This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  ISBN: 0-7434-1997-9

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are a number of people I would like to acknowledge:

  The awful people I went to Paris with in 1987; had they not been so awful, I would not have wandered off to the Gare de Lyon and started scribbling this novel in my notebook.

  I would like to thank Karen ("Kasey") Carrillo for telling me to get motivated.

  Sam Bacon was right about some things, after all.

  A number of friends read copies of the manuscript in various stages. I would like to thank Colin Edwards, Tricia Dailey, Patty French, Nicholas Jenks, Tom Adshead, and Alexandra de Brito for their interest and helpful suggestions.

  I also want to thank Jean Arbeiter and my agent, Herb Katz, for their support.

  Historian's Note

  This adventure takes place during the U.S.S. Enterprise's initial five-year mission, sometime after the events chronicled in the television episodes "Miri" and "Requiem for Methuselah." The reader may wish to consult those episodes as referents.

  Prologue

  A HEARTBEAT IN DARKNESS. The cold of metal, the warmth of his own arms, hugging himself. Pal lay with his head tucked down, his knees pressed up against his chest, and shivered in the cold of the storage compartment. A strange foolie. He would disappear.

  He could hear Jahn out in the big room, with the lights and the buzzing knobs, and the picture of the spiral snake of green light going round and round. And the big screen, crammed full of stars, and deep, dark scary night.

  Jahn was yelling crazy things. He had yelled at Pal, until Pal crawled away when he wasn't looking and hid in the storage compartment. Had yelled that he was helping Pal and Rhea—saving them from the Grups. Pal hadn't said anything. Didn't say that Jahn looked to him like a Grup, looked and acted and sounded like a Grup, except without some of the nice things. Grups could be nice, sometimes.

  It was scary in the storage compartment; someone might open the door and find him.

  Oh, and so why don't you hide in the other room?

  I can't, they might see me go, I've got to stay here, now.

  Well, why didn't you hide there before?

  I'm scared of there, because there are no Onlies there, and maybe there are snakes, and I'm scared of snakes.

  Why, have you been bad?

  Yes, I think I have been bad, and when you are bad, the snakes come.

  Pal rocked back and forth and made noises like a small bird. Exactly like a certain small gray-brown bird. He had learned how long ago. Very long ago.

  Sometimes Rhea went into the other room, and then it was safe, and there were no snakes. Pal liked to be in there with her. They would play some of the old games; it made everything seem more normal. And she would sing a song to him that Miri used to sing, and he would be able to sleep. It was a very nice song, and it went like this:

  Lumpkin, pumpkin, let me show you something,

  Trick or a foolie, burn down the school, he

  Ran to the doctor, doctor had a chopper,

  Ran through the town, and the Grups fell down …

  Pal liked this song, and the Grups had said they liked it too. They had had Miri sing it into a machine that recorded her voice, and then Miri didn't want to sing it anymore.

  Where's Miri?

  I don't know, something bad happened to her.

  What happened to her?

  Shut up, stop it, you'll make the snakes come.

  The voice in Pal's head that talked to him was not Pal's voice. It used to be somebody else's voice in the white room with the cold light and the hard chair, but somehow the voice was in his head now, and it didn't like him, and it gobbled him up, until he curled away, like a kernel in a nutshell. He used to be so fast once, and run, and giggle, and fight sometimes, but now he looked for dark cracks and caves, and curled up like a ball inside them. He was getting bigger, but he felt little. He wanted to fade away into the air, get tinier and tinier and wink out, like a baby, growing backward.

  Rhea, he remembered, used to be a little Only. But now she seemed big, and she acted like the ones who had always been big, acted like Miri or Jahn or Louise. Why did she seem different? She wore her hair up now. "Ponytail." And Jahn had always been big, and he still was, but now he seemed kind of mean, like Grups in the Before Time were supposed to be, the burning, hurting Grups. Doctor had a chopper … the Grups fell down …

  Sometimes it seemed like maybe Jahn didn't know the right thing to do. Before, for all the time there was, Jahn had known what was right. He and the other big Onlies had led and explained the world. Jahn could run fastest, bounce a bird with one rock, melt into walls in the hiding game, punish clowns in the circus foolie. Pal had wanted so much to be like him. But the new Grups treated Jahn like he was little. Lots of Onlies didn't listen to him anymore. They did what the Grups said, instead. How could he and Rhea have changed so much? How come Pal saw them as different? He used to believe in Jahn, and in the ways of the Onlies, before the Grups came back.

  The sound of Jahn yelling came filtering through to Pal, with a metallic echo. Yelling at Rhea? Or just yelling? Jahn was playing the Starfleet foolie.

  "I'm the captain of this ship! I give the orders. Shields up! Drop them on my signal, and fire main phaser banks!"

