Today, however, that smile was a bit sad. “Captain, good to see you again.”

  “Same here, Ambassador.”

  “This is a most unfortunate incident. I was surprised that Raya came to me so quickly; that indicates the gravity. And I wanted you to know she specifically insisted that Starfleet send you and the Enterprise. She has a deep and abiding trust in you, Captain.”

  “I appreciate that, sir. What’s your general impression of things on Mestiko these days?”

  Settoon’s expression brightened, just a little. “Ahh! Quite good, actually. It’s all too easy for diplomats to get caught up in official events that keep us from truly knowing the planet and people we’re visiting. So I always like to put on comfy shoes and walk, walk, walk everywhere. I also love to cook, and I do not consider my job done until I’ve learned to cook local dishes like a native. When I first got to Mestiko, the atmosphere was still unfit for long exposure. And native ecosystems were so damaged there was almost nothing indigenous to cook. Now I am able to walk, walk, walk wherever I choose. And I’ve mastered enough native dishes to write my own Meals of Mestiko cookbook. So that’s all good. But now this…” His voice trailed off, but then his smile returned. “You will set things to right, Captain. I am at your service. And before you leave, allow me to cook a meal for you.”

  Unable to help a smile at the ambassador’s enthusiasm, Kirk said, “I’d like that, Ambassador. Kirk out.”

  As soon as the Enterprise entered Mestiko’s orbit, Raya beamed aboard. As she stepped off the transporter platform, Kirk greeted her with a boyish grin and the traditional Payav handshake, his arms outstretched with his left hand up and right hand down, Raya placing her palms on his. But Raya looked as grim as he’d ever seen her. “It’s bad, James, and the more we learn, the worse it gets.”

  “The briefing room is this way,” Kirk said as he escorted her down the corridor. “You look good.”

  The compliment caught her by surprise. “Oh! Thank you.” Her eyelids fluttered in embarrassment and a pearly blush darkened her pale gray cheeks. “You too.”

  She really did look great, Kirk thought. The passage of time was fairly discernible in the deep furrows that had been etched in her face. How much of that was the stress of running the planet and how much was the result of her difficult years of exile on Kazar, Kirk couldn’t say for sure. However, her long, graceful neck showed none of the sagging skin so common to humans and Payav alike as they aged. And the delicate tattoo filigree running the full length of her neck seemed more vibrant than he remembered.

  “Your tattoos,” he ventured, “they look… different.”

  “Yes,” she said with a touch of satisfaction. “I had the colors brightened a bit. Payav men don’t usually notice such things, which is quite annoying. Are human men more observant?”

  “Not according to human women.”

  In the privacy of the turbolift, Raya’s fingers gently brushed the silver flecks feathering Kirk’s hair above his pointed sideburns. “You look… distinguished,” she said with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

  Kirk chuckled. “One of the Payav advantages? Not having hair to turn white and betray the fact you’re not as young as you used to be.”

  “Believe me, James, I don’t need hair to tell me that. Don’t some humans change their hair color?”

  “Are you kidding? Those gray hairs?” Kirk said, pointing to his head. “I’ve earned every one of them.”

  They arrived at the briefing room, where McCoy, Scott, Chekov, and Saavik were already seated around the table. Though Kirk gestured for her to sit, Raya remained standing and presented the facts in a soft, careworn voice, bolstered by charts, graphics, and images on the viewscreen.

  “We started this science institute eight standard years ago. It was the idea of one of our most accomplished young scientists, my friend Dr. Theena elMadej. Like many of our young ones, she was tired of Mestiko’s being thought of around the galaxy as a tu-prait- a beggar- holding our hands out for charity.”

  “We never thought of Mestiko that way,” McCoy said.

  “But we thought of ourselves that way, Doctor. Theena wanted to create something brand-new to restore our self-respect. She wanted to recruit the best scientists from many fields and many worlds, and give them funding and a free hand to pursue pure research, with no pressure to produce commercial products. We hoped they would make discoveries and advances that would help Mestiko’s recovery, and help the rest of the galaxy, too. That’s why Theena named the colony something simple and obvious- the Discovery Center.”

