look around you, Raya. We have triumphed.”

“No. You have merely compounded the problem. In fact—” Unable to contain herself any longer, she struck Asal across the face. “You may have just doomed our world to extinction!”

Asal rubbed her cheek but remained calm and confident. “Restoring Mestiko—pardon me, hur-Atyya—is still our top priority. But we will do it our way. Without alien contaminants.”

“How? By wishing very hard and hoping that entire extinct taxa will resurrect themselves?”

“We’re not the primitives the Federation imagines. We have genetic sciences. Samples of defunct forms can be found and cloned.”

“With what resources? What animals’ wombs will they incubate in? Who will perform this highly skilled work when we are starving to death in the absence of offworld food shipments? And where will you find the budget and the skilled personnel while you are wasting it all on building a shield against a nonexistent threat?”

“You accuse me of overdependence on faith, but you have none in your own people. We have endured much this past twelveyear, and in the ages before. We are a resourceful people, and I believe in us.”

“I believe in us, too, Asal. But we do not have to do it alone.”

“No, Raya. Now more than ever, we do. We have to prove we are as capable as any other species in the universe, or we will always consider ourselves inferior.” Asal sighed. “You, on the other hand, will have to rely on aliens for assistance.”

Raya studied her. “I’m to be exiled, then?”

“You and your loyalists, yes. Those who survive,” she added, looking away. “It’s for your own protection, Raya. I fought for it. Whatever our political differences,” she went on, meeting Raya’s eyes again, “I would not wish you dead.”

Raya returned her gaze coldly. “Then you show more concern for my welfare than for our planet’s.”

U.S.S. Enterprise

K irk rose from his seat as Raya entered the officers’ lounge. “Are your people settling in all right?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected,” she answered as he escorted her to the seat nearest the door. “Thank you. Conditions are somewhat cramped, but we’re used to that. We’ve managed to find room for all the surviving members of the government in exile. Fortunately, you have a very spacious recreation complex.”

Kirk sat across from her, on the couch next to Spock. McCoy watched from the opposite couch, and Dr. Lon paced before the windowlike viewscreens. “And you?” Kirk asked with a solicitous smile. “How are you bearing up?”

She gazed into his eyes and let him see a sorrow and weariness he doubted she would show anyone else. “Well…I was betrayed by a very old friend today. I suppose that friendship ended two years ago, but it still hurts. And…I was unable to track down Elee,” she went on, referring to her beloved grandmother. “She was not at home, and I have no idea if she escaped the violence.” She strove to keep her voice controlled, but Kirk could sense her fear. After losing the rest of her family to the Pulse and its aftermath, he knew she would go to any lengths to save Elee from a similar fate.

Kirk clasped her wrist. “Your elor is as strong as you are. She’ll survive.” She placed her other hand atop his and gave wordless thanks.

After a moment, they broke apart, cognizant of the others’ gazes upon them. “Then I suppose the next question,” Kirk went on, “is where we’ll take you.”

Raya nodded. “I would assume Starbase 49. That would be a good place to establish a command post for our efforts to retake the government. Most of the infrastructure is already in place; it’s just a matter of converting its purpose. Once we have a decent fleet assembled…” She trailed off, registering the looks on the Starfleet officers’ faces. “What is it?”

“Raya…you know the Prime Directive won’t allow us to intervene.”

She stared, then laughed. “What? Isn’t it rather late to be worrying about the Prime Directive now? Surely that was rendered moot after the Pulse. Starfleet has been intervening directly in our world’s affairs ever since.”

“With the invitation and consent of your world’s sitting government,” Spock told her. “That condition no longer applies.”

“We’re not conquerors, Raya,” Kirk said. “We’ll provide humanitarian aid when we’re asked, but we’re not in the business of overthrowing governments.”

“Even when they have overthrown your allies?”

“It’s…not that simple.” Kirk faltered. How could he make her understand when he was having trouble with the concept himself?

McCoy leaned forward. “Raya, think about it. Say we did help you stage a countercoup and put the Zamestaad back. Do you think the people would just accept that? Do you think they’d be willing to work with you then? You’d be too busy putting down rebellions to do anything else.”

“But what is the alternative? You all know that if the mar-Atyya’s policies are enacted, all we have accomplished over the past twelveyear will be wiped out. They will destroy Dr. Lon’s plants and the alien animals, and Mestiko will go back to freezing and losing oxygen again. The survival of our families, our very world, is at stake!”

“We won’t give up trying, Raya,” Kirk said. “We’ll use every diplomatic means at our disposal to encourage the new government to continue the restoration work.”

“And you think they will listen?” She shook her head. “What has happened to you, James? There was a time when you would not hesitate to go charging in and take on a whole society if you thought its rulers were harming its people.”

Kirk cleared his throat. “Those accounts have been…somewhat exaggerated. And I’ve learned that the consequences of such actions aren’t always positive in the long run. Especially if you ignore the beliefs and wishes of the people as a whole.”

“The people have been lied to! Swayed and led astray by ambitious, shortsighted fools. We have to set them straight!”

“We’ll do whatever we can to help the Payav make an informed decision for themselves. But our options are limited. The new regime has demanded that all offworlders leave the system, and we have to respect that.”

“And what about the Klingons? With no Starfleet presence, they will sweep right in!”

“The previous Klingon regime has been overthrown,” Spock told her. “The Empire seems to be concerned with internal consolidation at the moment and is not likely to pose a threat.”

“Not likely. That’s all you can tell me?” She stared at Kirk. “You once gave me your word that your people would do everything you could for my people.”

“Yes, I did. Unfortunately, we may have done everything we can already. Aside from finding a good place for your exiles to take up residence,” he added. “The Kazarites have volunteered to take you in, along with any other Payav refugees. They have a large uninhabited region on their world that they’d gladly allow you to settle.”

She studied him for a long moment, then rose. “I was mistaken, it seems. I have been betrayed by two old friends today.”

After she left, Kirk pounded the arm of the couch. “Damn! I can’t blame her for being angry. I wish there were more we could do!”

“Unfortunately, I can think of nothing,” Spock said.

“You enumerated the limits on our options most effectively.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Spock, you still have a lot to learn about offering comfort.”

“Doctor, I—”

“Send me back down.”

Kirk spun. He’d almost forgotten Dr. Lon was there, since the scientist had been so uncharacteristically quiet. “What?”

“I won’t abandon my work. I’ve put eight years of my life into this project, poured my blood into this planet. I’m not going to walk away from that. I have to do whatever I can to defend it.”

“Have you seen what’s going on down there?” McCoy asked. “If they see a human daring to defile their blessed ground, they’ll reinvent human sacrifice right there and then!”

“Shave my head, then. Depilate my body, lighten my skin, give me tattoos and prosthetic thumbs. It’s been done before. And my neck is long enough to pass.”

Kirk spoke carefully. “Dr. Lon…don’t take this the wrong way, but…there’s more to passing as a Payav than looking like one. And you’ve never been particularly prone to seeing things from a Payav point of view.”

“Even Starfleet’s precontact team sought to minimize direct interaction with the populace,” Spock added. “You propose a full-immersion undertaking, by yourself, with no ship to retreat to, no wherewithal to repair damage to your prosthetics…”

“I know the risks, and they’re mine to take. You can’t stop me from doing this.”

“That is incorrect, Doctor,” Spock told him. “As Starfleet officers, we are responsible for the safety of Federation citizens. So long as you remain on this vessel, we are within our rights to detain you from entering an actively hostile zone. And to refuse you the use of our medical technology to change your appearance.”

“Then I’ll renounce my Federation citizenship! Or I’ll just let you drop me off at a starbase and make my way back here. But who knows how much of my work may be lost in the meantime?”

“Even if you salvaged some of your work,” McCoy asked, “what would you do with it? If these mar-Atyya see any alien moss growing, they’ll burn it without a second thought! Along with anyone caught planting it!”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But I have to do something. I’m not willing to let this planet die!”

Kirk looked into his eyes and made his decision.

“Dr. McCoy…can you recommend a good tattoo artist?”

Mestiko

M arat Lon ducked into an alley and flattened himself against its shadowed wall. He struggled to quiet his rasping breath, hoping the mob would go past without spotting or hearing him. In his life as an ecologist, he’d spent too much time in the wilds of Mars, away from the cities and their artificial gravity. And in his six years on Mestiko, he’d been too busy with his work to bother getting in shape. His doctor had warned him he needed to exercise for his health. Lon imagined even his physician would not have expected her warning to come true in such a drastic way.

What tipped them off? he asked himself for the fiftieth time. Did McCoy bungle the operation? Was there a spy on the ship? But he could afford little mental effort to worry about that now. Instead, he needed to find a way out of this alley before that mob of xenophobes found him and burned him at the stake or whatever they did on this planet. Wearily, he ran a hand across his bare scalp. I miss my hair. There wasn’t much left, but it was something.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over his mouth, and he found himself being dragged backward, deeper into the alley. He struggled, but he was too exhausted to accomplish much. “Calm yourself,” a female voice hissed. “Stay quiet, or you’ll alert the mob!”

It began to get through his head that his attacker might be an ally. And he was just too weary to keep fighting. So he allowed her to pull him down the alley and through an open metal grate in the ground, which she closed behind them. Soon they were in a cramped, dripping drainage tunnel. He attempted to speak, but she clamped that hand over his mouth again, looking up toward the grate. Lon heard the voices and footsteps overhead and decided to take her advice and stay quiet.

As they waited, he tried to get a look at her. She was a lanky, slender Payav with an elegantly curved skull and a delicate profile. A lot stronger than she looks, though, he thought ruefully. But he found himself unable to look away from that profile. It was perhaps the most pleasant thing he’d seen in some time.

Her expression was not too pleasant when the noise from above finally subsided and she turned to glare at him. “You’re a fool, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you even make the slightest attempt to understand the Payav before attempting to impersonate us? Did you have a death wish, coming among us and advertising your Dinpayav ways?”

“Wait a minute, whose side are you on? I thought you wanted to save me!”

“Only because I recognized your voice, Dr. Lon. We need your knowledge if we are to salvage your work, keep your plants and animals alive while the mar-Atyya try to burn them all to ash.”

“‘We’?”

“We, the people of Mestiko who still have a grain of sanity left. We’re not all dupes to the mar-Atyya, you know.”

“No, of course not.”

She glared at him. “Do not patronize me, Lon. If you want to pass as one of us, you will have to learn to cloak your ego better. Now, come.”

She led him down the tunnel, and as they passed under patches of dim light from above, he got a better look at her. Her eyes were large and dark, her lips full and mobile. Her tattoos were unusual in their patterns and color. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Daki. Daki orGalya.”

He blinked. “An or prefix for a woman?”

“I’m Gelta. There aren’t many of us left. Only those who were abroad when the Pulse hit.”

“You were lucky.”

She glared. “I was abroad. My family and my betrothed were not.”

“Oh.”

“You have much to learn about us, human. To start with, for your own protection, learn to think before you speak.”

He bristled. “I’m not a fool! I’ve lived among you people for six years. I know the language, I know the customs.”

“‘You people’? You only know us as animals you study, an element in the biosphere you engineer. You’ve never lived among us, never gotten to know us. That much is obvious to anyone, as that large mob should have proven to you.”

“I don’t understand. What did they notice?”

“To start with, you’re too careless about showing your teeth when you talk. Only a few remote tribes are so crass, and they wear scars, not tattoos. You keep scratching your head as though you’re missing something that was there. You barely use your outer thumbs. Can those fakes even move?”

“They’re surgical implants, state-of-the-art.” He wiggled them to demonstrate.

Her face screwed up. “And you haven’t learned how to move them naturally. Put those down.” He lowered his hands to his sides.

“Most of all,” Daki went on, “you carry yourself like someone who’s never known hardship or loss. You carry yourself like someone utterly assured of his place in the universe. No Payav can do that anymore.” She came up short, turned, and got in his face, her eyes captivating him. “And neither can you, from now on. Your place in the universe has just changed, Doctor, and if you want to have a hope of surviving the new regime, you will have to start by accepting that you are as lost as the rest of us.”

