Constellations (36 page)

Anders nodded slowly, but he'd known that yesterday. “No, I mean, what do you want from me?”

“Do you trust Kirk?” the Klingon asked.

“He's a Starfleet captain.”

“I know who he is! That was not my question.” The boy's hand was never off his knife, Anders noticed.

“So it wasn't,” he replied. “Yes. I trust him.”

“You should not.” The alien motioned for Anders to rise. “Stand.”

Anders slowly shook his head. “No.”

“You will not?” The look of confusion on the young Klingon's face was almost amusing, except that his knife was now a centimeter out of its sheath.

“This is my home,” Anders said, enunciating every word so he was clear. “I am in charge here. You need to leave.”

“I'm the one with the weapon.”

Suddenly, swiftly, the knife was out and the blade was before Anders's eyes.

Anders looked past it and into the Klingon's gaze. “And I am not James Kirk.”

“You are brave.” The Klingon's laugh sounded truly mirthful. “I like you.” He turned and walked away from Anders, and just before he was invisible against the tree line he twisted back. “Good-bye, Captain. Remember—
I
am not the threat to you or your people.”

Anders walked evenly back to camp, keeping himself from anything but a normal pace in case the Klingon was watching. It was a far more interesting and less-threatening encounter than he would have imagined.

 

Once back at the settlement, as the sun was beginning to set against the high hills, it didn't take Anders long to find Kirk. He was with Dr. McCoy in the storage room they'd given the newcomers as quarters. Crates that had survived the crash supplied the makeshift chairs and table, and bedrolls were provided for sleeping. Other than that, the room was bare. Kirk sat at the “table,” fiddling with one of his small handheld scanners. McCoy was standing to one side, inoculating one of the children. Anders waited until the child left, then strode directly to Kirk.

“How long before your ship finds you, Captain?”

“Knowing Spock, within a day.” Kirk didn't bother with a shrug. He made it sound like the solution to a calculation.

“I don't know this Spock person,” Anders said, his gut tight with the annoyance he was trying to keep under control. “He must be extraordinary to earn such confidence.”

Kirk stood. Perhaps he sensed something in Anders's demeanor, something more than submissive. “He's the finest first officer in the fleet,” he said.

Joining them around the table, McCoy chimed in, very obviously trying to lighten the atmosphere. “For most things, not all.”

Deciding to get to the point, Anders turned away a moment, composed himself, then turned back to Kirk. “You've been a bit of a disruption, Captain, I'm sorry to say.”

“A disruption?” Kirk looked directly into Anders's eyes in a way that was disturbingly confrontational on a level Anders hadn't expected. “We're in a race for our lives,” Kirk said.

“Every day here is such a race,” Anders countered. “And not one we all win. I—” About to lose his composure, Anders tightened his fists at his sides and ground his next words out as calmly as possible. “Did I tell you why Captain Mendez chose me to be his successor?”

Kirk shook his head once. “You didn't.”

“We just assumed it was the way you had with people,” McCoy said, again sensing the mood and attempting to smooth feathers. “These folks look up to you a great deal, Captain Anders.”

“He told me I had the charisma to be the glue that held these people together.” Anders looked back at Kirk, trying hard to counter that steely glare with his own. “Not charm, not likability, though certainly that—but the magnetism.”

Kirk didn't seem impressed. “Your point, Anders.” It wasn't a question.

“I see that it's true, so long as there isn't a more magnetic, more charismatic figure outshining my ability.”

“I have no desire to lead these people,” Kirk said.

“You don't need the desire,” Anders spat. “You have the natural ability. Had you been stranded with us, I have no doubt I'd be a farmer or a gatherer. Or perhaps I'd be chief digger in charge of latrines—”

“Captain—” McCoy tried to interrupt.

“Quiet, Doctor. This is between us.” Anders gestured to Kirk and struggled to keep his voice from quaking with anger for fear it may be misunderstood as nerves. “My authority has been challenged before, and such insurrection has been rebuffed, as surely as Captain Kirk would do on his ship.”

“We're not going to be here long enough to rebel against you,” Kirk said, his tone even and his expression tight.

Anders didn't know what to say. He was challenging Kirk but wasn't sure what the outcome should be. Finally he turned on his heel toward the door. “I wouldn't put myself against your mettle, anyway, Captain. You'd win.”

The door didn't slam shut.

McCoy searched Kirk for some reaction. “You have a hell of a way with people, Jim.”

“He'll get over it as soon as we're gone,” Kirk said, and sat down again.

“Can't you see what's happening here?” McCoy sat next to him, the plastiform crate as uncomfortable as the beds.

“I see it, Bones.”

Kirk continued to work on boosting the tricorder's broadcast range, and McCoy wanted to tear the scanner away from him to get his full attention, but he refrained. “No, I don't think you do. You're turning this man's crew against him.”

“This isn't a ship—”

“It might as well be,” McCoy said pointedly. “The stakes are the same: survival.”

Kirk sighed and closed the tricorder's circuit panel. “I'm not here to usurp his authority.”

“He doesn't rule by command, Jim. He rules by respect. So does a starship captain. People obey a captain out of respect for the chain of command at first, and with time and the right captain they come to obey out of respect for the man.” McCoy stood, following Kirk as he walked outside to find Sulu and exchange the modified tricorder for one that needed to be worked on.

“You're not telling me anything I don't know, Doctor,” Kirk said.

“How would you react if another captain came onto your ship and suddenly the respect of your crew shifted to him?”

