Chapter 2

So as not to attract too much attention, their landing party of seven had taken rooms in three different inns. McCoy and Kirk were travelers on a stop-over at Lamok's Orchard Inn, where Spock had registered a day later as a trader unknown to them, but quickly drawn into their group. The rest of the landing party consisted of a psychologist and a political scientist, each paired with a Diplomatic Officer. During the day, their teams spread out in the city, observing Klingon interaction with the population and analyzing governmental decisions. Kirk and his group focused on tactical movements and weapons stockpiles.

Every afternoon they compared notes in the nook of a terrace cafe on the edge of the square. These meetings had become easier as the houses emptied and the streets filled. They just had to keep their conversation dispassionate and they blended right in.

"I'm surprised the Klingons have not taken away their right to assembly, or set a curfew at least," observed Carol Shafer, the psychologist.

"From your report, Mister Spock, it seems that neither have they organized their troops or secured their weapons depots very well," added Diplomatic Officer Bill Holt.

"And I get the idea they sent their most ill-experienced soldiers and administrators," said his counterpart, Sam Sturgeon. "Their so-called Governor made a big show of executing the Mayor, then promptly left."

"It all fits," Spock said. "They are not seeing these people as a threat."

"An astute observation on their part, if you ask me," said McCoy. "No one raised a finger when they slaughtered the mayor. No protest, no outcry, not even a murmur. Life simply—continued."

"It makes you wonder why we're here, then," said Kirk, finally breaking his silence. He sounded too annoyed to his own ear, but he couldn't help but voice his frustration. "The objective was to learn how Klingons invade, how people react, how Klingons counter-react. This is obviously not a representative situation."

"You're correct, Captain Kirk," said the political scientist, Marcus Esner. "It isn't representative, but you have to admit that the circumstances are ideal for us, as observers. When we're done we'll just extrapolate from our data to more volatile situations."

Kirk breathed in and willed himself not to respond. Here was the kind of disinterest that he truly abhorred. The two civilian scientists were trained to be objective and uninvolved. The Diplomatic Officers, though officers, were skilled at remaining impartial. Spock, he knew, was keeping his emotions, whatever they were, in check. Bones was optimistic because he believed the Juras' passivity afforded them optimal resilience in this kind of situation.

That left only Kirk to feel antsy and frustrated with inaction. He was a soldier, he saw injustice, he needed to act. He couldn't wait to get out of here – and they would, in three days' time – but he knew the whole experience would leave a bad taste in his mouth for a long time to come.

"Look!" Holt hissed, gazing at something over Kirk's shoulder.

Kirk turned in his chair and looked through the vine covered trellis that shielded their table from the street. A column of Klingons, ten rows, three abreast, was moving through the square. From his vantage point above the square, the column looked like a fat and ravenous caterpillar moving through an apple, devouring. Juras were shoved aside or trod underfoot. A hush was falling over the square, accentuating the thump of the soldiers' boots on the pavement, the clang of their chain mail.

"We had better go now, Captain," Spock advised quietly.

"Yes," said Kirk, rising from his chair. "Take care, they seem to be gearing up for something."

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Any group over two might seem suspicious, so Spock was going to skirt the square by way of the arcades, while Kirk and McCoy would cut through the crowd.

"Let's stay well away from that column," Kirk warned.

They walked a little apart, often parting around a Jura. Kirk was preoccupied, trying to get a feel for the tension in the air. In the eerie silence that had fallen since the Klingons had marched in, the crowd seemed to alive with... was it panic? He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was making his skin crawl. He pulled the hood of his coat over his head so he could observe somewhat unseen the faces of those he passed. This shopkeeper, did he look worried? That woman with the packages strapped to her back, was there something sad in her eyes?

He appeared out of nowhere, a flash of black and gold in the corner of Kirk's eye. Kirk instantly looked down and kept walking as the Klingon Commander passed him by. A few seconds during which his heart beat loudly in his ears...

"HALT!"

Everyone stopped in their tracks. The roar bounced off the buildings that lined the silent square.

Kirk winced, stopped and kept his head down. Because of the hood he couldn't see what was going on behind his back. He glanced sideways at McCoy who was a few feet away, turned toward him, looking panicked. Kirk shot him a warning glance. The Doctor got the hint and looked away.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"You!" the Klingon barked into Kirk's ear.

His hood was pulled away and there was the big face, the black eyes, right up close. Kirk squashed his first reaction, which was to elbow the Klingon and make a run for it. This particular Klingon was taller by a head and perhaps twice his weight. So he held his breath and tried to adopt the dull stare of the Jura.

"I said no one, NO ONE, move!" the Commander called out. "Brigadier! To me!"

He faced Kirk again, squinting suspiciously.

"You looked... curious," he breathed.

Kirk looked up at his assailant, like he knew a Jura would, but he tried to focus on some point behind the other's eyes, hoping it would look like a vacant stare. He said nothing for fear that his voice would betray him.

"Identify your-" the Commander began, but then he stopped, and his eyes widened, and he smiled. "Well, well. No need. You are Captain Kirk!"

Kirk made his move, aiming for the solar plexus. But before his fist could make contact it was intercepted by the Klingon's huge hand. With his other hand he grabbed Kirk's forearm and yanked it. Kirk rotated, twisting his back to avoid the pain and before he knew it the Klingon was behind him. He bit down as the Klingon twisted his arm behind his back. His left hand clawed pointlessly at the Commander's tunic.

"Too late, Kirk," the Klingon whispered into his ear. "And it looks like we caught another one."

Kirk turned his head to McCoy immediately. The Doctor was being restrained by a Klingon soldier. The anger and concern in his eyes had given him away.