Jarol Desert, Kazar

R aya stared out at the barren wasteland where the Enterprise’s transporter had deposited her. “This is it?” she demanded, whirling to face Kirk. “This is where the Kazarites condemn our people to live?”

Kirk looked apologetic, but that expression no longer seemed sincere to her. “Try to understand, Raya. There are only so many places on Kazar that can accommodate a large influx of refugees. The Kazarites are concerned about the ecological disruption it could cause elsewhere. As I understand it, the Jarol Desert only formed within the past century or two, after a natural shift in wind patterns deprived it of moisture from the ocean.”

“So everything that was here died of thirst. And now they strand us here to suffer the same?”

“They’ll share every resource they can spare for you, Raya, just as they did before.” He put a hand on her shoulder, but at her glare, he retracted it sadly. “I promise you, we haven’t given up. And I know you won’t, either.”

“That’s the first true thing you’ve said in a long time, James. I will never stop fighting for my world. The Kazarites wish to strand my people in this…savage land? So be it. We will survive, and we will make it our own. We will make it the ground from which we stand and fight to reclaim our homeworld.” Her thoughts turned to Elee and Theena elMadej, as they had many times during the journey here. She wished she could have her wise elor and her dear young friend by her side to cheer her through these trying times. But Elee’s fate remained unknown, and Theena had insisted on staying on Mestiko, completing her studies as far as the new regime would allow, and perhaps beyond. That was how she believed she could best help her world. Raya admired her courage and envied the fact that, as someone with no official ties to the government, she was exempt from exile and probably safe so long as she kept quiet about her personal affiliations. She prayed that Theena would be able to find Elee and keep her safe, as Raya no longer could. Still, she would have been happier if Theena and Elee could have been safe with her, even in this forbidding waste. Or better yet, if they could all be safe together on Mestiko. But then, there had been no safety since the Pulse, had there? And if not for the Pulse, Raya and Theena would never have met.

Neither would Raya and Kirk. Right now, the thought appealed to her. “So go, James Kirk. Go off in your shining starship, and have adventures undreamed of, and shunt my people aside into this threadbare patch of this uncivilized world. That’s fine. Because I was a fool to try to rely on you for help. We don’t need your help. The Payav will endure, and we will triumph, and we will do it without you. Now, go! Go away!”

Kirk had a wistful look in his eyes as he raised the com device on his wrist and called his ship for beam-up. But again, Raya found it unconvincing. For behind that wistfulness, in the moment before the transporter beam took him, she could see smug satisfaction on his face, and the hint of a smile.

Part Two

Stardate 7969.2

(November 2279)

Starfleet Academy,

San Francisco

“I have a job for you.”

Kirk tried not to show his surge of excitement at Admiral Morrow’s words. Morrow had found him at the Academy’s track, completing his morning jog, and there were too many students around. Kirk didn’t want to give any of them the impression that their commandant was unhappy with his job; that was bad for morale. True, it was no secret that Kirk would still be out there exploring if he had his way. When the refitted Enterprise had completed five years of service, Starfleet had insisted that the Corps of Engineers give it a thorough, months-long diagnostic to see how its prototype systems had held up. Kirk had requested transfer to another starship, but there was none available, and the Academy had needed a commandant.

Jim Kirk was a soldier, so he went where he was ordered, and he strove to execute his tasks to the fullest of his ability. And there were many rewards to the Academy posting—the opportunity to mold young minds, to get to know cadets who were the first of their species or subcultures to enter Starfleet, and, most important, to pass along the hard lessons he’d learned so that future Starfleet officers would not have to make the same mistakes.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was completely out of the saddle. That was another mistake he’d learned from. This time, he’d had enough clout to persuade Nogura to sweeten the deal: in exchange for accepting the Academy posting and the renewed admiral’s rank that came with it, he’d gotten the Enterprise assigned as his personal flagship, with Spock promoted to its captaincy. Starfleet had come to appreciate his abilities in the field, and thus, once the Enterprise had completed its testing, they allowed him to take her out on special assignments from time to time, with Spock commanding the ship but Kirk in charge of the overall mission. In the past year, the two of them had undertaken a number of interesting missions, with other members of their old command crew accompanying them when feasible. In between, the Enterprise served as a research vessel, a test bed for prototype technologies, and sometimes a cadet training vessel—a contemplative, scholarly mission profile that suited Spock well. All in all, it was a good balance, a way for Kirk to advance in his career and assume new responsibilities without being completely cut off from the thing he did best.

So, as a rule, he tried not to advertise the crushing boredom he felt when he wasn’t out there among the stars, with Spock at his side and the Enterprise deck under his feet. Still, he allowed Harry Morrow to see a small, private smile of thanks. Morrow, Nogura’s second-in-command, had been an ally in persuading the Old Man to accept Kirk’s terms, not only allowing Kirk to go out on missions but sometimes even bringing him ones, like now. “What have you got for me, Harry?” he asked as he toweled the sweat off his neck.

“You remember about ten years ago, when Minara and Beta Niobe went supernova within six months of each other?”

Kirk chuckled. “Remember? Harry, I was there both times. I still have the singed tail feathers to show for it.”

“That’s right, that was you, wasn’t it? Small universe.” Kirk couldn’t blame Morrow for forgetting; the man had been a captain himself at the time, embroiled in his own crises and disasters. “Anyway, there are over a dozen inhabited star systems close enough to those supernovae to be at risk of lethal radiation exposure. The Federation’s been scrambling to protect them all.”

“I’ve heard about it.”

“Well, the situation’s trickier than we like to advertise. Luckily, the wave fronts only expand at the speed of light, so we’ve had years to prepare, but with so many looming disasters, we’ve been stretched pretty thin. Especially since some of the worlds are precontact, and we have to try to shield them clandestinely, without any local help. Like you tried to do when that pulsar hit Mestiko, what was it, about eighteen years ago?”

“Fourteen, actually.”

“Right. Sorry—you know I’m terrible with dates.”

“I do keep up with the news, Harry. It’s hard to miss it, what with the Verzhik disaster still making headlines.” Verzhik was one of the more advanced planets endangered by the supernovae—early warp era but unaligned. Its people had worked jointly with the Federation to shield their planet, but despite that, they had failed to do enough in time. Although the population had successfully retreated underground, their ecosystem had been badly damaged. The footage of Verzhik’s smoggy brown skies and UV-burned animal life had been like a Mestiko flashback for Kirk. “So, what are you dancing around?”

“Your ties to Mestiko are why we need you, Jim,” Morrow said. “The Verzhik are an advanced civilization, enlightened, artistic. We’d like them as a member, so we want to do right by them. And they’ve requested our top experts on terraforming and environmental recovery.”

Kirk saw where this was going. “And the Federation’s leading expert is Marat Lon.”

“Right. Who went to ground on Mestiko three years ago—”

“Five.”

“—five years ago, and hasn’t been heard from since.” Morrow’s expression grew stern. “Because a certain starship commander decided to let him.”

“He was a free citizen of the Federation. I didn’t think I had the right to force him to go.”

“But you didn’t have to use your ship’s medical resources to help him disguise himself.”

Kirk shrugged. “Since he was determined to go, I did what I could to ensure his safety.”

“All right, we won’t argue this now. The point is, Verzhik needs Dr. Lon. And we aren’t willing to let them down.” He fidgeted. “No reflection on you, Jim, but the Federation’s failure to protect Mestiko was not one of our finer moments. Of course, you did everything you could, but…well, the point is, we’re determined not to let it happen again.”

Kirk stared at a patch of ground for a while, not seeing it. “I can understand that.”

“Good. Because your orders, Jim, are to go to Mestiko, find Marat Lon—if he’s even still alive—and persuade him to go where he’s needed.”

“He’s still needed on Mestiko,” Kirk said, an edge in his voice. “From the reports that have trickled out, the situation is getting progressively worse there. The glaciers are advancing, the air’s hardly breathable…”

“Exactly. I know it sounds harsh, Jim, but given the current political reality there, Lon simply can’t do any good. Not as much as he can do on Verzhik, certainly.” He sighed. “I can admire a man for tilting at windmills as much as you can, Jim. But there are two worlds at stake here, and Lon can’t save either of them where he is. Take him to Verzhik, and he can at least save one.”

Kirk wanted to argue further, but he knew Morrow was right. For all his personal investment in Mestiko, he was part of the admiralty now, and that meant looking at the bigger picture. That was the advantage of being an admiral—the opportunity to do more good on a larger scale than any mere starship captain…

Oh, who am I kidding? If there was an upside to this, it was that he would get to feel a deck rumbling beneath his feet again and not have to keep looking up at stars that stayed unnaturally still. “All right, Harry. I’ll assemble a crew.”

Hertex Star System

“A pproaching occultation point, Captain Spock.”

“Very good. Take us out of warp, Mr. Haarv.”

The Rhaandarite helmsman acknowledged the order and counted down to normal space reentry. The maneuver was carried out without a hitch, and the prismatic flare of warp distortion on the viewscreen collapsed into a fairly close view of Daroken, the next planet out from Mestiko in this system—albeit just barely at this point. The passage of the pulsar PSR 418-D/1015.3 fourteen years before had radically altered the structure of this planetary system. Of the original seven planets, only four were still orbiting Hertex; the outer three, which had been less strongly bound by the star’s gravity, were now technically rogue planets on hyperbolic courses out of the system, although it would be decades more before they passed the magnetopause into interstellar space. The outermost remaining planet, now the system’s lone gas giant, had been flung into an orbit tilted more than seventy degrees out of the ecliptic plane. Daroken itself was in a highly eccentric orbit, which, at its point of closest approach, brought it within eight million kilometers of Mestiko, near enough to appear as a resolvable disk to the naked eye.

The passage of PSR 418-D/1015.3 had also disrupted Hertex’s cometary belt and asteroid field, so that the system had become comparatively cluttered with debris on still-changing and unpredictable courses. As a result, even the insular mar-Atyya regime on Mestiko had recognized the need for an aggressive space monitoring and defense program, lest their world be subject to another extinction-level catastrophe as an aftereffect of the first. Although they had wasted an inordinate proportion of resources on an impractical network of radiation-shielding satellites (whose continued inability to function as the regime promised was ameliorated only by the profound unlikelihood that they would ever be needed at all), some members of the administration had evidently been sensible enough to allocate some of the project’s funding toward antimeteoroid defenses—winning the support of their paranoid leaders by designing it to double as a defense against hostile spacecraft. By all accounts, it had proven very successful in that function, driving off Starfleet vessels, smugglers, and other interlopers alike. Hence the need for the Enterprise to conceal its warp egress behind the mass of Daroken. Stealth was essential for the success of this mission. The proximity of Daroken to Mestiko at this point in its orbit also helped, serving to minimize the length of time that Admiral Kirk’s shuttlecraft would need to be in the open, at risk of detection.

If Admiral Kirk was indeed the one to go on the mission. Spock rated that probability as more than ninety-five percent, but he still felt the need to argue otherwise. “Admiral,” he said, swiveling the command chair to face the man Spock still considered its rightful owner, “may I again urge you not to undertake this mission personally? According to Commander Uhura’s signal intelligence, the political climate on Mestiko is still unfailingly hostile to extraplanetary life. Should you be recognized as human—”

“I know the risks, Spock,” Kirk said, a faint smile conveying his appreciation for Spock’s solicitousness.

“But you command the Enterprise, I command the mission. That’s the way it works. Besides, Morrow sent me to retrieve Dr. Lon. His well-being was my responsibility five years ago, and it still is today.”

Spock rose and moved to his friend’s side, his hands reflexively tugging his jacket straight. “I am more concerned for your well-being, Jim. On our recent missions together, you have shown a tendency to treat dangerous situations as…invigorating. Even refreshing. I believe that last time, Dr. McCoy used the term midlife crisis.”

Kirk glared. “I’m too young to have a midlife crisis.” He leaned in closer, smirking. “Actually, my plan is never to have one. Call it taking advantage of Zeno’s Paradox. If I never officially reach the halfway point in my life, then it never has to end.”

