Seven: Let's misbehave
Even the entrance hallway of JT's building dripped with opulence; polished-steel revolving doors three men high were framed with shining architraves of zigzag metal. Above them, the interior was lit by leaded glass panels that echoed the chevron patterns of the teak floor, so highly polished that if she looked down, a woman could see the lace of her underclothing. It had a cathedral's gilding and space, and McCoy could sit there all day on one of the plush couches, absorbing the peace. Stage right stood a lacquered walnut desk, styled as the dashboard of a million-credit shuttle-car. As usual, the buttoned up, Brylcreemed concierge regarded him with the expression of a man inhaling the whiff of disappointment.
"You again, sir. Do you have an appointment with Mister Tiberius today?"
"Nope, but I got one with his lovely assistant, Miss Gaila. I'm working a case for her. You can call her if you like. If you can remember the number of her apartment, Barty." That earned him a familiar stick-up-the-ass scowl.
"It is Bartholomew, sir." Barty made a show of calling Gaila. He played her the security feed from his station and asked twice to see Uhura's ID, even though he'd scrutinised it with his beady little bird eyes the first time.
McCoy hadn't the patience. "You sure that's quite necessary Barty? It's not like we never met before."
"Are you attempting to tell me my job, sir?" It was a marvel how Barty's eyebrows went up while he was still looking down his nose.
"Nope, just trying to figure out what it is."
Two minutes later they were in a turbolift decorated in bronze sunbursts, hurtling up to the seventy-seventh floor.
While the trio stood waiting for the doors to open, Bones grinned at Chekov, who rubbed his palms on his trousers. He had to hand it to Uhura today, she looked scary, in a most agreeable way. Her micro-braided hair was piled up in a French roll with a tiny, military-style pillbox perched on top. She'd given up on the straight style and cut about a foot off it. Everyone who lived in this damp place arrived at a manageable 'do' through trial-and-error. Her red suit was sprayed on with a fire-hose – the skirt so slim that when she sat, it almost showed her stocking-tops, but didn't – it was some trick. The jacket was a parody of a bell-hop uniform, but with a more pleasing frontage.
On the penthouse floor, the lift doors opened at half the speed of those on other levels. McCoy knew that because he'd timed them. Gaila always greeted visitors at these doors, and he'd long suspected she'd engineered them that way to stage a dramatic entrance. Of course, the level of drama was in inverse proportion to the size of her clothing. Bones thought of covering the Kid's eyes until he saw what she was wearing. With a 'ping', they reached their floor, and the doors crept apart, separating to reveal the green goddess in all her glory. At McCoy's shoulder, Chekov drew in a quiet gasp.
A violet satin dress wound round Gaila's curves, leaving her shoulders as bare as a lover who'd wrapped a bed sheet about her naked body, but no sheet ever got filled out that way. It was a miracle of twenty-third century engineering; a dress that threatened to spill its load at any moment, and what a load. Green for go, and red for danger. She was poured by a barman who didn't know when to stop.
Her hair flowed loose in a copper river, an artless curl covered one eye and a long black cigarette holder balanced between her fingers. Held away from her body, its smoke trail seemed to come from Gaila herself. When she spoke, McCoy felt it in his hip pocket.
"Well, Bones, you finally decided to have me show the Kid the ropes?"
"I swear, Gaila, if you were younger, I'd put you over my knee and spank you."
"You mean if you were younger, daddy." She moved off with a pendulum's swing. "Walk this way Doc."
"I can't. Don't have the equipment."
"Sorry Bones, did you leave your cane in the elevator?" She looked back at him over her shoulder and the exposed eye closed in a sly wink. He mimed groping about his collar to attach a leash.
All four sat on snowy leather couches that ensured Porthos wasn't allowed in JT's home. The lounge was twice the size of Bones' apartment, including his secret OR. Just like the huge captain's quarters on eighteenth century frigates, it reminded the crew who was boss.
Gaila offered around cigarettes. "So, when were you thinking of introducing me to your beautiful companion?" The Orion addressed Uhura, "Sorry, the old guy always gets a tad forgetful around me, I got no idea why."
"This is Uhura, Gaila. Best communications officer in the fleet, now you behave." He hoped she wouldn't, he liked it best when she misbehaved.
"Pleased to meet you Uhura, I like your look. It's always the quiet ones."