“I'd be annoyed,” Kirk admitted.

“And you'd have the chain of command and orders to fall back on. What does Anders have?” McCoy saw a flicker in Kirk's eye that told him he'd made his point. So he moved on to his next one. “And don't forget there's a shuttle chock-full of Klingons who want you, for whatever reason, and woe to any of these innocents who get in their way. And by now they're here, and waiting for their chance to make a move.”

“You're right.”

“Exactly. I'm ri—
What?
” Stunned by the admission, McCoy was caught off guard. “Did you just say I was right?”

“Do you expect me to say it twice, Doctor?” Kirk had suddenly changed direction, and McCoy wasn't certain where they were now going.

“What're we gonna do?” he asked.

“You're going to stay here and wait for Spock to arrive.” Kirk handed him the tricorder.

“And you?”

“I'm going to find Ensign Kerby. He and I will locate the Klingons' shuttle and secure it from them.”

“Now wait just a minute. I wasn't suggesting—”

“I wasn't taking suggestions.” The captain continued to march forward, leaving McCoy where he stood, sputtering. “I'm going to act,” Kirk said, “and wait for the Klingons to
react.
” He crooked a thumb toward the sky. “While I still have light.”

“And what if they react by deciding you're too much trouble to keep alive?” McCoy called after him.

“Then I better have a damn good re-reaction.”

 

When Anders heard of Kirk's plan, he wasn't quite sure why he went right back to the grotto. He told himself it was for peace and introspection. He'd meant to tell Kirk about the Klingon. He was going to until he saw him, and then only defensive thoughts entered his mind.

Had Anders expected the Klingon to still be near the grotto? Part of him was certain of it. Part doubted it and really did want time to think and plan and…None of that was going to happen as soon as the young man appeared again.

“You didn't tell Kirk I was here, did you?” This time the voice was that of a universal translator. It masked the Klingon's own voice so well one might have thought there was no conversion tool in use, except for the now-perfect, unaccented English where before there had been awkward speech.

“How do you know if I did or did not?” Anders asked, his eyes flicking from one of the Klingon's hands to his other. He saw no weapon, but there was some kind of phaser or disruptor on his hip, and of course, his knife was there as well, sheathed.

“Because he didn't come to this place,” the Klingon said. “I was watching.”

“This…this is my place to think.” In Anders's head it sounded like a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he'd not told Kirk about the grotto. Given voice it sounded childish and the words felt heavy rolling off his tongue.

“Where is Kirk now?”

Anders shook his head and his chest tightened. “Kirk's affairs and yours are not my own.”

The Klingon drew closer, his boots squishing on the moss-covered ground. He tilted his head, examining Anders. “You don't like him.”

There was no question there, so Anders said nothing.

The young man bit his lower lip. “They've stopped the scanning around your camp. Why? Where is Kirk?”

The Klingon came closer, until Anders felt the man's breath on his face.

“I—I'm…” Would the Klingon kill him if he didn't say? Isn't this what he wanted—to be threatened into revealing what he knew? He wanted Kirk to be gone and the Klingon to be gone, and wasn't the fastest way to do that to have them take care of each other?

It would mean blood. It would mean death.

And Michael and the others—they might see that they were safe here when people stayed away. Options might look less favorable, doors might close…. And wouldn't the Klingon kill him if he didn't tell him what he wanted to know? He had weapons, where Anders had none.

“They…”

“Where?” the Klingon whispered. “Tell me where.”

“I…” Anders's voice was thick, each word a chunk of iron that fell to the ground with a clang. “They went to your ship.”

As close as he was, Anders could tell that the Klingon's entire body tensed instantly. “Why?” he demanded.

“I don't know for certain.” Now that he'd begun such a treacherous dialogue, the words came easier. “To use it against you. To find you. To make you react.”

“Fools,” the Klingon barked. He twisted away and in three large running paces left Anders alone again in the grotto.

It was cool there, and it gave Anders peace to think. It always had. But now the only thought he could find was not one of serenity, but horror. “What have I done?” he murmured. “Good Lord, what have I done?”

 

“Broadest possible scan, Ensign.” Kirk knew that would limit the distance they'd be able to cover in one sweep, but he didn't know how many Klingons would be waiting for them. There could have been three or four, or even one. That was something to consider. At first Kirk had believed his opponent to be skilled, experienced, but nothing besides the initial tactic of hiding in his impulse wake had really pointed to that. Everything since then pointed to greenness.

Why not make some move on the settlement? Other Klingons Kirk had been up against would have. They'd have sought to breed terror among the innocents between them to force Kirk's hand. Unless there was but a lone Klingon, and he was injured and waiting for them in his shuttle.

Kerby struggled somewhat to both hold his phaser pistol and adjust his tricorder. He managed it, but only awkwardly. “May I ask a question, sir?”

“You're wondering why I chose this direction for the possible location of the Klingons' shuttle.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where would you hide a shuttle if you didn't want it to be seen?”

“A canyon, maybe? Some place with a deep crevice or—”

“They weren't worried about being seen from the air. And there's no canyon nearby.” Kirk pointed up the ridge with the business end of his phaser, indicating the next place Kerby should scan. “They'd want the high ground, and they'd come in under cloak of night, then camouflage their shuttle as best they could.”

“Huh.” Kerby chuckled, and his lanky arm stretched out to point to his left. “Large metallic object. Bearing twelve degrees, two hundred and nineteen meters, sir.”