Spock quirked a brow at this sentiment, which was excessively whimsical even for Kirk. He could already see the excitement in the admiral’s eyes, his thrill at the prospect of adventure. For a moment, he wished that McCoy’s medical relief mission to Verzhik had not precluded his presence here; perhaps with the doctor’s help, Spock could have persuaded Kirk to change his mind. But he decided it was just as likely that McCoy would end up accompanying Kirk into the lion’s den as usual. In that case, perhaps it was just as well that the doctor was safely occupied elsewhere.

“Very well,” Spock said. “But I am responsible for your safety also, Admiral. Therefore, I am ordering Lieutenant Commander Leslie to accompany you and Commander Uhura to Mestiko.”

Kirk brightened as the square-jawed, curly-haired security chief stepped forward at the mention of his name. “Well, I think I can live with that. It’s a pleasure to have you back in the fold, Mr. Leslie. It’s been too long.”

Leslie simply nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He had always been a man of few words, never drawing attention to himself despite his wide proficiency in fields ranging from security to engineering to flight control to paramedics. Some might fault him for that, and for the relatively slow rate at which his career had advanced, but Spock found such a humble, dutiful approach to life quite admirable.

“And it’ll be good to have another familiar face along,” Kirk added, looking around the bridge. “We weren’t able to corral much of the old team this time, were we, Spock?” he asked. For the benefit of the bridge crew, he tried to keep it airy, but Spock could see the wistfulness in his eyes.

“We all have our own commitments, Admiral. Those often take us in different directions.” McCoy and Scott were both separately involved in the massive supernova-relief effort, along with Dr. Chapel and many other Starfleet personnel. Commanders Chekov and Kyle were aboard the Reliant, patrolling the Klingon border while so many other ships were occupied in the Minara and Beta Niobe sectors. And Commander Sulu remained posted in San Francisco to oversee the raising of his daughter—a responsibility no less important than the others. Though Spock could understand the admiral’s nostalgia, he felt the collective talents of the crew Kirk had trained were being put to good use where they were. “But there is always the possibility that our duties will bring us together again in years to come.”

“I wonder,” Kirk murmured. But he was never one to dwell on introspection for long when his duty beckoned. Shaking himself free of his mood, he said, “Well, then. I suppose we’d better get down to sickbay for our disguises.”

Spock nodded. “I’ll alert Dr. Duane to expect you.”

“Mr. Leslie, Commander Uhura, let’s go,” Kirk said. But he hesitated a moment before moving to the turbolift.

“Something wrong, Admiral?”

“No, Spock,” he said softly. “It’s just that…I’m a little nervous about having my head shaved. I just hope it all grows back.”

This time, Spock kept the words midlife crisis to himself.

Mestiko

T he landing party used a Wraith-class stealth shuttle to make planetfall, its black hull blending in with the night sky, its antigravs making barely a sound as it landed. Nonetheless, they came down some distance from the capital city of vosTraal, traveling the rest of the way on foot. They had to wear thermal gear and rebreather masks, for the night was frigid and the oxygen thin. The terrain was barren save for a few scraggly plants sticking up through the snow. “And it’s late spring in this hemisphere,” Kirk said. “Things have regressed so much in just five years,” he added for Leslie’s benefit.

Uhura shook her head in disbelief. “The government’s broadcasts show none of this. They can’t exactly claim it’s a garden world, or they wouldn’t be able to justify keeping people in the domes and tunnels, but it’s hard to find any images of the surface in the media. Just platitudes about slow but steady progress.”

Kirk sighed. “They can’t admit how profoundly their policies have failed.”

They came to their entry point into the underground city just before dawn. Five years ago, this had been one of the Kazarites’ bioengineering facilities, but the mar-Atyya regime had completely demolished it and sealed off the tunnel leading to it. But once Uhura’s tricorder found the entrance, it didn’t take long for Leslie’s phaser to disintegrate the overlying rubble. There was no airlock per se, but there was a double set of doors. Once they had gotten inside the inner doors and pushed them shut, the three humans shed their protective gear, under which they wore garments that, according to Uhura’s signal monitoring, would be nondescript and socially acceptable by current standards. The tunnel was warmer than the outside but still cold, so they made their way toward the city at a brisk pace.

Once they emerged into the artificial lights of the underground city, Kirk tried not to stare at Uhura and Leslie. He was still getting used to their faux-Payav appearance. Uhura looked odd with no hair and parchment-pale skin; she managed to pull it off with her typical elegance, but Kirk still preferred her usual look. As for Leslie, he and Kirk had much the same problem trying to pass themselves off as long-necked Payav, even with the uncomfortably tight straps beneath their garments that flattened out their trapezius muscles. They compensated by wearing collars and neck tattoos carefully designed to create an illusion of greater length, but still had to hope that no one would look at them too closely. Kirk wished he could be as good as Leslie at blending into the background.

It quickly became evident, though, that blending in would be harder than Kirk had expected—for the simple reason that he, Uhura, and Leslie were all adequately nourished. All the Payav Kirk could see in the city streets were gaunt and hollow-cheeked, moving slowly or seated on the ground. Kirk could imagine the profound compassion and anger that would be on Bones’s face if he were there. “My God, Jim, we have to do something for these people!” But how much angrier would he be, knowing that Kirk’s mission was to take something more away from them?

Most of the Payav on the streets seemed to be waiting in queues that stretched around multiple corners. But they just stood still, leaning against the walls or sitting in place. When the party finally came in view of the front of one of the queues, they saw it led into a facility with a mar-Atyya religious symbol above its door. “A charity or a state bread line?” Kirk murmured.

“Probably a bit of both,” Uhura said.

Higher above the door was a large video screen displaying the visage of Odra maVolan, the mar-Atyya spiritual leader who ruled Mestiko alongside Asal Janto, or rather ruled through her; although the regime was nominally a constitutional republic, the mar-Atyya held supreme authority over social policy and the religious doctrines to which the secular legislators were obligated to conform. MaVolan gazed sightlessly out of the screen with his cataract-clouded eyes and spoke in a measured, soothing tone, insofar as his gravelly voice was able. “Conserve your energy,” he said. “The needs of the body are a distraction. Wasting energy wastes life. Cherish the life of the mind. Seek stillness in meditation and prayer. Commune with God, and you will be free. Give yourself to God, and God will give back unto hur-Atyya. Through prayer will our world be saved.”

“Wonderful,” the McCoy in Kirk’s head was saying. “So the world falling apart around them is the people’s fault for not being devout enough.”

As the humans moved through the streets, Kirk noticed many eyes watching them. They all looked away when Kirk looked at them directly, but in those fleeting moments, he detected fear and resentment. Well-fed people were out of place in this part of town—probably in every part of town except where the ruling elite lived. So much for being inconspicuous. “We’d better find the resistance and get out of sight quickly,” he whispered.

“But how, sir?” Leslie asked.

Uhura gestured toward a nearby square where a crowd seemed to be gathering, looking up at another large screen. “This way. I think it’s a news report.”

The screen showed a state-sponsored news feed, reporting largely on events in the daily lives of the leaders and actions taken against enemies of the state. Those actions included a mass execution, using nominally humane methods but broadcast in its entirety for public consumption. “Let us all take comfort,” the newsreader intoned, “in the knowledge that these criminals and heretics were redeemed by this sacrifice. For every one of them removed from our midst, two to four more children may be fed. Thus is hur-Atyya renewed, one soul at a time.”

But Kirk, following Uhura’s lead, didn’t watch the broadcast. He watched the Payav watching it, alert for signs of anger, disbelief in the party line…and, most important, determination. The determination to fight for a change in the way things were. He had to be circumspect, though, for the kind of people he was looking for would be wary of the kind of people he and his landing party appeared to be and would try to keep their reactions to themselves. It was a contest to see who could hide in plain sight more effectively.

But Kirk had been playing high-stakes poker for decades, both with cards and with starships. He knew the tells. And he knew determination when he saw it. Soon he spotted his quarry, a man and a woman on the edge of the crowd. He couldn’t quite make out their faces in detail—his eyesight wasn’t what it had once been—but he could see it in their body language, and a wordless exchange of looks told him that Uhura saw it, too. Just as subtly, Kirk pointed them out to Leslie, directing him to draw closer and keep them under surveillance. Leslie faded into the crowd, passing through it like a wraith.

Soon the man and the woman went on their way, and Leslie tracked them for the better part of an hour, staying in touch through a subcutaneous communicator next to his ear. Kirk and Uhura followed at a fair distance, hoping their subjects’ path would take them to some isolated place where contact could be made. But they stayed in public places, and Kirk began to suspect that the two Payav were deliberately leading them in circles.

Sure enough, it wasn’t much longer before he passed a dark alley and felt a weapon’s muzzle jab into the small of his back. “Make no sound,” a voice hissed. “Move into the alley.”

Kirk obliged without resistance. After all, things were going according to plan.

He just hoped the Payav on the other end of the gun wasn’t following a very different plan.

“I’ll ask you once again—why are you here?”

Kirk faced his interrogator as forthrightly as the blindfold over his eyes would allow. “To see Dr. Marat Lon.”

“Why do you want to see him?” the angry male voice continued.

“That’s something I’ll discuss with him.” He figured it was safe to assume Lon was still alive; otherwise, the resistance would not be going to such lengths to avoid answering questions about him.

“That’s not good enough!” A hand struck the side of his face, hard. Despite himself, Kirk bit the inside of his cheek. I’ll say this for the Academy job—this sort of thing doesn’t happen nearly as often there.

“Wait.” It was a female voice this time, young.

“They’re Starfleet. This is Kirk himself. Maybe they can help us.”

The man gave a bitter laugh. “Starfleet was here when the mar-Atyya took over. Where was their help then? Where has it been since? While we were fighting for our freedom, for the survival of our planet, Admiral Kirk here has been getting himself promoted! And obviously well fed at that.” Kirk caught himself unconsciously sucking in his gut. “So why come back now?” the man went on. “Lon’s the only human who stayed to help us. If the others are back for him, I doubt it’s for any reason that helps us. So we’ll continue this interrogation as I see fit.”

Kirk sighed. He didn’t exactly have the moral high ground here, and he had to do something to establish a thread of trust. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you the truth.” The man scoffed. “And you’ll know it’s the truth…because it’s the last thing you’ll want to hear.” He proceeded to tell his interrogators about Verzhik and the Federation’s need for Lon’s expertise.

“I knew it!” the man exclaimed. “Not enough that you abandon us, now you want to take away our best hope of survival.” Kirk was pulled out of his chair by the front of his jacket and tossed roughly to the floor.

“Maybe I should send Starfleet a warning to leave us alone…through you.”

“You say you’re fighting for freedom,” Kirk called, hardening his voice. “Is this freedom? A man in a dark room, using his fists to decide people’s fate? Is that what you’re fighting to save?” There was no sound, no movement. The man was listening, at least.

“Doesn’t Dr. Lon deserve the freedom to hear me out and decide for himself?”

After another few moments, the man responded. “How do we know you wouldn’t just whisk him away with your transporters?”

Well, there goes that idea. “Lon knows there are certain kinds of minerals that block transporters. Have him choose a shielded meeting place, and take us there.”

After another few moments, Kirk was yanked to his feet again. “Take him to a holding cell,” the man said to someone else. “What comes next…we’ll see.”

Odra maVolan stared at Asal Janto. “Admiral Kirk himself? Are you certain?”

Asal fidgeted under his gaze. In recent years, Payav medicine had regenerated to the point that a privileged few could have their sight restored. MaVolan himself had backed the effort and had been one of its first beneficiaries. But he had long used his blindness as a symbol of his purity and commitment, so in public, he always wore specially made contact lenses to simulate the cataracts he no longer had, and he took care to avoid looking directly at anything. He did not keep up the pretense with Asal and the few others who knew his secret, but even in private, he sometimes neglected to remove the contacts. It was disquieting to see those seemingly opaque pupils focusing on her so precisely. Perhaps, Asal reflected, it was not by accident that maVolan left them in. “Our operative in the resistance recognized him despite his disguise.”

“And they are taking him to Lon.”

“Yes,” Asal said, trying to match the calculating tone in maVolan’s voice, to sound more like a partner than a lackey. “Our agent is not well enough placed in the resistance to be told Lon’s whereabouts, but some kind of tracking device could be arranged.”

“No.”

Asal stared. “I…beg your pardon?”

