Star Trek Into Darkness Page 0,41

and circumstance had changed things, most especially their relative positions within Starfleet. A lesser man might have made something of that, sought to impress his current superiority upon a former adversary. James T. Kirk had his faults, but carrying a meaningless grudge was not among them.

Besides, it could be argued that he had been as much if not more responsible for the fight that had ensued than his antagonists.

The crewmember in question barely glanced in his captain’s direction. “Ready to deploy, sir.”

Kirk gave no indication that anything other than a normal relationship existed between them as he passed out two bundles of civilian attire.

“Lieutenants, lose the red shirts—you’re K’Normian arms dealers. Put these on.”

“Sir?” Uneasily, the bigger of the two officers eyed the mass of wrinkled garments that had been handed to him.

“Look, if this thing goes south, if what we’re about to attempt blows up figuratively instead of literally in our faces, there can be nothing tying us to Starfleet. If necessary, we have a complete and completely plausible story to tell the Klingons. Being more than a little interested in armaments and those who deal in them, they’ll be intrigued by the details, and because of our stated profession, more than inclined to listen. If they encountered an unauthorized landing party that said it came in peace, the members of said party would be likely to end up in pieces. But one that sneaks in with the aim of buying or selling weapons—that they’ll understand.”

Uhura spoke up. “But sir, other than our personal side arms—illegally obtained from Starfleet sources, of course—we’ll have no weapons to sell. What will we use to back up our cover story?”

Kirk nodded knowingly. “Not a problem. No K’Normian trader with half a brain would bring his inventory directly to a buyer where it might simply be confiscated.” He indicated his communicator. “If it comes to it, we’ll show them pictures of our ‘goods.’ On my ‘stolen’ Starfleet communicator, of course.” He was brimming with confidence. “If nothing else, they’ll be impressed that we managed to ‘steal’ so much Starfleet stuff. But if everything goes as planned, you won’t have to speak a word of Klingon. We’ll grab Harrison, slip back to the Enterprise, and warp out of here.” He returned his attention to the two attentive officers.

“So—no matter what happens, if anything happens, and we do have to confront some Klingons, there can be no mention of any connection with Starfleet.” He eyed his large, long-ago adversary. “Unless, of course, you want to start a war, Mr. Hendorff?”

“No, sir.” The heavyset crewmember stared straight ahead. “Did that once, sir.” He stared evenly back at Kirk as he recalled the incident in question. “Tried that once in your company, sir. Didn’t work out well.”

Betraying no emotion, Kirk nodded. “Good. I feel the same way.” Reaching out, he patted the crewman on the arm: a gesture both men recalled from a previous meeting undertaken in more primitive circumstances. Both had changed since then, matured. That they still remembered the incident in no way impacted on their present captain-crew relationship.

With Kirk having made his intentions known, no one on the K’normian trader commented as it shot away from the Enterprise.

Coming in behind a cluster of ragged, sheltering moonlets expansive enough to cloud their small craft’s drive signature, they dove toward the imposing, green-tinged planet rotating below. Uhura stared out one of the ports, her mind aswirl. “Qo’noS,” she murmured gutturally to herself. Homeworld of the Klingons. A place she never expected to see outside of file recordings, much less visit in person. A glance showed Spock, seated forward beside the captain, similarly studying the planet they were approaching. What was going through his mind at this moment? What wondering, what anticipation of new sights and discoveries, what anticipation of possible marvels they might encounter?

Naw, she told herself. He’s focusing on the task ahead. Always focusing on the task ahead. It was sometimes an—issue between them.

Not the time nor place to ponder it, she told herself firmly. In her mind, she was already reviewing basic Klingon greetings and responses in the event she would be required to employ them. The trick with speaking Klingon was not even the rough glottals or sometimes peculiar grammar. It was getting them to say anything at all before they tried to hit you with something large, heavy, and lethal.

It was several minutes before Spock finally felt confident enough in his reading of the K’Normian instrumentation to make a first report.

“I am