1

Kirk glanced around from his seat in the shuttle. Everything seemed to be in order as the small party of four continued their journey to Starbase 17, where a ceremonious and much-publicized trial would commence as soon as the accused was delivered. The fact that a violent ion storm had recently taken place in this sector of space so far had not hindered their journey.

The shuttle's pilot, a taciturn security officer named Garrett, seemed relaxed, experiencing no difficulty whatsoever as he guided the shuttle swiftly along their chosen course. Satisfied, the captain glanced instead to the rear of the shuttle, where his other two charges continued in silence.

The man who was being delivered to his trial, a surprisingly elegant, intelligent-looking ambassador from Guaran IV, sat in the last row of seats, alone, his lightly-bearded chin resting on one hand, dark eyes focused on the stars. He looked to Kirk as though he had already resigned himself to his fate, but the Captain also knew that this was one man whose inner workings could neither be predicted nor assumed.

Not that the Ambassador had much to smile about, although his defense no doubt planned to paint for the jury the picture of an intelligent, devoted, peaceful, and gentle man of the diplomatic corps. His very looks dripped charm and poise that would ultimately be put to the test by the prosecution, who was assigned to deliver to the murderer of Admiral Thomas Calvin either a formidable life sentence, or, as Calvin's home rule dictated, the death penalty.

It had been a ghastly crime--the killer had lurked outside the council chambers on Starbase 2, where Tom Calvin had been an hour after the last cabinet meeting. When the killer's prey had come out, he had been jumped, wrestled to the floor, and had been swiftly and cleanly deprived of his life by a skillfully, yet brutally broken neck. Shreds of clothing found in the victim's hand later proved to match the clothes Ambassador Tocz Veland had worn to the meeting-but the suit that had been ripped had never shown up, probably sent down a laundry chute for good. That was the only thing that saved Veland from an instant lynching there and then had been the fact that some of the others present at the meeting had been wearing the same uniform-another item the defense was blessed with.

There was little truly concrete evidence but, Kirk had a gut feeling-a burning, instinctive knowledge that Veland was more than he seemed. Even though she was the sole witness to the crime, Lt. Uhura's insistence that it had been a much larger, heavily bearded man who had roughly shoved her aside while fleeing somehow felt wrong to him.

"How much longer, Ensign?" Kirk asked the pilot, stretching his legs out wistfully. This trip was beginning to bother him more than he had expected when he had started out for the trial-and Veland's presence in the shuttle had begun to have a strangely disquieting effect on him.

"Not long, sir-" Garrett started to say, then his eyes flew to the monitor screen and widened in shock. Kirk caught the expression and was out of his seat in an instant, throwing himself over the panel, hurrying to correct the trouble.

Although nearly invisible to them, the scanners were having no trouble seeing and reading it...the first after-effect of the ion storm.

"Evasive maneuvers," Kirk ordered, leaping into the co-pilot's sat as the shuttle took a thunderous hit.

"Trying, sir!" Garrett shouted, as particles from outside began striking the ship with alarming regularity, tilting, rocking, tipping the craft in all directions. Kirk was knocked off his feet, and at once there was an ear-shattering crash as a part of the shuttle was destroyed. Life-support and lights were gone for a moment, and then both Kirk and Garrett were scrambling for the panel, the lights blinking on and off rapidly, each trying desperately to right the spinning craft.

Blood flowing freely from a laceration on his forehead, the pilot fell once more to the deck and rolled to the rear of the shuttle as one final tilt sent them careening downward.

Their only hope was the first planet in the Starbase's solar system. The uninhabited, forest-covered ball of dirt and water was the only possible landing spot. If only the shuttle could go far enough to reach it-

Kirk grabbed the controls, and turned the shuttle as they began to rapidly lose altitude.

Garrett, finally able to crawl forward again, climbed up on the panel next to Kirk and clung for dear life even as the craft left behind the blackness of space and plunged into the misty, sky-blue atmosphere.

With an audible crash, they finally secured a landing strip as the shuttle, without benefit of working sensors or controls, hit the treeline and clipped off the hard tops of countless conifers in its uncontrolled descent.

Then, a blur of tree branches smothering the main viewscreen, a scraping, screeching sound echoing as the craft struck rocky ground, bounced through even more greenery, and came precariously to rest. It lay tipped upward in a nest of snapped-off timber and rock, the occupants flung back and pressed against the rear wall like a box of puppets.

It was a few silent, dizzy moments before any of them dared to move. Then Uhura was on her feet, clambering over the seat that had been ripped from the deck to reach the unmoving Kirk, who was sprawled out under Garrett's still form. The Ambassador lay behind both of them, squashed in the corner in a pile of cape and outflung limbs.

Kirk scrambled out of his predicament without too much difficulty, and aided Uhura in moving Garrett out of the tangle of bodies and onto a safe, and relatively level spot. The ensign's eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly upward, his head loose on his shoulder, his back most likely broken in several places.

Uhura bent over him a moment, then looked up at Kirk.

"He's dead, Captain," she said.

Kirk nodded sadly.

"And are you all right, Lieutenant?" he asked of her.

"I'm fine, sir."

Kirk rubbed his bruised jaw and turned quickly to the rear of the shuttle.