MaVolan smiled. “Even the mar-Tunyor can do God’s work on occasion. For years, Lon has been contaminating our world with his unholy mosses and worms. For every field of them we burn, another crops up within weeks. Our efforts to locate and assassinate him have always run afoul of the blasphemers who would shelter him. Yet now, one of his own fellow devils has come to take him away, so he may inflict his curse on some other world.” The smile became a chuckle. “As I have preached to the people many a time, conserving energy does God’s work. So let us conserve our energy. Let Kirk remove Lon and save us the effort.”

“Of course.” Asal laughed now, though maVolan did not join her, and she trailed off to silence. “But what if Lon refuses to go?” she asked after a moment.

“He will not. I have met the man, remember? He is a true mar-Tunyor, arrogant to the last. Our world is a puzzle for him to solve, and he stays only because he feels compelled to impose his will upon it, to remake it in his image. I often entertain myself imagining the frustration he must feel at our constant thwarting of his efforts.” Asal declined to point out that maVolan had alluded to feeling such frustration himself mere moments before. “But now Kirk offers him a new puzzle, one he will not be stymied in solving. He will jump at the chance. The mar-Tunyor’s own folly will bring about our triumph. Yes. I have seen it.” He folded his hands serenely.

“No more Lon,” Asal mused. “Imagine it. There is so much more we will be able to accomplish without the need to fight against him constantly.”

“Yes. We can bring purity to hur-Atyya that much more quickly.”

“Purity, yes.” She paused. “Breathing the air outside would be nice, too.”

“We will be able to restore our native ecology much more easily without this constant contamination.”

Asal nodded. “Still…the moss did do a good job restoring oxygen. And it was only moss.”

MaVolan’s “unseeing” gaze grew sharper. “What are you saying, Asal?”

“Perhaps…once Lon has been gone for a time…we can phase some of the moss into our own plan. Once it is no longer a symbol of mar-Tunyor interference, we can control how and where it is used. The people need not even know it is not our own creation.”

“I never would have thought to hear such words from you, Asal,” maVolan said darkly. “They smack of…compromise. And doubt. Surely you have not let yourself be swayed by mar-Tunyor propaganda? You know there is no proof that the rise in temperature and oxygen levels was caused by the alien plants. It was simply a natural fluctuation for which they seized credit.”

“That’s what we’ve been saying all these years. It’s what I wanted to believe. But it’s hard to deny how cold it’s getting out there. Maybe we should reconsider some of our assumptions.”

MaVolan shook his head. “It is not like you to say such things. That is not the pure, constant faith of the Asal I chose to lead our people.”

She did not miss the veiled threat, or the irony. Years ago, she was the one Raya elMora had criticized for believing that unwavering faith alone would always be enough. “I still believe we serve God’s plan, Odra. But…however blasphemous they may have been, the mar-Tunyor seem to have made a difference. More of a difference than we have made since taking over. I simply suggest that we could learn something from their efforts. Let the mar-Tunyor do God’s work for us, as you said.”

“You have not heard my words truly, Asal, if you could use them in this way. Not a single cell of mar-Tunyor matter can be tolerated on our soil!” he shouted, slamming his fist down on the desk and making Asal jump. “Only when we are pure, in biology and in spirit, will God restore our world to what it was.”

Asal gathered herself. “This is me, Odra. I don’t need to hear the party line. We need practical policies that can get things done. I believe we can do that within the confines of faith, but we can’t do it with the same simplified speeches we give to the people.”

“Our hold on the people is tenuous enough as it is. Too many lack faith. Too many are blinded by their own hunger. We must maintain our commitment to our principles, or we will weaken our hold and run the risk of rebellion.”

“I’d like to think,” Asal said after a moment, “that our policies are still motivated by something more than protecting our own jobs.”

MaVolan glared. “I will choose to take that as an instance of your often-inappropriate humor. I know as well as you that hur-Atyya itself is at stake. That is why I strive so hard to eliminate threats to my authority—because only then can I ensure the salvation of our world. Do not doubt me again, Asal. Do not let your commitment to our salvation waver.”

Even through the contacts, she could see very clearly what was in maVolan’s eyes—perhaps more clearly than ever before. “It will not happen again,” she said. But she averted her own eyes as she did so.

“No, Kirk. I’m going nowhere.”

Kirk studied Dr. Lon, sizing him up. They stood facing each other in a damp, echoing cave that was lined, so the resistance had assured him, with refractory minerals that would block transporter or comm signals. Kirk was here alone, with Uhura and Leslie still being held as hostages for his cooperation. Lon was accompanied by a burly young man—evidently Kirk’s interrogator from before—and a striking, slender woman with large dark eyes. Lon seemed unexpectedly at home in this ragtag company; had Kirk not known the man from before, he never would have realized he was human.

But Lon was more than a human; he was a scientist. Kirk appealed to that—and to his ego. “Dr. Lon, the people of Verzhik need your expertise. They’re struggling to hold off a mass extinction. They need the best people the Federation has to offer, and they’ve asked for you by name.”

Lon smirked. “My name these days is Cart etDeja. I doubt the Verzhik asked for him. As far as the Federation is concerned, Marat Lon is dead.”

“A dead man can’t help save a world.”

“You talk of saving worlds? What about this world? What about its people? Do the Verzhik have a ruling clique of pathological narcissists who deny the blinding reality of their world’s death throes, who would doom their whole race to extinction rather than admit they were capable of being wrong? Are the Verzhik people having more and more of their rights taken from them every season, or being forced to suffer ever-worsening deficiency diseases and epidemics because the medicines and supplements that can help them don’t fit the mar-Atyya version of kashrut? Are their people arrested and imprisoned without trial for even suggesting that the state doesn’t have all the answers? Well?” Kirk knew the answer was clear in his eyes. “There you are. They don’t need me nearly as much as the Payav do.”

“But you can actually accomplish something there.”

“I’m accomplishing things here. We all are. Our numbers grow every day as the state gets more and more ruthless. We have a whole network, not just here but on Kazar and the other refugee communities.”

Kirk’s ears perked up. “Are you in contact with Raya elMora?”

“Regularly. We’re building a coalition, winning the hearts and minds of the people. And soon, the state won’t be able to—”

“Cart,” the woman said. “Should we tell him this?”

“He won’t do anything, Daki. He’s forbidden to interfere.”

The woman—Daki—focused those stunning eyes on Kirk. “Then you should not even be here. Cart is one of us now.”

“He’s a Federation citizen. A human.”

“And why does that matter?” Lon asked. “Have we regressed so far as to believe that genetics defines identity again? It doesn’t matter where I was born or what’s in my DNA. I’m a Payav now.”

Kirk studied him. “You certainly have changed, Doctor.”

Lon laughed—rather startlingly, at his own expense. “I forget how condescending I used to be. I don’t like to remember. I thought the Payav were such primitives just because they’d only begun to enter the warp age. I never gave a thought to their heritage, their cultural achievements, their strength of character.

“When I decided to stay here, I assumed I could save them from themselves single-handedly. I almost got killed my first day.” He took the woman’s hand. “Daki here saved me, and I began to realize that if I were to survive, I needed the Payav. More…I needed to become a Payav. And the more I saw the faces of the people I’d come to help—the more I heard their stories, the more I had to experience life the same way they lived it—the more inevitable that became.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Daki said, smiling. “He’s still a condescending vikak most of the time. But he’s our vikak.”

Kirk took in their interplay. “How long have you been married?”

Lon moved closer to Kirk. “Our son is already an avid reader. He’s starting to take an interest in ecology. He already knows enough to doubt the state’s party line. But he needs a good teacher to help nurture that insight.”

He held the admiral’s eyes for a time. “Ask me again to leave Mestiko.”

U.S.S. Enterprise

“I take it you did not ask,” Spock said.

Kirk looked at his old friend across the briefing-room table. He was back in uniform, restored to his normal complexion, but still hairless for now. “Would you?”

“No,” Spock said. “There is a distinct logic to Dr. Lon’s—or perhaps I should say Dr. etDeja’s—decision.”

“If Bones were here, he’d say Lon followed his heart.”

Spock raised a brow. “The heart has its own logic, which sometimes works in concert with that of the mind. As my longtime association with the doctor should make clear.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“I would appreciate it if you did not, Jim.”

Kirk chuckled. “Well, you may see him before I do.” He slid a data cartridge across the table to Spock. “Lon’s notes. A copy of all his research over the past few years, developing ways to minimize the damage the mar-Atyya are doing to the environment. He believes it should be possible to adapt his processes to help the Verzhik. He also took some time to review the data I brought and offer some specific suggestions for recovery strategies there.

“That’s the Enterprise’s next mission, Spock. Once you drop me off at Earth, I want you to head straight to Verzhik. I’m putting you in charge of implementing Dr. Lon’s strategies and recommendations. Maybe they don’t get Lon, but I’m seeing to it that they get the next-best thing.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, Jim, but I am not a specialist in this field.”

“But you’re the best generalist in Starfleet. And you’ll have the help of all the specialists who are already there. You’ll do fine.”

“I wonder…will Admiral Morrow be so sanguine about this outcome?”

“You let me deal with Harry.” Kirk frowned, growing contemplative. “I just wish there’d been something I could do about things on Mestiko. That’s twice now I’ve had to leave things as bad as they were when I came, or worse.”

“But you did not make them worse by removing Dr. Lon. And from what you say, there is hope that they can resolve the situation on their own.”

Kirk’s eyes were haunted. “But what if they can’t?”

Jarol Desert, Kazar

R aya looked out the shuttle’s window and smiled at the sight of the expansive daggerleaf forest below. The Kazarite geneticists had done their work precisely to the Payav’s specifications: the trees’ narrow, succulent leaves held onto water effectively, while their deep roots tapped the water table and reduced the need for irrigation. And the trees grew fast, becoming more effective as a windbreak with every season, sheltering the desert beyond from the winds that had been stripping away its moisture and its topsoil.

But Raya was finally able to realize how beautiful they were. The daggerleaf trees didn’t have the deep meaning that the noggik tree had held for so many Payav, but Raya planned to bring some back with her to Mestiko when the time came.

Soon the shuttle passed beyond the forest, soaring over the fields of drought-resistant perennial crops that supplemented their annuals. The kovna grain that provided their staple food source had been successfully engineered for drought resistance, as well as for resistance to parasites and insects, for smaller crop losses meant less water wasted on plants that did not survive to be eaten. Back home, after the Pulse, even the Norrb had not been this successful at growing kovna. The Kazarites had been helpful with this as well, once Raya had persuaded them to spare sufficient facilities and personnel for the engineering work. But it was still helpful to have a backup food source from the perennials, for the rough years. Also, the perennials’ extensive root systems helped prevent the soil from eroding and clung to whatever moisture remained in it. Season by season, the Payav refugees managed to hold on to more and more of the Jarol’s water, to come closer to a day when the label Jarol Desert would no longer apply. But Raya was resolved that when that day came, she would be watching it remotely from Mestiko, with Elee and Theena by her side.

Not that she didn’t have plenty of company here, she reminded herself as she saw the settlement’s children crowding around the landing pad below. The children wore wide-brimmed hats to shield their pale skin from the sun and bandanas to protect their noses and mouths from the dust the shuttle kicked up, but she could still see their excitement in their body language. It seemed the numbers of Payav here grew every day, whether from new births or from the steady influx of refugees. Many worlds had taken in those who fled from Mestiko, but few Payav felt at home there or could easily adapt to a way of life generations more advanced than their own. As word of the exiles’ accomplishments in the Jarol spread, more and more had made their way here, seeking a place that the Payav could call their own, a land they could build and grow on and make into what they needed. It filled Raya with pride that her people had achieved so much here in spite of the Kazarites who had shunted them off to their unwanted lands—in spite of the Federation that had abandoned them.

In spite of James T. Kirk.

Raya spent a suitable time greeting the children, telling them of the progress of the daggerleaf forest and how beautiful it was becoming. But she cut it short as soon as she felt appropriate, for she was eager to get to Cadi.

Cadi orMalan greeted her just as eagerly when she reached his dwelling, knocking her hat off with his kiss and his embrace. She laughed and pulled away. “Time for that later. There’s news from home?”