  "Jahn, we have no shields, there's no need to fire the phasers. But please keep an eye on the air pressure monitor. And the cloaking device …"

  That was Rhea's voice. She was there.

  Jahn cut her off. "Don't argue with me, Lieutenant! I run a tight ship, you follow my orders." Then, in a more nervous voice, "Where's Pal?"

  Fear knotted Pal's stomach at the thought of being sought out and discovered. Oh, why hadn't he gone to the other room?

  "I don't know, Jahn. I think he's hiding. I think maybe you're scaring him. Try to be calmer. Just let me have the controls for a
moment …"

  "I'm hungry."

  "There's soup and stuff. I programmed it in the computer. Just punch for it."

  Pal could hear them moving, shuffling past the compartment in which he lay hidden. His hand suddenly felt something in the corner of the compartment, something he had never touched, never known was there before. A coiled wire, like a snake, like the snake on the spiral viewscreen that went round and round, lay on the closet floor beside Pal. It felt slippery and cold. He shuddered.

  In the main cabin, the food computer hummed, and then beeped. Pal heard it. He was hungry too. Grup food was better than Only food had ever been. He hoped that there would be some left for him.

  Maybe the Grups would come, and make things all right, and then he could crawl out of the storage closet.

  Oh, and what if they are mad at you.

  I'll say sorry, I'll try to be good now. And if they don't want me, then I'll die … he would do anything they wanted, to make it better.

  Maybe the Onlies and the others who got hurt would get better, and Miri would be there and Dr. Nazafar-7, and things would be okay. The blood and the screaming would be gone from the Home World. And the snakes. He wished he hadn't gone with Jahn and Rhea. He wasn't sure why he had, exactly. It had all happened so fast, been so scary.

  Some of the Grups were scary. But he liked Mrs. File and Dr. Colignon. And Dr. Nazafar-7. He hoped they would still like him. Maybe Jahn and Rhea would be glad to see the Grups too. He wished someone would find them.

  Chapter One

  Captain's Log, Stardate 6118.2:

  The Enterprise is en route to the planet Boaco Six. Our mission: to contact the rebel government of this world and try to smooth relations between its ruling council and the Federation. At the same time, we must be alert to signs of Klingon infiltration and report on the extent of both Klingon and Romulan influence in this system.

  KIRK FLICKED OFF the switch on the arm of his captain's chair with a certain weariness. On the main screen ahead of him, the twelve-planet system of Boaco grew steadily in size. Boaco Eight was inhabited and was a Federation ally, but it was not the reason they had come. There would be no stopover there, this time.

  With a deft touch of his control panel, Helmsman Sulu brought the sixth planet of the system clearly into focus. All three of the planet's lunar satellites were visible from the starship's angle of approach. It was a small planet, warmed by the twin Boacan suns, maroon and orange and black when viewed from space.

  "Mr. Chekov, drop to one-half impulse. Set standard orbit."

  "Aye, sir." Chekov carried out the order.

  At his science station, Spock took the tape of the most recent Federation-issued report on Boaco Six and fed it into the computer. He read aloud the information that appeared on his screen.

  "Boaco Six. Class M planet. Population approximately three million inhabitants. Three lunar satellites. Planet of exceeding beauty, lush vegetation, zoological diversity.

  "For centuries, the two great landmasses have been ruled by a series of corrupt and ruthless warlords. Their rule was overthrown two years ago by a planetwide revolution. The rebels are known to have received substantial military aid from the Klingons, to have bought seafaring vessels and primitive flying machines from the Romulans, and dilithium crystals from the planet Orion.

  "The good relations the Federation maintained with several of the warlords of Boaco Six caused the rebel rulers, the so-called Council of Youngers, to distrust the Federation of Planets and rally the population against it. And once in power, the rebels immediately severed all ties with the Federation.

  "As a political and military stronghold, Boaco Six would be of great value to the Klingons and the Romulans. The rebels are greatly feared by the planet of Boaco Eight, the only other habitable world in the system, which alarmed by signs that the sixth planet may be building a space fleet, seeks Federation protection."

  Spock paused and straightened before his science panel. "The report continues, Captain, with random facts and minutiae about the geographical makeup of this world. Do you wish me to read it?"

  "No, Mr. Spock, thank you. That's enough for now."

  Everyone on the bridge, and in fact everyone on the Enterprise whose service might somehow be called upon during this mission, had already read this report and studied the Boacan situation. But a restatement of the facts just before contact was made was standard Federation procedure, and, Kirk reflected, good common sense. Still, he knew that official reports on the planet did not discuss every aspect of its case; much was left out, or could be read between the lines.