  Scott smiled. “Havin’ read your reports, I’d say you’ve achieved everything you set out to do.”

  “Thank you, Captain Scott. Not everyone on Mestiko shares that sentiment. Funding has always been a battle. There’s been… disagreement… on priorities. On a world with as many problems as ours, it wasn’t easy to justify the expenditures.”

  “Well,” McCoy said, “some people don’t see the value in setting out on a journey unless they know exactly where they’re going to end up.”

  Raya shrugged. “And I can’t say they’re wrong. But I thought we were reaching the point where the center was finally recognized as a symbol of unity, and a beacon from Mestiko to the rest of the galaxy. And now this.” She keyed the computer to display a series of images of the facility, showing the damage, the injured and the dead. Kirk’s officers watched in silence as Raya narrated. “They attacked with grenades, toxic gas, and small-arms fire. Of the eighty-nine staff present at the time, we had twenty-three casualties, nineteen of whom were fatalities. Fortunately, most had the good sense to stay in their quarters when they heard the explosions.”

  “What kind of security did you have?” Chekov asked.

  “Not much, I’m afraid. The center was as open as we could make it without interfering with the work. We even had public tours. Theena wanted our school-children to see that there was a place for their dreams to become reality. It was on the moon, for stars’ sakes. It’s not like anyone could sneak up on it.”

  “Not anyone from Mestiko, at least,” Kirk said.

  “Yes,” Raya said with a solemn nod. “We never thought any Dinpayav would attack. But we now believe the attackers were alien terrorists.”

  “Terrorists?” Kirk’s eye narrowed. “Why terrorists?”

  “Because, as bad as the damage looks, it’s actually minor. Once they were inside, they put on a big diversionary show. Lots of smoke and explosions, gas that smelled more toxic than it really was- all designed to keep the residents hiding and out of the way. Very little of the colony was badly damaged. If they were trying to destroy the place, they didn’t do a very good job.”

  “Madam Councillor,” Scotty said, “do you have any idea why it was attacked?”

  “They apparently had a specific target.”

  “And I’m betting,” McCoy said, “that it wasn’t a cure for the common cold.”

  “No. It turned out to be a weapon. A subspace weapon. They took all the files, and the prototype. And they took Theena.”

  Chapter Three

  When the autopilot announced final approach to its programmed destination, Spock opened his eyes, instantly shook off the residual effects of his meditation period, and resumed manual control of the sleek courier craft with the cramped cabin and oversized warp nacelles. Though marginally Class-M, the arctic planet on the viewscreen looked deservedly uninhabited, so forlorn that it bore no name, just an astronomical designation. Spock banked the ship toward the surface and, with a rueful twitch of one eyebrow, glanced at the parka on the copilot seat. The more he aged, the more he found himself feeling an almost irrational desire for the accustomed warmth of Vulcan- and the more he found amusement in such occasional twinges of illogical emotion.

  Nothing like a little dying to change the way you live. How typical of McCoy to say something so illogically homespun, yet imbued with a nugget of irritating wisdom. Spock’s experience twenty years ago with the vast though ultimately barren machine intelligence of V’Ger had confirmed for him one of his innermost nagging concerns- that the pursuit of Kolinahr, the Vulcan spiritual state of perfect logic, was, paradoxically, not logical. Diverted permanently from that goal, he’d spent much of the past two decades searching for his highest and best purpose, without much apparent direction- until his premature death at the Genesis planet. In ways he did not fully understand, his fortuitous rebirth had set him on a course toward that purpose. With this mission, it was possible he had finally found it.