Cadi reined himself in. “Yes. We got a new report from the resistance.”

“Tell me.” News from home was something to cherish—not just for its provenance but for the difficulty of getting it here. The courier ships that snuck into the system and the resistance members who beamed out radio pulses for them to intercept risked discovery and arrest by the mar-Atyya. Sometimes the couriers did not come back, or they came back with partial signals that had been violently interrupted.

Nothing untoward had happened to the signalers or couriers this time, but the news they delivered infuriated Raya. “Kirk! He did it to us again! Not enough he abandoned our world in its time of need, now he has to try to steal our best hope of its salvation?”

“Lon refused to go,” Cadi reassured her. “He truly is one of us. He stood his ground and sent Kirk packing.”

Raya gave a contemptuous laugh. “Kirk is getting soft. He used to be more stubborn. Or maybe Lon is just too stubborn even for him.”

“He’s dedicated to the cause. Like all of us.”

“Yes.” Raya released her tension with a sigh.

“Forget Kirk. We don’t need him. We never did.” She stood alongside Cadi, gazing out the window. “Look what we’ve built here, Cadi. It’s just a preview of what we’ll do when we take our home back.”

Cadi studied her. “Raya…there’s no reason we can’t make this a home as well. I mean…you’re the one who keeps urging us to have more children. Why can’t you…and I…set an example of our own?”

Furrowing her brow, Raya took him into her arms. “Oh, Cadi. You know your companionship has been a great boon to me. But I can’t think of such responsibilities now. There’s too much else I need to do.”

“You need not do it all yourself. There are so many back home now, and all of us ready to support them.”

“I know. But I’ve been working so long to coordinate it, and we have so much momentum building. I dare not risk interrupting it.”

Cadi was silent for a long moment. “Raya…I’m not sure I’d want to leave the Jarol. I’ve put so much of myself into it. And it feels like home. More than Mestiko ever could again in my lifetime, probably.”

Raya stopped herself from snapping at him. It was as valid a point of view as any other. Just smaller in scope than what the Payav as a whole required. “I understand, Cadi. But it can’t be that way for me.”

He grew somber. “I wish that upset you more. You don’t see us as anything permanent, do you?”

“Oh, Cadi.” She stroked his head. “I need you. I do. I need a respite from the struggle. I need someone who can take my mind off it from time to time. The fact that you don’t feel it as urgently as I do is why I cherish you now. But it’s also why we must part someday.”

He pulled away. “And the sooner the better, to you.” He walked out.

Raya hoped he would come back. He usually did. She wished she could offer him more. But her passion was devoted to a greater enterprise.

She would win Mestiko back from the mar-Atyya, no matter what it cost her.

Part Three

Stardate 8006.5

(December 2282)

VosTraal, Mestiko

“H ave you all gone mad?”

Odra maVolan’s unclouded eyes glared sternly at the members of the ruling Synod, but they refused to flinch before him. Asal Janto spoke for the majority. “On the contrary. We are facing reality. The people are on the verge of revolution.”

“Then we must crack down harder, not make concessions!”

“The more we crack down, the harder they resist. We must not forget that it was the people who put us in power, because we promised them a better world, better lives. And now they will take that power away from us if we do not begin serving their needs again!”

“They do not know what they need! They have been seduced by the blasphemy spread by Lon, by elMora’s speeches smuggled from that alien hell she rightly inhabits. They are lost souls too deafened by their growling bellies to hear God’s voice. They need us to interpret it for them.”

“Because we are the only ones with enough to eat?” countered Mokar maNashol, one of the mar-Atyya cleric-administrators who had come around to Asal’s side. “They hate us, Odra, and we have given them reason. If we hope to avoid being strung up by the necks like Nal Kotyar was in Tazokka, we must show the people we are listening to them!”

“By casting aside our control altogether? By abandoning everything we have fought for this past twelveyear and more?”

“Are you so certain,” Asal asked him, “that we have no chance of winning a free election? If that is so, then do we even deserve to rule?”

“God decided that I was to rule. And I chose you to rule with me. So be cautious, Mokar, when you speak of being strung by the neck. That is the fate I dole out to enemies of the state.”

“And that is why we keep gaining more enemies,” Asal insisted. “Study your history, Odra. Killing off resistance always multiplies it rather than eliminating it.”

“Then how do we retain our power if we give the rabble the license to throw us out? When they stand outside our walls right now screaming Raya elMora’s name, how can we think that handing them power can save us?”

“It can save our lives, at least,” maNashol said. “If we step back now, we can survive to carry on the fight.”

“And be exiled, as the Zamestaad were? Be separated from the soil with which we share our very souls?” MaVolan shook his head. “Better to die here and stay as one with holy hur-Atyya.”

“You martyr yourself if you like, Odra,” said Asal.

“But you’re overruled. We’re accepting Lon’s proposal. Free elections, monitored by the Federation.”

MaVolan grimaced. “Even worse—to bring those heathens back.”

“At least,” maNashol said, “they are the one thing we all have in common. Everyone resents them equally.”

Asal was not so sure of that. Dr. Lon’s resistance movement had been very effective, both at spreading its alien plants and at disseminating their results to the people. It had become increasingly impossible to deny that the alien methods were far more effective at restoring the ecosystem than the mar-Atyya strategies could ever be. A twelveyear ago, the mar-Atyya had won the people over by promising that they could have their old, familiar plants and animals back rather than settling for a mix of alien imports and engineered native species. Now, the people were eager to see anything green and growing and alive, no matter how unfamiliar it was. Indeed, the whole generation just reaching adulthood had grown up in the wake of the Pulse; to them, hur-Atyya’s native life-forms would have been no more familiar than the alien forms introduced by the Kazarites. More and more, the old hostility against the Federation was fading. Many of the people now felt they had been better off with the Federation, while the long-standing resentments held by others had faded in the light of their more recent problems.

Of course, Raya elMora had long denounced the Federation in her smuggled rhetoric. She had toned down that theme in recent years, focusing more on the need for self-reliance and the power of the Payav to achieve their own salvation. But it still remained clear that she was anything but a partisan of the Federation. That made it all the easier for the people to trust the Federation as impartial election monitors. (Besides, who else was there? The Klingons? No one would risk going down that road again.)

MaVolan stood, dismissing the meeting in his own mind if no one else’s. “Your lack of commitment will cost you dearly. But let elMora and the Federation come. Those of us who stand firm in our conviction still have the means and the will to deal with them.”

He stormed out, and a few others on the Synod left with him—some decisively, others more timidly. Those who remained exchanged uneasy looks. The minister of security had been the first to follow maVolan out the door; naturally, the mar-Atyya leader made certain that the people in charge of the armed forces were unfailingly loyal to him. Asal had hoped that maVolan could be persuaded to accede to the elections so that matters could proceed without bloodshed. Now, that possibility seemed increasingly remote.

But she stiffened her resolve. “It doesn’t change anything,” she told the others. “This is still what we need to do. The cost in lives will be far worse if we do not. We have nothing to lose.”

“But what does the Federation have to lose?” maNashol asked.

“They will no doubt send Starfleet to monitor the election.” She sighed. “They are soldiers. They are accustomed to risking their lives.”

MaNashol nodded. “Better theirs than ours.”

U.S.S. Enterprise

C aptain Spock rose from the command chair as Raya emerged from the turbolift. He and his crew looked so formal and intimidating in the deep-red jackets and metallic insignia they wore now, as though Starfleet had finally decided to drop its friendly pretense. “Madam Councillor. Welcome to the bridge. I trust you and your colleagues find your accommodations acceptable?”

“Most acceptable, Captain,” Raya replied with a hint of irony. “We are accustomed to making do with much less.”

“Well, not for much longer, I’d wager,” said Dr. McCoy. The surgeon was hovering behind the command chair, and Raya had to wonder what he was doing on the bridge. “You’re goin’ home!”

“Yes,” she replied, throwing a wistful glance at the image of Kazar on the viewscreen. “Most of us are. Perhaps even to stay, if the people are willing. Though I fear we will not find it much of a home when we arrive, thanks to the treatment it has suffered from its current warders.”

Spock gave what Raya supposed would qualify as a frown on a Vulcan. “Although you are naturally a welcome guest aboard the Enterprise, Madam Councillor, I must again suggest that a return to Mestiko might be best postponed until after the election results are in. So long as the mar-Atyya remain in power, your safety and that of your people—”

“My people, Captain, are the millions back on Mestiko crying for responsible leadership. I must be there to stand before them on the day of the election. I must step forward and face my opponents before all and be ready to take my place immediately if that is their will, or I will not be seen as an effective leader—either in their eyes or my own.” She thought back to her long years among the refugees—arduous, difficult, painful years that had plowed many furrows in her face and raised thick calluses on her hands, but rewarding years during which she had worked side by side with her fellow Payav, not as a detached leader spewing proclamations but as a fellow refugee scrabbling in the soil, carrying her share of the load right alongside the others. She had come to believe that personal connection, that refusal to put herself above her people or ask them to do anything she would not do herself, was the key to effective leadership. Perhaps if she had known that a twelveyear ago, she would not have lost the Payav’s trust. Now she had won it back, or so it seemed, and she was determined to be worthy of it.

“Very well,” Spock said, lifting an eyebrow. “Ensign T’Lara, take us out of orbit. Ensign Domenick, plot course for Mestiko.” He depressed a button on his chair arm. “Engineering. Mr. Scott, prepare for warp speed.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Raya noticed McCoy looking at her quizzically.

“Something bothering you, ma’am?”

She smirked. “It just seems odd for James Kirk not to be here. I never imagined him the type who would retire to a life of idleness.”

McCoy’s expressive face showed ironic agreement, and there was an unexpected coldness in Spock’s voice as he said, “I would not presume to argue, Madam Councillor.”

“Me, neither,” McCoy said. “Don’t get me wrong, Antonia Salvatori’s a fine woman, a great catch. But none of us saw it coming. I—” He stopped at a look from Spock.

Raya wondered what this Antonia woman was like. Someone quiet and submissive, who would accept Kirk’s overbearing will without question and not stand up for herself? “Well. It is just as well he is not here. He has no right to show his face in these proceedings. The Payav Restoration Movement got where it is today in spite of his efforts, not because of them.”

She was not surprised by the long silence that followed. She could understand his former colleagues being uncomfortable with hearing awkward truths about the man. But what puzzled her was the thoughtful, curious way that Spock looked at her. “Captain?”

“As I said, it would be presumptuous to argue.”

“If you wish to argue, please do.”

“I am merely curious as to your interpretation of events. To what specific efforts of Admiral Kirk do you refer?”

“You know full well, Spock. He refused to take any action against the mar-Atyya coup.”

“Starfleet regulations—”

“Have not stopped James Kirk when he was determined. Yet he did nothing.”

“I see. Perhaps this is one source of confusion, for you specified ‘efforts’ rather than a lack of effort. But did he not facilitate your resettlement on Kazar?”

“In a barren desert, yes.”

Spock raised a brow. “It did not appear barren to me in our surface scans.”

“Because the Payav have made it bloom. Because we put our sweat and our blood and our souls into it, and it gave back to us.”

“Gave back?”

“The will to keep fighting. The skill to rebuild a world. A rallying point and haven for Payav refugees everywhere, and an example to the people back home that we could truly save our world.”

“Excuse me, Madam Councillor. I have made an extensive study of humanoid emotions, yet many nuances still escape me. Your exile to the Jarol Desert accomplished all this, yet you still feel anger at James Kirk for delivering you there?”

Raya was taken aback, floundering for words. “That…that was not his doing. We built that success on the results of his inaction, his refusal to help.”

“His refusal to overthrow the mar-Atyya regime.”

“Exactly!”

“Which the people of Mestiko itself have now learned they were in error to support.”

“Yes! But only after years of suffering and terrible loss.”

“Experiences that they would not have had at the time of the coup.”

“Of course not.”

“So they would have had no reason to agree with you that the mar-Atyya were unfit to lead. No reason to support your return to power, when they only knew your regime as one that had failed to restore their world.”

“No, I…suppose not.”