Veland came hesitantly to his feet, shuddering with fright and pain. He shook his head a few times, as though he was unsure whether or not he was still alive. Resignedly, he looked up at Kirk and Uhura. "I seem to have cut myself," he said, indicating a bleeding gash on one cheek. "Nothing more serious, though."

"Good." Kirk made his way around a few of the seats, then worked to force open the severely dented door. "At least we should be grateful we found a habitable planet to crash onto-this is one of the more popular R & R spots for visiting Starships....and officers from Starbase 17. Someone will find us." The door slid painfully open - only halfway - and Kirk squeezed out to survey the damage.

Veland regarded his new surroundings and Kirk's cautious form outside from the porthole, then turned to look sorrowfully at Garrett.

"Has the young man expired?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," said Uhura, standing to face Veland. She could not, however, take her eyes completely off Garrett's ghastly expression.

"I am terribly sorry," the Ambassador said, then swiftly removed the flaming red cape he wore from his shoulders, laying it gently over Garrett's body. "Perhaps this will help."

Uhura watched a mment, then saw Veland's slim suitcase sticking out of a small pile of rubble in the opposite corner. Quickly, she edged over and rescued it for him.

"That was kind of you," she said as she handed it to him.

"I brought only the essentials." He smiled lightly, displaying the contents to her. All she saw were a few blue satiny wardrobe selections, and a pile of digital bookdisks. "Perhaps the novels I brought will save us from boredom in the wait for rescuers to arrive.

"I would hope that won't be long," Uhura remarked.

Kirk was moving around to the other side of the craft. "Sure you're not hurt too badly?"

"I am in no danger," he said calmly. "Would it be too much to ask if we might join the Captain outside—I have a limited knowledge of engineering, and perhaps could be of some assistance to him."

Uhura considered a moment, then realized there was a small possibility of danger in remaining in the damaged craft much longer.

"Yes-I doubt the Captain would object to that. Come with me, please." Moving ahead of him, she pushed a few more chairs out of the way, then squeezed out after him, the two of them greeting Kirk outside.

The Captain regarded them somewhat morosely. "Bad news," he said. Uhura suddenly noticed the phaser stuck to his side at the same time Veland did. "Our port side is pretty well smashed up—it may take quite a while before anyone comes looking for us. All we can do is set up our automatic beacon—and wait."

Veland nodded toward the phaser. "I see you have armed yourself against the criminal, Captain Kirk-but I must tell you that you need not be concerned about my allegedly violent nature. I have no intentions of attempting escape."

"You are still a prisoner of the Federation, Ambassador Veland," Kirk said quickly, a frown creasing his forehead. "And it is not your place to dictate who may or may not carry a weapon. There are always many different things to be confronted on an unfamiliar world such as this one. You're still wanted for trial on Starbase 17-and until you are safely delivered there, you will be watched at all times by either Lieutenant Uhura or myself-you are neither innocent nor guilty here; just under guard until one or the other is proven. Understood?"

Veland, looking highly insulted, nodded. "Perfectly, sir," he said.

"All right." Kirk turned toward Uhura and nodded towards the shuttle. "Go inside, Lieutenant—see what you can salvage of the communications system. Ambassador—I am well aware of your past experience in engineering. Perhaps you would care to assist us out here—I'm sure you have no great desire to prolong your trial either."

"Indeed not, Captain," answered Veland. "I can hardly wait to be sent to

death or to a life of darkness in some alien prison, by a jury of my.... peers. Pray, show me what has to be done."

Kirk stared at him darkly for a moment, then started back to part of the craft, motioning for Veland to follow.

Uhura started back inside, but Kirk's voice stopped her. "Lieutenant," he said carefully. "Take a phaser for yourself from inside—and lock up the rest. We may need them later."

Uhura froze a moment, with one foot in the doorway, then nodded without looking around and went back inside the shuttle.

"Yes, sir," she said when she was at the communications console, though she knew Kirk could not hear her. She stared down at the tangle of wires before her without much hope—the ion storm had done an effective job of stranding them here. Although it would not take long for the Enterprise and the Base to determine them missing, the accompanying search might take longer than she cared to speculate.

Sighing, she set up the automatic beacon, which immediately commenced sending its silent, invisible signals to the heavens far above. She was hoping, even as she turned it on, that they would not be stranded here too long—then she caught herself. She had not been looking forward to appearing as a witness at this upcoming trial—she knew in her heart that her testimony would not save the Ambassador, and there was little doubt in anyone's mind that he was the guilty party.

Although she had been shoved aside by the murderer, she was not convinced it could not have been Veland, wearing a mask or a disguise, and the prosecution would be sure to pick up on that point. In fact, the only thing she had glimpsed in that frenzied moment were the eyes of the killer—blazing, furious, angry and demented .... they were not Veland's eyes as she saw them now, but that was hardly a criteria for positive identification. More important would be the height, the build, the probability that it was Veland (he did not, after all, have an effective alibi)—and she would not be able to state that it had definitely been someone else.

All she could say to the eager attorney who would cross-examine her would be 'No—I am not convinced that it was the Ambassador—but neither am I sure it wasn't.' Not the stuff a saving testimony was based on. But at least the hours they spent here would give them a chance to examine one another under more demanding circumstances—and if the Ambassador was a man capable of murder, now would be the time to find out.

Frowning, she went to work on the communications circuits in front of her.