  Spock landed his craft softly on a glacial plateau, and saw that a battle-scarred Klingon bird-of-prey was already there. Sensors confirmed that the climate and atmospheric conditions were adverse, but survivable. He zipped the parka over his civilian clothing, pulled the hood over his head, slipped his thermal respiration mask over nose and mouth, opened the hatch, and stepped outside. Under the bleak beauty of a twilight-violet sky, the air was oddly still, but so frigid it would have been painful to breathe without the mask’s protection. Spock trudged carefully across fresh snow toward a large humanoid wearing a hooded, fur-trimmed cloak, standing under the furled wing of the Klingon vessel. As Spock approached, the figure gestured up the gangway, and Spock followed him into the belly of the ship. The ramp closed behind them and they both lowered their hoods. Spock looked into the leathery face of a grizzled Klingon warrior.

  “Welcome to my ship,” said the Klingon in an unexpectedly soft voice.

  Spock spread the fingers of his right hand in salute. “Live long and prosper, General Navok.”

  A second figure came out of the interior shadows. Spock recognized the dark-skinned human immediately and nodded in greeting. “Admiral Morrow. It is agreeable to see you again.”

  “You too, Captain Spock. Let’s get something hot to drink and get down to business.”

  Over tankards- bloodwine for Navok, coffee for Harry Morrow, and pungent herbal tea for Spock- they sat around the wardroom table. Now, in better light, Spock noticed a deep, slicing scar across Navok’s throat, the probable explanation for a voice which barely rose above a hoarse whisper, quite unlike the usual Klingon growl.

  “When Curzon Dax arranged this meeting, he told me I could trust you two,” Navok said. “The Great Curzon is like a brother to me, but trust must be earned.”

  “That’s a two-way street,” Morrow said.

  “Ahh, but your government approves of your journey. If the High Council knew I was here drinking with two Starfleet officers, I would be executed for treason.”

  “True enough,” said Spock. “But our immediate safety is entirely in your hands.”

  Navok clapped Spock on the shoulder. “Haah! So we all risk much. But the greater risk is inaction. Martial forces in our quadrant are driving toward a collision which could destroy us all. Vulcan, do you speak for the Federation and Starfleet?”

  “Unlike Admiral Morrow, I am on active duty. While my visit is tacitly sanctioned by the Federation president, my presence is covert. Therefore, I have no official authority to make decisions.”

  Navok huffed in disgust. “Then this is a waste of my time! I need—”

  “Shut up, Navok,” Morrow said, surprising Spock with his less than diplomatic choice of words- though toughness might actually be the preferred approach with a Klingon. “Captain Spock is what you need. I’m retired Starfleet, so I speak only for the influential private citizens who are so worried about the future that they sent me to talk to Klingons. Spock is one of Starfleet’s most respected senior officers, and Vulcans are renowned for their objectivity. That’s why the president sent him. He’s your link. Convince Spock you have the same goal as we do- to avoid a pointless, calamitous war- and he can convince the Federation Council and Starfleet. So make your best case, General. Why are we here, what do you want, and what’s in it for us?”

  Navok chuckled. “I never knew humans could be so direct. I like it! We usually think of you as mincing creatures unwilling to bare your steel. Very well, then. There is an ascendant faction of madmen within the High Council that is boiling up plans for preemptive war- not only against the Romulans, but the Federation as well. They ignore the fact that we are no longer capable of defeating one enemy, let alone two at once.”

  Spock’s eyebrow arched in muted surprise. “Indeed? While the Klingon character is typically bellicose, it is not known for self-destructive recklessness.”

  “Times change,” Navok said sardonically. “Chancellor Kesh pursues the fantasy of military superiority, while the empire chokes on its own pride. No outsider has ever conquered us, but the cost of arming against two dangerous adversaries is bankrupting us. We are becoming a paper fortress, a hollow husk to be crushed by the Romulans if we engage them in war.”

  “The Federation might welcome such an outcome,” Spock said. “With one less antagonist—”

  “You would be the only obstacle to Romulan dominion. Without a strong Klingon Empire on their other flank, the Romulan HaDIbaHpu’ will be unleashed and it will devour you, too.”