Not versed in female-speak, McCoy couldn't tell if that was honey or vinegar, so he got up and wandered about the room, and picked up a polished brass telescope from a ledge on his travels. Seafaring antiques were Jim's comfort blanket; in his heart he captained that frigate, and watched the stars from the quarterdeck.
New Glasgow stretched out beyond the tall iron-framed windows of the penthouse. Through the telescope, McCoy saw all kinds of transport. On the River Clyde, a hovercraft; above the water, a sleek mag-train on an iron bridge; in the air, taxicabs. If he had x-ray vision he would see the low-level trains beneath the ground, or the tiny subway that had only one circle line and was nicknamed the 'Clockwork Orange' on account of its colour.
Inside, the room they sat in was an iceberg-white of the kind designed for armies of maids. Either JT wanted to dazzle from all angles, or he got into a lot of brawls up here and hoped his opponents would go snow-blind. Perhaps he just wanted to admire the statuesque Orion who lounged here, her contrast turned up to max against the monochrome landscape. About four minutes ago, Chekov lost the power of speech, and as McCoy processed Gaila's greeting to Uhura, he knew how the Kid felt. Did she light the fuse of a bomb or a friendship?
He needn't have worried, Uhura was an expert in communication: "I find lovers adore an uptight up-do and a lot of buttons. In the time it takes to unloose my bindings, I have a measure of their stamina. Except if they are old and rich, then I have to engage the services of my seamstress."
"What, the old guys tear them?" Gaila's voice lowered, as if to shield Chekov, who'd smoked almost an entire 'Old Navy' in one drag.
"No, I do. I'd rather they had the heart attack later, not sooner."
A peal of laughter escaped the Orion's lipsticked pout. "That's a line, but it's a funny one. I like you."
Steady brown eyes stared at Gaila."Good for you."
"Okay, ladies, enough of the lollygagging. Where's JT, Red?" McCoy didn't want this dance to go on any longer, since both participants wanted to lead.
"Still getting dressed, he's a very particular boy."
"Speaking of dress, you always wear an evening gown at ten in the morning? Are you going to offer us a Martini next?"
"Ha, no. I was trying my new outfit for the party tomorrow. You are coming, aren't you, Doc? It would be such a shame to miss you. Bring that gorgeousVulcan too – he's such a hit at parties. My social stock goes up when he shows. Everyone thinks it's perfectly charming that JT knows someone who is a university professor – it's so...worthy."
On cue, the comm buzzed and a young Irishman's voice ghosted into the room. "Sorry Ma'am, the Captain's had to go out, the advertising shots he did for Slater's tuxedos need to be approved."
"Oh Hawkins, what flimflam, they could have done that remotely, where's he really gone?" Gaila tutted at the ceiling.
"Well, you didn't get this from me, but I think he's gone for a nose around MediKhan – an unofficial behind-the-scenes tour of the facilities."
The Orion shook her head. "Well let's hope he doesn't end up slugged and put in the River Clyde wearing concrete overshoes."
Laughter came from the disembodied voice, "Ma'am, you know him, he'd float, or more likely be rescued by passing mermaids. Hey, Chekov, are you coming to the party? Go on, help keep me company while I pretend to be the butler."
"Oy no. No way I am going to a party with this lot, it is like going to a party with my parents, everyone saying how much I have grown in the last month, petting my head like I am Porthos. I am staying in with Charlie and Scotty. We can go out another day, yes?"
"Ha, OK, I'll call you later. Ma'am, do you need anything? I've got a pile of paperwork here."
"No, thanks Hawkins, see you later." The comm clicked off.
"Who is that?" Uhura was curious, directing her question to the Orion.
"That's JT's PA, Hawkins – he's young and smart like Chekov here – you'll see him at the party." Gaila inhaled hard on her cigarette, leaving traces of metallic, coppery lipstick on the ebony holder. "Oh, and he's very, very pretty."
"Of course, Gaila is officially JT's PA, since his publicist doesn't think what Gaila really is fits the fan demographic. All the fans should be allowed the fantasy of getting it on with JT, an old ball and chain in the way won't help sell phonograph records." McCoy said.
"You're married?" This didn't equate with what Uhura heard about the Captain.
Gaila shot McCoy a death-stare. "No, we're not married, I'm an SI computing engineer, disguised as JT's girlfriend, disguised as his PA. Bones just calls me that after busting in on Jim and me by accident one day – "
"Well, you gotta admit," McCoy winked at Uhura, "there were balls... and chains."