  He had mixed feelings about this mission. And less than his usual enthusiasm about his role. True, Boaco Six promised to be an exciting world, one of great beauty, famous for its food, music, friendly inhabitants, and cultural traditions. After the general overhaul on Starbase Twelve, and a protracted series of war games with smaller Starfleet vessels, Kirk felt contact with an exotic, less advanced world would be good for him and his crew. Exploration could be more therapeutic than shore leave. They might see some hands-on action after such a long period of inactivity and escape from the pressures of dealing with the Klingons or the Romulans for a while.

  But did Boaco Six really offer any such escape? Or only more of the same? It was those very galactic pressures, after all, that caused the Enterprise to glide through space into this solar system. One false move by the planet's rulers, and it could easily become the nexus of the conflict. If they were involved with the Klingons—and it was likely they were—Starfleet strategy would dictate that their world be seen as a very expendable chess piece in the larger game.

  It was a tricky game, but one Kirk knew how to play. We'll do whatever is required. I could work up a little more enthusiasm, though, if our position were a little better defined. If we were a little more clearly on the side of 'Right' in this one, whatever skulduggery is required to win.

  Doubt soured, somewhat, the anticipation of adventure. The Federation had not always handled this solar system wisely. Kirk felt that it now fell to him to unknot an entanglement dating back decades or more. It was not the first time he'd had such a feeling.

  The young guard on duty by the door of the turbolift felt none of his captain's weariness or ambivalence. For him the strain in galactic relations was not so much an ominous crisis as a test, a personal challenge, a game he had arrived just in time to take part in. It frightened him, exhilarated him. He was new on the bridge, and stood perhaps too stiffly at attention at his post, but his eyes darted round him at the men and women on the bridge, all busy with their jobs, as if he could not quite accept that he was there with them. He jumped as the captain addressed him.

  "Ensign Michaels. You've studied the Boaco Six situation in-depth, as you'll be accompanying us on this mission. I'd like to hear your opinion. How would you appraise our role?"

  The guard, who had first heard of Kirk at the Academy as of a semimythical figure, whose name was invoked admiringly by teachers and cadets alike, tried to conceal his nervousness as he replied. He had hardly ever spoken to the captain, but for the casual welcome aboard when he signed on. He sought to give him a sure, hard answer now.

  "Sir, I think diplomacy is of secondary importance here. Our priority is not to coax these people out of their belligerence. We've got to take a firm stand, let them know the Federation is not to be flouted or made a fool of, that we know which side they're on …"

  "Our mission is to investigate that, Ensign, and to establish relations, if possible," Kirk said gently.

  "With all due respect, sir, we can't deal too lightly in a situation like this." Michaels spoke with all the conviction of inexperience. "We owe it to Boaco Eight, and the small systems in this quadrant that depend on us, to take a strong stand."

  "Thank you, Ensign," Kirk said. "But for the moment, I think we'll watch and listen, and play it by ear."

  Michaels did not reply, but it was obvious from his expression that he considered his captain's plan o
f action too casual, too cavalier.

  You can read everything he's thinking, Kirk mused. They should have a special course at the Academy, to teach these kids how to maintain a poker face. Speaking of which …

  "Mr. Spock. You'll accompany me on this mission. It seems delicate enough to require both of us. Dr. McCoy will come as well. Notify him and call Mr. Scott to the bridge to assume command." Kirk rose from his chair and moved toward the turbolift. "Lieutenant Uhura, the ruling council on this planet has some kind of primitive radio, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, sir. They've contacted Federation ships before, if only to taunt them and send political slogans."

  "Try to hail them and tell them we'll be beaming down."

  Uhura punched in an intergalactic salute and decoded the response which came feebly crackling back. "They say they don't wish to communicate with you directly now, sir. But they promise to receive you in their council chamber and guarantee your safety. I'll feed the coordinates for beam-down to the transporter room."

  "Very good, Lieutenant. Landing party will assemble in the transporter room in ten minutes."

  Kirk left the bridge.

  Chapter Two

  "I DON'T LIKE IT,"McCoy grumbled, as they assembled on the transporter platform. "A guarantee of safety from some renegade government. That's enough for you and Spock to risk your necks on the same mission?"

  Kirk grinned. "Not to mention yours, eh, Bones?"

  "That's right, not to mention mine!" McCoy growled.

  Kirk had actually had a similar thought and included two security guards in the landing party at the last minute. Michaels stared at them resentfully; they seemed to guarantee less of a role for him. But Kirk knew that in a real confrontation, their party would still have a disadvantage. And you're never so vulnerable as you are directly after you beam down. His eyes flicked to Spock, serene, a few feet away from him, whose hand hovered near the phaser strapped to his waist. Always standing close by him, like a shadow of steel.