  “Who’s to say,” Morrow parried, “that the Federation wouldn’t win?”

  “Oh, you might. But you might not. And even if you do, at what price? The Romulans are cunning savages who will fight to their last blood and bone. The destruction will be—” Navok shook his head. “- unimaginable.”

  Morrow narrowed his eyes at the Klingon. “And you have a way for us to avoid all that?”

  “Yes. By preserving a three-way balance of power. As Kahless said, a warrior with two enemies cannot afford to turn his back on either.”

  Spock nodded. “Logical. Multilateral equilibrium makes all-out war a less attractive option.” He leaned his elbows on the table and peered past his steepled fingers. “For whom do you speak, General?”

  Navok sipped his wine. “A fair question. I speak for a growing, secret network of officers who believe that a military coup is the only way to save our empire from this mad course toward bloody oblivion. To succeed, we need Federation help.”

  Morrow almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Whoa! Never mind the dubious tactical wisdom of a coup. We don’t have the moral right to assist in the overthrow of any government, even one we oppose.”

  Navok smiled. “Whether by coup or by battle, defeat is defeat. You claim to value life more than we Klingons. Ask yourselves: If your goal is victory over a ruthless foe who plans to attack you, which path costs more dear lives?”

  “A reasonable query,” Spock said. “But the question is moot until we gather definitive information about the condition of the Klingon Empire. Are you prepared to provide that?”

  “It is risky business shuttling Federation spies around Klingon space. But our cause is just, and our deaths would be honorable.” Navok hoisted his drink. “So- to death with honor!”

  As their tankards clanked together, Morrow muttered, “What is it with you Klingons and death? How about to life with honor?”

  Navok downed the last of his bloodwine, slammed his tankard on the table, and wiped the dregs from his mustache. He gave Morrow a quizzical half-smile. “You humans. To life, then- however brief it may be.”

  Chapter Four

  With Raya’s permission, Kirk quickly transported teams led by Scott, Chekov, Saavik, and McCoy over to the Discovery Center to conduct speedy forensic investigations. To have any reasonable chance of pursuit, they needed to know as much about the attackers as possible. And if there was a trail to follow, they needed to sniff it out before it grew cold.

  While awaiting their reports, Raya gave Kirk a tour of the less damaged portions of the facility. Though he knew his friend to be modest, she made no effort to hide her pride in what had risen from the wreckage on Varnex. The equipment was all top of the line, and from what Kirk could tell, the Discovery Center had certainly lived up to its name. Brilliant minds from a dozen worlds had created advances in disciplines from, quite literally, agriculture to zoology and virtually every theoretical and practical science in between. Kirk wryly noted that they’d even built a better mousetrap (an attempt at humor which got lost in translation once he had to explain its Earth origins).

  For a world still recovering from a nightmare, this science colony had been a pristine dream come true. Kirk kept wondering: Who would attack a dream?

  As they strolled through an atrium lobby lush with plant life from many planets, Raya said, “The day of the Pulse- do you remember it?”

  “Like it was yesterday. If we’d gotten here a few minutes later…”

  “Your ship saved everyone living in this colony. Otherwise, this would have been a tomb… and I don’t know if we could’ve ever come back here to rebuild. It was abandoned for years. But thanks to Theena, it became a symbol of hope… until now.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Maybe. But I’m a little afraid of what we’ll find. And Theena… if the people who did this hurt her…”

  “At this point, we have no reason to think she’s anything but fine. If they are terrorists, she’s more valuable to them alive than dead.”

  Raya gave him a quirky look. “I know I’m supposed to find that comforting.”

  Comforting turned out to be the last word Kirk could apply to the reports delivered by his officers in the center’s conference lounge, with a view of Mestiko and space visible through the clear dome above it. Chekov confirmed Raya’s initial impression that the pattern of damage appeared to be more distractive than destructive, intended to draw attention away from the terrorists’ apparent target- Theena’s lab and the weapon they came to steal.