Low groaning from the corner of the sofa drew their attention again to Chekov, who shook his head from behind a pewter velvet cushion he'd clamped to his face.
Thirty-five hours later, standing once more on the plush pile of the hallway's rug, McCoy smoked a fat cigar behind a slim bronze female nude who held a glowing translucent globe aloft. Bones's free hand was deep in his pocket, a deliberate strategy to stop himself from tugging at the high shirt-collar that supported his bow tie. A twin of the statue that concealed him guarded the other side of the wide doorway into the lounge. Both were unpolished so a film of verdigris covered their bodies, and McCoy thought this a deliberate affectation of JT's, to emphasise their resemblance to Gaila.
His surveillance continued as Hawkins, a tall pale boy in tails, took coats from Uhura and Chapel. White-blonde hair was slicked to his skull; he wore a shadow of Kohl around his eyes, emphasising the emerald green of his irises, and his lips were rouged. McCoy was taken by the sharp angles of the kid's cheekbones and the youthful skeleton that was a fraction too large for his gangly limbs.
Although their ages were almost the same, folk's reactions to Chekov and Hawkins were day and night. Chekov got warm giggles; Hawkins got furtive glances, and notes were pushed deep into his trouser pockets by men and women old enough to know better. Despite his near-albino colouring he was danger wrapped in darkness and silence. The silent thing was an act, possibly modelled on Spock, but he played it well, driving both sexes to foolish acts. If someone looked close, they would see Hawkins wore a twenty-thousand credit watch, and a pinky ring with a Cardassian opal that cost the same as a week in the best hotel in Dunedin; Starfleet didn't pay that well. JT loved to be surrounded by people who surprised him, "One day," Jim told McCoy, "Hawkins'll be head of Starfleet Intelligence."
Earlier, Uhura told Bones she didn't want to meet James Tiberius Kirk. After the last near-miss he'd become a cypher to her, a disguised deep-cover contact who she only heard of second hand. She didn't want to know what he was like, how he spoke, or to find out if the legendary charm was real. In a gesture Christine said was 'just like Jim, what a cheese-ball', Kirk sent Uhura a dress, and what a dress it was. Heavy with silver sequins that threw starlight about her with every step, it swept the floor, draped low in front and back, held up by wide crystal straps.
A hand clapped McCoy on the shoulder, as he watched Uhura and Chapel disappear. "Good evening Bones, drink?"
"Jim, what are you, some kinda psychic? I think about you and you just appear from thin air?" He took the proffered glass from JT's hand.
"You were thinking about me Bones? Aww, that's nice." The Captain leaned back against the wall, hidden along with the doctor.
"You find anything at KhanCorp? What you go looking around there for, all alone? You'll get yourself hurt so bad one day I won't be able to patch you together. And what's the meaning of sending Uhura that dress? Are you crazy?"
"Bones, Bones, Bones." Jim held up the hand that didn't hold a drink. "One question at a time, please. First, no, I didn't find squat at KhanCorp. The place is locked down tighter than a tribble in a Klingon battle cruiser." Jim dropped his voice. "I'm sure Khan's the key to these missing beings, he's behind every racket on this planet. Things are getting out of hand."
"He here tonight?"
"Hell no – I made sure this party was on a date when he was out of town – he's in Dunedin with Marla the moll for a long weekend."
Bones bent to stub out his cigar-butt in an ashtray on the statue's plinth. "Yeah, a weekend with that creep must always seem like a long one. And the dress? You making a sucker out of Gaila?"
"Relax, Gaila chose the dress – no sense Spock knowing that though – you think I'd know the dress-size of a woman I never met? I've heard Spock yammering on about Uhura long enough to know his interest isn't exactly professional. I'm just trying to give the man a jump-start. Where is he anyway?"
"He's parking the hover-bike in the basement. Probably got delayed by Barty," McCoy rolled his eyes, "that superior, officious jack-ass."
"Come on Bones, Spock's not that bad. You came on the bike?" McCoy nodded. "Smooth, but my two most important men on the same mode of transport? Naughty, naughty, Bones. You're like royalty – shouldn't travel together." Jim touched his glass to McCoy's. "Let's wait for Spock and get out of the shadows, talk to some women. You look like a matinee idol in a tux, when Spock gets here, the three of us can go in together, knock 'em dead."
"Anyone ever tell you you're a vain bastard, Jim?"
"Yes, you do. All the time. You're a regular Jiminy Cricket."
~~intermission~~