“Yet now they have tangible proof, not only that the mar-Atyya’s rhetoric is hollow but that yours is backed up with concrete evidence of success. Proof that Mestiko cannot be restored without the use of alien biota, biotechnology, and resources.”

Raya pressed her lips together. “I see where you are going with this, Captain. That none of this would have happened without James Kirk’s choices. But Kirk does not deserve the credit. If any human does, it is Marat Lon. He did not simply retreat and leave things to work out for themselves. He went down to live among my people, to fight for them at profound risk to his life. He became one of us.”

“Yes. All made possible through cosmetic surgery performed in the Enterprise sickbay.”

McCoy smiled. “One of my finer pieces of work, if I do say so myself.”

Spock turned to him. “If you can set your proclivity for subjective assessments aside for the moment, Doctor…is it routine for a Starfleet vessel’s chief medical officer to perform extensive cosmetic surgery on a civilian at his own request?”

“No, Spock,” McCoy said, glaring a bit. “Even a starship this big only has so many supplies to go around. It takes authorization from the captain to do something like that.”

“What if the surgery is pursuant to a personal mission to infiltrate a hostile civilization?”

“Deliberately helping a patient put himself in harm’s way? No way would I volunteer to do something like that. Again, I’d need orders from my CO.”

“So I take it you received such orders in Dr. Lon’s case?”

McCoy grimaced. “Cut it out, Spock. You were there in the damn room when Jim told me to do it.”

“All right,” Raya said. “You have established your point—though you two could stand to improve your teamwork skills.” They exchanged a bemused look.

“But you forget it was James Kirk who tried to take Lon away from our world three years ago.”

“Who was ordered to take him away,” McCoy corrected.

“And ultimately did not do so,” Spock added. “His superiors were not pleased. But they were mollified when Lon’s notes proved beneficial in restoring a degree of ecological balance to Verzhik.”

“All right. You have made your position clear. But millions have died under the mar-Atyya, and countless critically endangered species have gone extinct. Kirk did not prevent that.”

“No, he did not,” Spock answered bluntly. “But given the circumstances prevailing at the time, can you suggest how anyone else could have?”

Only the chirping of the bridge’s consoles filled the long silence that followed.

VosTraal, Mestiko

P avel Chekov always hated beaming down into a mob. It rarely turned out well.

In this case, he thought hopefully as the transporter effect faded around him and Captain Terrell, at least the crowd of aspiring voters had not become a mob yet. And for the most part, they were probably not likely to take out their aggressions on Starfleet personnel. Over the course of this long, turbulent election day, the Reliant’s crew had been working tirelessly alongside the Federation election monitors, keeping watch over polling places scattered across Mestiko and ensuring that the Payav’s right to free and fair elections was not infringed upon.

Since the polls opened, the reports from Lieutenant Commander Nizhoni and her security staff had felt more like a running commentary to Chekov and Terrell, who had monitored them from the Reliant’s bridge. Barely had one attempt at electoral fraud been exposed and neutralized than another was detected. Nizhoni’s people, and the Payav police forces sympathetic to their efforts, had captured numerous Payav attempting to sneak in devices that could hack the voting computers or infect them with viruses. The science and engineering departments had been kept busy double-checking the voting computers to ensure they had not been tampered with, and in some cases purging those that had been (regrettably rendering many votes invalid but ensuring the legitimacy of those that followed). Government operatives and party loyalists had been caught attempting to vote multiple times at different polling places, using various assumed names culled from the swollen ranks of Mestiko’s dead. Visual surveillance and biometric scans had helped to thwart their efforts; not every polling place on Mestiko was so equipped, but all the monitoring teams had tricorders linked into a planetwide network. In some places, poll workers had been caught giving false voting instructions or trying to pressure people into voting for the sitting regime. In others, street gangs recruited as religious enforcers had been discovered harassing voters away from the polls.

It seemed that, although the mar-Atyya government had nominally agreed to go along with the elections, many of its members only saw them as a means to quell public unrest by giving the illusion of legitimacy to their regime. Many, but not all, Chekov believed; a number of people in the government, notably High Minister Janto herself, had been unfailingly cooperative with the election monitors. They knew their regime could not survive a free election, but Chekov sensed they were as fed up with Mestiko’s decaying ecological and social conditions as the masses were. Perhaps they hoped to salvage some place for themselves in the restored Zamestaad by supporting its return to power; maybe they were even past caring about their own careers so long as they helped their planet survive. Chekov was skeptical of the latter, but given how bad things were now, he couldn’t deny the possibility that Janto and those like her had simply concluded they had nothing left to lose.

But as the day had worn on, the attempts at election tampering had grown more blatant. The street gangs had attempted to assault the polls openly, either to shut them down or to engage in booth capturing—seizing the voting computers for themselves and entering multiple votes for the sitting regime. The Reliant’s sickbay had been called into action treating the Starfleet and Payav security personnel injured in repelling their attacks.

And now, things were reaching the boiling point. Odra maVolan had sent in the military to shut down the elections altogether, declaring them a violation of holy law and thus invalid whatever their outcome. That was what had brought Clark Terrell down to tackle the situation firsthand.

Frankly, Chekov was surprised it had taken this long. Terrell may have been a more laid-back, soft-spoken commander than James Kirk, but he was very like Kirk in his readiness to lead the way into danger, his distaste for being left behind in a safe, familiar bridge while his crew made new discoveries or took risks on his behalf. Only his need to monitor the situation planetwide had kept him on the ship until now. As usual, Chekov had insisted on coming along to watch his back, and Terrell had cheerily welcomed the company.

Now, Terrell sighed and shook his head at the sight of the army troops blocking the entrance to the polling place, brandishing their weapons menacingly at the crowd. “People are alike all over,” he said. “My great-granddaddy used to tell me about how his great-granddaddy had to go through nonsense like this to get his right to vote.”

“Russian history has such stories, too,” Chekov said. “Back in the—”

“Wait.” Chekov followed Terrell’s gaze to where a group of voters was arguing loudly with the soldiers. It looked as if violence could break out any moment.

“Damnation,” Terrell muttered before striding forward determinedly.

“Excuse me!” Terrell called as he came closer to the soldiers, his voice at once commanding and amiable. Many heads swung toward him, along with some video cameras operated by the local media. “Excuse me. Hello. I’m Captain Terrell of the U.S.S. Reliant. What seems to be the problem here?”

The leader of the troops strode forward to confront him. “Stay out of our affairs, mar-Tunyor. This gathering has been declared blasphemous and in violation of holy law. We are here to shut it down.”

“Why is that, exactly?”

“Because our great and wise leader, Odra maVolan, has declared it!” The crowd booed.

“No…” Terrell waited for the noise to die down.

“No, I meant what exactly makes this election so unholy? What specific doctrines does it violate?”

“It is impure!” the squad leader said. “It is contaminated by alien influences.”

Terrell shrugged. “It was your own people who asked for it. Your own Synod who approved it and invited Federation monitors. And all the voting equipment is your own. The monitors and Starfleet personnel have only acted to ensure that everyone has fair access and the votes are counted fairly.”

“Your very presence here contaminates it!”

Terrell caught his gaze. “What’s your name, son?”

The squad leader paused, taken aback. “I am Squad Leader Var Nysul.”

“Tell me, Var—is that what you believe? That this election is wrong?”

“I serve the will of the faithful.”

“But is that what you believe? Look around you, son. Are you willing to start shooting these people to keep them from voting? Do you believe that would be good for your world? For your people, even the faithful?”

“Those are my orders. I serve as I am commanded.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question, Var.”

Chekov noticed that the news cameras were fixed on Terrell now. He jogged over to the nearest one.

“How wide is your coverage?” he asked the operator.

“Can they see this planetwide?”

“No,” she replied. “For anyone but the state, access to the airwaves is erratic.”

“I think I can do something about that.” With the operator’s permission, he tied his tricorder into her feed and called Kyle on the Reliant. “Can you send this all over the planet?”

“If I bounce it off the right satellites, sure.”

“Then do it.”

By now, Terrell was turning to the other soldiers around Nysul. “How about you, young lady? Or you? Do you believe this election shouldn’t happen?”

“They do as they are ordered!” Nysul shouted, though without much conviction.

“That’s still not the question. What do you believe, people?” he asked the soldiers again. “What do you want for your world? What do your families want? What do you think is best for them?”

“You attempt to influence the election!” Nysul objected.

Terrell smirked. “You’re the one saying there shouldn’t be an election—why should you care?” The crowd laughed. “But all I’m asking is whether these men and women really believe that opening fire on their own people to stop a free election is good for the Payav—or the mar-Atyya, or whomever. And if so, why? All of you, please,” he went on, meeting the soldiers’ eyes one by one. “Can you tell me why this is the right thing to do? Can you go home to your families and tell them?”

After a moment, one soldier cursed, lowered her weapon, and broke formation, moving to stand with the crowd. A moment later, a second soldier followed. Then a third, a fourth, and more. “You are all traitors!” Nysul cried as the hemorrhaging of troops continued. “We are serving holy law!” He waved his rifle at the defectors, who readied their own weapons to defend the crowd. “Get back into formation! Now! I order you! I will open fire!”

“And what would that accomplish?” Terrell demanded. “You’d kill one or two of your own comrades in arms before they killed you. You’d probably start a riot that would get thousands of people killed and destroy any chance of avoiding a bloody revolution. And what would it get you? Would it save the mar-Atyya regime or just destroy any chance that it could avoid getting slaughtered?”

Now the rifle swung to bear right between Terrell’s eyes. “You do not tell me what to do, alien!”

Terrell didn’t flinch. “No. That’s a decision you have to make for yourself. What you choose in the next moment could determine the whole course of this world’s history from this point forward. Just make sure that you think about what you’re doing and why before you do. Too many people use guns as an excuse to react instead of thinking. But when you’re holding a gun on someone, when your finger’s on the trigger, that’s when you need to think the most. Because that’s the most important decision you’re ever going to make.

“Right now, Var Nysul, you may be the most important person on hur-Atyya. What happens next isn’t up to maVolan or the Synod or even God. They may have put you here, but you’re the man with his finger on the trigger. And which way that finger moves is up to you.

“So make your decision, son. Make it your own.”

Terrell’s gaze didn’t waver. But before long, the rifle barrel did. A moment later, it clattered to the ground. But the tail end of the clatter was lost in the roar of the crowd. Terrell led Nysul aside, patting him on the back, as the rest of the troops stood down and allowed the voters to stream into the polling place once more—and then began moving to the backs of the lines themselves.

Soon, Chekov managed to catch up with Terrell, who’d just handed Nysul off to some of his fellow troops. “Captain,” Chekov said, “that was amazing!”

Terrell sagged against the wall, and Chekov could see he was shaking. “Don’t ever let me do a damn fool thing like that again. From now on, I’m leaving Russian roulette to you Russians.”

“Nonsense, sir. You have the heart of a Russian.” He clapped his captain—his friend—on the shoulder. Yes, this man was very much like James Kirk, in all the ways that mattered. “No matter what they throw at you, Clark, you will always triumph.”

U.S.S. Enterprise

R aya elMora stood before the bridge viewscreen, staring down the destroyer of her world. “It looks so innocuous,” she said as the pulsar flickered on the screen, occasionally obscured by a burst of static. In the seventeen standard years since the irradiation of Mestiko, the spinning neutron star had traveled some one hundred thirty-two astronomical units, well beyond Hertex’s planetary system though within the boundaries of its Oort Cloud. “Perhaps because I no longer fear it.”

Spock would have found her sentiment commendable in other circumstances. “Nonetheless, Madam Councillor, it remains a serious navigational hazard. Ideally, we should not even be this close. The gravimetric interference—”

“Is not critical at this range, Captain Spock, as you explained before. The election is already under way. We must take the most direct route possible. I trust Engineer Scott to maintain the warp-field balance until we are clear.”

Spock frowned. “I am also concerned that—”

Suddenly, the ship shuddered, and a second later, it underwent a violent deceleration. Spock caught Raya before she was flung into the forward railing, clutching the helm console to retain his own footing. “What was that?” Raya asked once she caught her breath.

“An uncannily well-timed example of the concern I was about to express,” Spock replied, an eyebrow climbing toward his hairline. “We have fallen out of warp after taking weapons fire—no doubt from a ship using the pulsar’s sensor interference for cover.”

