The Operative (A Star Trek novel)

Chapter Twenty-Three

It is night. Kirk has spent most of the day drilling the students on tactics and using phasers. That, and telling them over and over again not to get cocky. They might have bloodied Ocht's nose, but it was a minor bleed, and one that would make him more dangerous, not less. And the Federation citizens were sure to be more heavily guarded than the deserted lab, in any case.

The three of them again are hiding out of sight, this time behind a dumpster across a dark street from a featureless gray building. Helena had wanted to come with them—with McCoy, really—but she had finally been convinced to stay once again with the injured. And to prepare to take care of injuries from this night's work.

A street light overhead makes a half-hearted attempt to illuminate the pavement, but only succeeds in making the damp concrete look slick and slimy. Wafts of decay reach their noses occasionally, borne by sluggish puffs of air that ooze up the street.

"You sure this is the place, Jim?" McCoy looks dubious. Spock glances at him, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, okay, so Helena said this is where they were holding her."

"According to Flynn's files, this is one of the shield generator stations for the city," Kirk says. "Makes sense they'd hold the hostages here—protection from transporters, and it's bound to have good security anyway. The extra guards wouldn't draw anyone's attention."

"We must also get inside long enough for me to determine how to disable the generator when the ships return," Spock says.

"Well, let's go," McCoy says. "Waiting just makes me cranky."

"You undoubtedly wait far too often, Doctor," Spock says drily, "for far too long."

McCoy grunts, but otherwise does not respond.

❖

They are again dressed in the clothes they took from Ocht's people the night of the beamdown. Keeping under cover, they make their way around the building to the rear and walk boldly up the street toward the shield generator.

"Halt!" a gruff voice calls from the rickety guard shack just inside a gleaming field-reinforced fence. "Step forward and identify yourselves."

McCoy and Spock, dressed in the uniform of planetary security, haul Kirk into the light. Spock has a blood-stained rag around his head, hiding his ears.

"Me and Smiley here," McCoy says, gesturing toward Spock with his head, "were going into town for a couple of drinks—our night off, you know? —when we saw this guy snooping around back. There were some others with him, but they scattered and got away. Thought we'd better drop him off here."

"Okay, just stay right there." The voice is still suspicious. "Hold him up straighter so the computer can identify him."

There is a pause.

"Good lord," the voice says, "the governor himself will give us all medals! The computer says you've got yourself Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise. The guv is pretty anxious to meet that guy. Hang on, let me open the gate. Bring him in here."

A stocky, rough-hewn man comes out and places his palm on a panel by the gate. They push through as it clicks open. McCoy glances inside the shack on the way past: no one there, just a chair, computer screen, and some white foam coffee cups. He nods to the others.

"So," the guard sneers into Kirk's face, "you're the great unh..!" He slumps.

Spock removes his hand from the man's shoulder and catches him as he falls.

"I wish I knew how you do that, Spock," Kirk says.

"I have tried to teach you, Captain," he replies with some weariness.