The ship shook again. “Three vessels, sir,” Lieutenant Worene reported from tactical. “Mestikan design.”

“Warp engines are offline, sir,” T’Lara reported from the helm.

“Evasive maneuvers at impulse,” Spock ordered.

“The mar-Atyya!” Raya exclaimed. “They will stop at nothing to cling to power.”

“Fortunately, our shields were already raised against the pulsar,” Spock said.

But the next hit was a strong one, making the power systems fluctuate. “Sir!” Worene cried. “Their weapons read as Klingon disruptors! Their engines show Klingon signatures, too.”

Spock strode over to the tactical station to peer over the Aulacri’s shoulder. From his usual place at the aft railing, McCoy asked, “Did the mar-Atyya make a deal with the Klingons again?”

“They would never deal with offworlders,” Raya answered.

“But apparently,” Spock added, “they are not above using leftover technology from the Norrb alliance with the Klingons—or perhaps from Alur orJada’s smuggling activities. These readings match Klingon technology from that era.”

“So much for purity,” said McCoy.

“Lieutenant, return fire. Aim to disable only. Mr. Pilar,” Spock continued, turning to the Argelian at communications, “attempt to hail the Reliant and request assistance.”

Pilar made the attempt, but the results were as Spock anticipated. “Too much interference, sir.”

“Very well. Helm, continue evasive while attempting to clear the pulsar’s ionization field.”

T’Lara acknowledged the order. The young Vulcan handled the helm with great skill and efficiency, though without the artistry of a Hikaru Sulu. However, the three ships were able to keep the Enterprise confined within a tetrahedral englobement, using the pulsar itself as the fourth point. Worene’s fire failed to penetrate their shields, which must have been Klingon-made as well—and considerably overpowered, judging from the emission curves they displayed. Spock surmised that the xenophobic and paranoid mar-Atyya leaders had spent years constructing the most powerful ships possible to defend their world against alien threats. Their technology was secondhand and more than a decade behind the times, but the sheer power driving it made it formidable.

Spock lamented the absence of James Kirk’s tactical brilliance in this situation. But what intuition could achieve in one leap, careful reason and hard work could arrive at as well. Needing more information, Spock relieved Lieutenant Haley and took the science station himself. Despite several years as a captain, he still felt most comfortable there, at the heart of the information flow. He scanned the pulsar as well as he could through the interference, filling in the gaps with preprogrammed simulations updated with the latest readings, displayed on one of the science station’s circular screens. He modeled the enemy’s englobement strategy, observing the shifting vectors on an adjacent screen. From knowledge came ideas.

“Well, Spock? Do you have a plan?” Ahh, yes—the inevitable goading from McCoy. Once it had been a distraction, but now it felt like a natural part of his decision-making process, keeping him “on his toes,” as Kirk might say.

“Always, Doctor. Ensign T’Lara—take us in toward the pulsar. Use the course and timing I am sending you,” he added, working the transfer controls of his console.

“You want to take us closer?” McCoy exclaimed over T’Lara’s acknowledgment. “When did that become a good idea?”

“At impulse, the primary hazards are electromagnetic and particulate radiation, plus tidal stresses should we draw too close. However, it should not be necessary to come that near.”

“Pursuers are slowing, sir,” Worene reported.

Spock raised an eyebrow at McCoy, wordlessly inquiring if he saw it now.

Indeed, the doctor was beginning to smile. “Of course. After what that thing did to their world, they’re afraid to get too close to it.”

“Correct. I imagine it must have strained their discipline even to draw close enough to hide in its interference field. I noted that they began their attack in its outskirts.”

“Captain,” Raya asked, “are we not drawing too close to—” She blinked, for the pulsar had vanished from the screen before she finished speaking.

“The emission cones?” he finished for her. “Our course was carefully timed to pass between their sweeps.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “I doubt they will follow us through that.”

“They are no doubt already circling at a greater distance,” Spock replied. “If we tried to make an end run for Mestiko, they could still intercept us at warp. We must make our stand here.”

“Can’t we at least get some distance from the pulsar, so they can’t trap us with our back to it again?” McCoy asked.

“Negative, Doctor. This is exactly where I wish us to be.”

“Because of the psychological advantage it gives us?” Raya asked.

“That is helpful. But it is not the only power the pulsar provides us with.”

“Mar-Atyya ships coming around again,” Worene reported. “Closing to intercept.”

“Resume fire, but reduce energy level by twenty percent. Allow them to believe we sustained damage in our passage.”

“Make them overconfident?” McCoy asked. “One of Jim’s old bluffs.”

“A proven tactic, Doctor. Helm, reverse course. Make it appear we are repeating the previous maneuver. They may well be emboldened to approach the pulsar more closely this time. Tactical, continue firing with aft phasers, but target a torpedo on the pulsar itself.”

McCoy and Raya both cried “What?” at the same time. Spock attempted to explain quickly.

“In passing through Hertex’s stellar wind, the pulsar has gathered a thin layer of hydrogen, fused to helium by the intense surface gravity. But the helium layer has not become dense enough to fuse further. The torpedo should trigger a fusion cascade, producing a burst of intense radiation in all directions.” He turned back to Worene. “Tactical. Forward shields and navigational deflector to maximum.” He hit the shipwide intercom. “All personnel, secure for radiation burst. Take all forward sensors offline, and deploy blast shields over all forward ports. All nonessential personnel clear forward compartments.”

“You’re going to blind them?” McCoy asked. “And hope we don’t get fried in the process?”

“Doctor, have sickbay prepare hyronalin injections as a precaution.” McCoy glared for a moment, then left the bridge to see to it personally.

“Captain,” Raya asked, “is there any risk this could trigger a starquake?”

Spock contained his surprise. It should not have been unexpected that the leader of a world ravaged by a pulsar would have studied pulsars in detail. “The risk is exceedingly remote, Madam Councillor.”

“But not zero.”

“No.”

“If a starquake were to happen, the gamma burst would be devastating for light-years around.”

“Possibly. It depends on the attributes of the pulsar.”

“I can’t let you risk subjecting Mestiko to another Pulse!”

“At this range,” Spock told her evenly but quickly, “the populace would have eighteen hours’ advance notice to retreat to shelter. There is little more damage that could be done to the environment than has already been done. The ozone layer would be destroyed again, but the equipment for its restoration is already in place. And again, the odds are very remote.”

“And what would happen to us?”

The ship shuddered from weapons fire again.

“Madam Councillor…shall I proceed?”

She held his gaze for a moment, then set her jaw and said, “Yes.”

“Lieutenant, status of attackers.”

“Still pursuing, sir. But starting to slow.”

“Fire torpedo.”

The pulsar’s sensor interference no doubt blinded the attacking ships to the torpedo launch. Its impact went unseen by the Enterprise as well, but Spock could hear the crackling that began some moments later as the intense radiation burst induced electrical discharges across the ship’s outer hull. Bridge consoles sparked and flickered as some of the discharges leapt over the circuit breakers. The air temperature rose by several degrees within moments.

But soon enough, the discharges faded, and Spock ordered the sensors back online. “The pulsar?” Raya asked.

“We are still here, Madam Councillor. Therefore, there was no starquake.” While Raya absorbed that, Spock ran a scan. “They are on random trajectories; at least one is drifting. Life readings are nominal, power readings fluctuating. We have gained the advantage.”

After that, it was short work for Worene to knock out the ships’ remaining shields, then neutralize their weapons and propulsion systems with pinpoint blasts. “We can beam the crews aboard and detain them until their disposition is decided by the proper authorities,” Spock told Raya.

She smirked. “Whoever those authorities turn out to be. Which reminds me…I would like to get to the polls before they close, if that is still possible.”

Spock nodded. “I believe that can be arranged.”

Raya turned back to the viewscreen, where the reactivated sensors showed the pulsar once more, now glowing steadily with residual incandescence from the fusion burst. “This is a healing moment for Mestiko,” she said.

“Madam Councillor?”

“The thing that nearly destroyed our world has now, perhaps, played a role in saving it. It is a new beginning.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied. “Often that which appears to be a threat can prove to be a benefit—if one’s mind is open to the possibilities.”

She met his eyes, and he saw that she took his meaning.

Mestiko

“R aya! You’re home!”

Raya beamed at the familiar voice and laughed as Theena elMadej rushed into her arms. The little waif had blossomed into a fine, striking woman, but she still squealed like a little girl at the reunion. “And you won!” she went on. “It’s the biggest landslide in electoral history!”

“Don’t get used to it,” Elee said, her rough voice a tonic to Raya’s ears. She had stayed safe all these years by keeping a low profile but had been one of the first to greet Raya on her return. She was more gaunt and aged than ever, trembling and brittle-boned from years of nutritional deficiencies. But she had kept on fighting while so many others had died around her, and she still had the same old fire in her eyes. “Everyone wanted the mar-Atyya out, but it won’t be long before all the old agendas resurface. Enjoy this unity while it lasts, Raya.”

“I think things will go better this time,” Dr. McCoy said from where he leaned against the wall of the reception hall. “Raya’s folks on Kazar learned a lot of useful skills for makin’ dead places bloom. The people can see it’s not just promises anymore. And I doubt they’ll be so quick to reject outside help.”

Theena threw him a glare. “What Raya and the Payav did, we did on our own. If we’ve learned anything, it’s how to take care of ourselves instead of relying on others, whether God or aliens.”

“Now, Theena,” Raya told her. “True, we can and will rely on our own strengths. But one of those strengths is the willingness to trust in others. We exiles benefited greatly from the Kazarites’ knowledge and resources. And the tireless efforts of Dr. Lon here did much to hold the mar-Atyya’s policies at bay. Because of him, we don’t have quite as far to go in restoring the biosphere, and we’ll restore it far faster with his help.” She turned to where the human scientist, still in his Payav guise, stood with his wife, Daki, and their son and daughter. “Or is it Dr. etDeja now?”

He shrugged. “I still think of myself that way. But everyone in the media and Starfleet is calling me Lon, so I suppose I’ll have to get used to that again.” He looked at his hands. “I think I’ll keep the added thumbs, though.”

Daki laughed. “He’s learned to do some interesting things with them—I’d hate to lose them.”

Captain Spock caught Raya’s attention. “Madam Councillor. Have you decided yet on the disposition of our mar-Atyya prisoners?” Now that she had been officially reelected—and hastily reinaugurated—as the Jo’Zamestaad, and now that diplomatic relations with the Federation were officially restored, Spock had left the decision in her hands.

“They may join the rest of the deposed regime in exile on Kazar. Perhaps there they can discover the benefits of working with aliens.” Privately, though, she was sure it would feel like a living hell for the fanatics. She took some pleasure in that. Except that maVolan himself had committed suicide just before the new security troops came for him. Apparently, he would rather die on his homeworld than spend a moment away from it. Or perhaps he just could not live with failure. “However, those members of the regime who supported the free elections—and did not attempt to subvert them—may remain and be allowed to do their part in rebuilding Mestiko, albeit without the power and wealth they were accustomed to under the mar-Atyya regime. They will have to earn their keep with the rest of us.”

It had been hard for Raya to make that choice about Asal Janto. True, her onetime friend had been instrumental in helping the mar-Atyya achieve their coup and implement their policies. But had it not been Asal, it would have been another figurehead. And Asal had been one of the leading voices for reform. Upon Raya’s return, one of her first actions had been to have a long talk with Asal, wherein she’d realized that her old classmate felt true remorse and truly seemed to understand that unwavering faith was not enough. She wanted to make amends, to go on fighting for her world as she had always striven to do even when her methods had been in error. Raya had reluctantly granted her request. It would be hard to deal with the emotions of sharing the same planet with the woman who had betrayed her, and hard to appease the many others who felt the same way. But as she had said on the Enterprise, it was time for the healing to begin. And this was a good place to start. Perhaps someday, even the mar-Atyya could learn from their exile and be welcomed back into the fold.

Spock met her gaze approvingly, and though his face did not change, she imagined she saw a smile in his eyes. “Thank you, Madam Councillor. I believe the future of Mestiko is in good hands.”

Epilogue

Stardate 8061.3

(September 2283)

Sierra Nevada, California

J im Kirk was out in the yard chopping wood, stripped to blue jeans and enjoying the cool mountain air on his skin, when the Starfleet security people beamed in. He let the axe dangle unthreateningly in his hand but still rewarded them with a glare. “If Morrow sent you, remind him I’m a civilian now.”

The lieutenant, a young Asian woman, stepped toward him. “That won’t be necessary, sir. A foreign dignitary is here to visit you, and we had to check the area.”

Kirk chuckled. “For what? Grizzly bears?”

“Procedure, sir.”

“Thanks for reminding me why I retired,” Kirk muttered as he retrieved his flannel shirt. He was glad Antonia had gone into Lone Pine for the afternoon. She’d never had any patience with Starfleet discipline and militarism. After more than a year, he was still trying to figure out how she put up with him.

The male guard finished his tricorder sweep and gave the all-clear. The lieutenant signaled San Francisco, and a moment later, the transporter chimes began again. Kirk sighed and turned to greet whoever it was.

And gaped when Raya elMora materialized before him. “Raya! My God!” He reflexively ran forward to hug her, then slowed, remembering that she might not be receptive to such a greeting. But she laughed and met him halfway. “What are you doing here?” he asked when she released him.

“Affairs of state. Negotiating for the next round of relief supplies. And recruiting scientists.”

“Don’t you have plenty there already?”

“Ecologists, yes. But we’re making plans to open a general research center at our old lunar base. It’s Theena’s idea—start a facility that can draw the brightest minds from across the galaxy, a place where they can pursue any research they wish.”

“Can Mestiko spare the resources to support that?”

“Theena’s convinced me that we can’t afford not to have it. We need to start giving something back to the galaxy, proving we can be equals instead of a charity case.” She smiled. “And of course, the more geniuses we have on hand, the better our chances of finding quick solutions to whatever future problems might arise as we rebuild Mestiko. Perhaps we could even find a way to restore our orbit someday.”

“Makes sense.”

“Anyway, I just had to come and see you. I wanted to surprise you, but these officers insisted—”

“It’s all right. I’m more than adequately surprised. Come in, come in!” he said, ushering her toward the cabin he shared with Antonia. “Frankly, I never thought you’d want to—”

Raya suddenly yelped and pulled up short as Butler appeared in the doorway and began barking. Kirk strode forward. “Butler! Easy, boy.” The dog subsided, and Kirk knelt by him, stroking his head. “That’s right. Raya’s a friend.”

“What…is that?”

“A Great Dane. A dog!”

“Are you sure? From the descriptions I’ve read of Earth animals, it seems more like a horse.”

Kirk laughed. “It’s all right. Just let him sniff your hand, you’ll be fine.” She gingerly followed his advice and skirted around Butler as he led her into the cabin. “Wait until I introduce you to a real horse. You could come riding with Antonia and me.”

“Yes, where is this Antonia I have heard your colleagues speak of?”

“She’ll be back in a little while. Say, can you stay for dinner? I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

“I’m sorry, I have a meeting this evening. Several, in fact. Give her my regrets.” She looked around, taking in the cabin’s rustic features—the stone walls, the wood beams and panels, the potbelly stove, the antiques and books on the shelves. “I never would have expected to see anyplace so…primitive on Earth.”

Kirk chuckled. “We take pride in our heritage. Some of us, anyway.”

“No offense intended. It reminds me of the homes we built on Kazar. I spent many a day chopping wood myself. And planting fields, and building houses, and making tools, and—”

“All right, all right, you win.” He chuckled. “This must seem…dilettantish to you. But…” He sighed.

“After so many years out there…I just wanted to get away from it all.”

“You are never what I expect, James. I thought you loved your ship more than anything.”

“I thought so, too. Then I met Antonia, and I realized…maybe it was time I started loving something else for a change.”

“She must be a remarkable woman.”

“She is that. Would you like some coffee?”

Raya hesitated. “I never developed a taste for it. Do you have hot chocolate?”

He grinned. “A discerning woman. I think I can scare some up.”

As he rummaged in the cabinets, Raya’s attention was drawn to his trophy wall, the one concession to modernity in his home, where his collection of antique weapons shared space with a portrait of the Enterprise, its original dedication plaque, and a photo of its command crew taken at the end of their last five-year tour together. “I see you haven’t completely stopped loving your ship.”

“There were certainly some special times there. For all those years, I fought hard to get her back, to keep her. But eventually, one by one, the crew started to drift away, to pursue their own careers. And I realized I wasn’t enjoying it as much without them. I realized that maybe it wasn’t the ship that mattered to me so much as the people. The family.”

“Yes. I understand that feeling.”

“So once Antonia and I became involved, I began to think that maybe it was time for me to try a different kind of family.”

“Family?” Raya asked. “Is there a child yet?”

The spoon clinked loudly against the mug. Kirk cleared his throat. “Well…we’re taking this one step at a time.”

“So much for the bold Admiral Kirk.”

“He had his day.” He finished adding the marshmallows and brought their mugs over to her. As she sipped the chocolate gingerly, he studied the crew picture. “I realized something else, too. I was holding Spock back. He may not like to admit it, but he makes a great captain.”

“He has taken to it rather well,” she agreed.

“So how are things on Mestiko?” he asked, leading her to a seat in the living room.

“Rapidly improving. The frostbuster moss is back with a vengeance, and the Kazarites are already planting the first pine and daggerleaf forests. They’re adapting some of our desert animals from Jarol for cold climates—there should be enough oxygen to introduce them within a year or two. Within a twelveyear—sorry, nine years for you—people should be living on the surface again. And they’ll be living free, and, I hope, not so quick to throw it away this time.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

She lowered her eyes. “And I suppose I need to thank you for it. And to apologize.”

He shook his head. “You don’t owe me either.”

“I do. I thought you were abandoning us. But you planned this from the start. You helped us by refusing to help us. By putting us in a position where we would have to learn to help ourselves—and to learn for ourselves that we could not do it alone.”

Kirk stared into his mug. “I only regret that so many people had to die in the interim. Once…I would’ve fought to keep that from happening. Would’ve barged in and made people play by my rules and patted myself on the back for saving them. But over the years, I learned it doesn’t work that way. People don’t trust solutions you impose on them from outside. They have to find answers within themselves. And that means sometimes you have to stand back, let them make their own mistakes, and hope they learn from them before it’s too late.”

She came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did more than that, James. You sent my people to Kazar, where we could learn to rebuild a world and be free to build a coalition. You let Dr. Lon go underground where he could do the most good. Even as you left us to make our mistakes, you gave us the tools we needed to fix them when we were ready.” She shook her head. “You saw all that, years in advance. You saw it long before I did, before any of us did.”

“I guess my time as chief of operations taught me how to play the long game. And playing chess against Spock for a couple of decades helps, too.” He repressed a sigh. Antonia had never taken to chess, certainly not the three-dimensional kind. He missed it sometimes. “Still…on occasion, that means making impossible choices, like at Mestiko. I’m glad to be free of that responsibility.”

She looked around. “So what do you do instead, James? What use do you make of the wisdom you’ve gained?”

“Who says everything has to have a use? I live my life. I share it with a woman and a dog who love me. I commune with nature. I read. There’s so much literature I missed out on all those years hopping stars. So many other things I always wanted to do but never had time. I’m writing a book, did you know that? Well, trying to. I haven’t gotten very far. But there’s no rush.”

Raya looked him over. “So, basically…you just exist.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“I take it back, James. This place is not like our homes on Kazar.” She laid down the empty mug and stood. “Everything we did there, we did for a purpose. We had no room for indulgence. We dedicated our own lives to making a difference in the lives of others. And that has enabled us to make our homeworld better once again—to help the millions still in need.

“That is something that, although I did not admit it at the time, I got from you, James. That determination, that commitment to making a difference. You put us on the path.”

He looked away. “Then I’ve done my part. I’m entitled to make things better in my own life for a change.”

“Is this better, James? No challenges to face, no problems to solve? Can you really sit here contentedly, chopping wood and reading books, when you know there is a galaxy of worlds out there needing someone to make a difference for them?”

“There are others who can do that.”

“And there is still you.”

“I have what I always wanted.”

She sighed. “Maybe so. But you know something? That rarely lasts. You never know what will come swooping out of the heavens to take it away. And you can sit around and wait for it, or you can go out there and dare it to try.”

After an awkward moment, she moved closer and took his hands. “Complacency doesn’t suit you, James Kirk. This is a pleasant sabbatical, and you’ve earned it. But you’ll be back in Starfleet before long. I guarantee it.”

“Antonia couldn’t live with that.”

“Then that will be her problem to solve. For her sake, I hope she does. It would be a shame if she let you get away.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I need to go. Thank you for the chocolate.”

He showed her to the door. “Will we ever see each other again?”

Raya grinned at him. “I’m sure we will, James—in my home. On Mestiko.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Acknowledgments

If you’ve read the acknowledgments in the previous installments of this miniseries, you know that each of my illustrious predecessors has acknowledged the contributions of the whole group and the importance of the collaborative process in the creation of this series. In that spirit, let me just say:

I did it all myself! It was me, all me! That whole pulsar thing? My idea, completely! I’ve been carrying everyone else this whole time!

Of course, I’m just kidding, in the spirit of often boisterous fun that’s characterized this whole project. This story wouldn’t have existed if Keith R.A. DeCandido hadn’t come up with the idea of a miniseries to celebrate Star Trek’s fortieth anniversary and assembled this team to write it. Thanks to him for picking me for the team and for giving me the opportunity to work alongside legends like Mike Barr, Howie Weinstein, and Margaret Wander Bonanno… not to mention my fellow young upstarts Dayton Ward and Kevin Dilmore, plus Dave Galanter, who’s somewhere in between the generations (it’s hard to pin him down about himself because he won’t stop going on about the monkeys).

A number of specific elements in The Darkness Drops Again were conceived in our group e-mail exchanges and snapped up by me. Mike created Dr. Lon and suggested his story arc through the saga. Dave and Dayton (among others) proposed looking into the refugee side of the story. Kevin found the solar-system simulator that helped me figure out the gravitational effects of the pulsar on Hertex’s planets. Howie proposed the character that became Asal Janto and planted the seed for the idea of her misguided push for a radiation shield. Keith came up with the terms used by the mar-Atyya and the name of the system’s star, among other terminology. And other ideas are too much a product of the gestalt to pin down to any one person.

The attributes of the Kazarites and Zaranites were described by Robert Fletcher in his costume notes for Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The customizable TMP-era shuttles with their “plug-in” modules come from a design sketch done for the movie by Andrew Probert. Minara is from “The Empath” by Joyce Muskat, and Beta Niobe is from “All Our Yesterdays” by Jean Lissette Aroeste. The Wraith stealth shuttle is from Star Trek: Traitor Winds by L.A. Graf. Mr. Leslie was played by Eddie Paskey and appeared in dozens of TOS episodes. Captain Terrell (the late, great Paul Winfield) comes from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. Admiral Morrow (Robert Hooks) comes from Star Trek III: The Search for Spock. And young Ensign T’Lara will grow up to become Admiral T’Lara (Deborah Strang) from Deep Space Nine: “Rules of Engagement.”

Well, this has been fun. Let’s do it again for the fiftieth anniversary!

About the Author

CHRISTOPHER L. BENNETT is the author of Star Trek: Ex Machina, the critically acclaimed follow-up to the events and character threads of Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The Darkness Drops Again marks his return to the post-TMP milieu, as well as his first return to the eBook format since Star Trek: S.C.E.#29: Aftermath, now available in trade-paperback form. His other Star Trek fiction includes Titan: Orion’s Hounds and stories in the anthologies Deep Space Nine: Prophecy and Change, Voyager: Distant Shores, and Star Trek: Constellations, plus the upcoming novel Star Trek: The Buried Age, detailing Captain Picard’s missing years between the Stargazer and the EnterpriseD. His other works include two original novelettes in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, the novel X-Men: Watchers on the Walls, and an upcoming Spider-Man novel.

More information, original fiction, and cat pictures can be found at http://home.fuse.net/ChristopherL Bennett/.

Table of Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three