CHAPTER 13

"REALLY, CAPTAIN KIRK, I must protest this treatment!"
Jim Kirk looked around as two security guards hustled a protesting Cyrano Jones, cradling several tribbles, into Manager Lurry's office. "Ah, Mr. Jones, with an armful. A few questions—"
As the security guards put Jones in a chair, another voice burst through the opening door.
"Captain Kirk!"
Ah, Koloth. And his first officer, too.
Swinging to face them, Kirk snapped, "What do you want?"
The Klingon seemed to think he had something on him. "An official apology addressed to the Klingon High Command. I expect you to assume full responsibility or the persecution of Klingon nationals in this quadrant."
Kirk eyed him, unflapped. "An apology?"
"Yes. You've harassed my men. You've treated them like criminals. You've been most uncourteous, Captain Kirk. If you wish to avoid a diplomatic incident—"
"No, Kirk!" Barris pushed in from where he had been standing nearby. "You can't let him! That'll give them the wedge they need to claim Sherman's Planet!"
Spock, his voice like a balm on the abrasions of the moment, pointed out, "I believe that more than the word of an aggrieved Klingon commander would be necessary for that, Mr. Barris."
Kirk glanced over his shoulder at him gratefully.
"Mr. Spock," Koloth said, "as far as Sherman's Planet is concerned, Captain Kirk has already given it to us."
"Well, we'll see about that," Kirk told him. "But before I take any official action, I'd like to know just what happened." Attention turned to Cyrano Jones as Kirk stepped toward him. "Who put the tribbles in the quadrotriticale? And what was in the grain that killed them?"
"Captain Kirk, before you go on, may I make a request?"
"Yes?"
He pointed at the tribbles in Cyrano Jones's arms. "Can you get those things out of here?"
Not so much to ask. McCoy had reported that the tribbles seemed to have a particularly jarring effect on Klingons, cutting to the core of their nervous systems with what sounded like pleasant trilling to everyone else.
Kirk motioned to the security guards, who plucked up the trilling balls and headed for the door. As the door opened, the guards had to step aside for Arne Darvin.
The stiff young assistant behaved as if startled that someone was crossing his path at a common door, then bodily flinched again as the tribbles in the guards' hands suddenly quivered and screamed.
The guards held back, and Darvin tried to step past them, but the tribbles shrieked fitfully.
"Remarkable—" Spock intoned.
"Hold on a minute!" Kirk ordered. He turned to Jones. "I thought you said tribbles liked everybody."
"They do!" Jones protested in a surprisingly honest tone. "The last time I saw one act this way was in the bar."
"What was in the bar?"
"Klingons! Him, for one," Jones said, pointing at Koloth's first officer, the man Kirk knew had been the chief antagonist in the bar fight.
Kirk went to the doorway and took two tribbles from the nearest guard. Darvin stood there unmoving, his arms tightly folded. Kirk strode back into the room, deliberately moving too close to Koloth's first officer. Sure enough, the tribbles rattled and screamed in his hands.
"Why, you're right, Mr. Jones," Kirk observed with undisguised glee. "They don't like Klingons!"
The door opened and Dr. McCoy came in, which enhanced Kirk's idea. He walked to Spock, and the tribbles purred happily. "But they do like Vulcans."
"Obviously tribbles are very perceptive creatures, Captain," Spock offered, playing along with style.
"Obviously." He turned and extended his experiment to Barris. "Mr. Barris, they like you … well, there's no accounting for taste."
Like a cat who'd just caught the neighborhood rat, Kirk turned to Darvin and the tribbles rewarded him with a piercing squeal.
"They don't like you, Mr. Darvin. I wonder why? Bones?"
McCoy brought his medical tricorder to Darvin and turned it on. "Heartbeat is all wrong … his body temperature is—Jim, this man is a Klingon!"
"Klingon?" Barris gasped.
Swelling with joy, Kirk leveled a victorious gaze on him. "I wonder what Starfleet Command will have to say about that. What about the grain, Bones?"
McCoy turned to him. "Oh, yes … it was poisoned."
Absorbing one more shock, Barris breathed, "Poisoned …"
"Yes, it's been impregnated with a virus. The virus turns into an inert material in the bloodstream. The more the organism eats, the more inert matter is built up. So, after two or three days it would reach a point where they couldn't take in enough nourishment to survive."
"They starved to death," Kirk concluded. "In a storage compartment full of grain, they starved to death."
"That is essentially it," McCoy said, rocking on a heel.
Prowling, Kirk fixed eyes with Darvin. Slowly he prowled the disguised young Klingon. "Darvin, you talk?"
The clean-cut spy attempted, "I have nothing to say."
Kirk shoved the tribbles into his face. They sirened and waggled until Darvin winced.
"All right! I poisoned the grain! Take them away."
"And the tribbles had nothing to do with it."
"I don't know. I never saw one before in my life. And I hope I never see one of those fuzzy miserable things again."
"I'm certain that can be arranged, Darvin," Barris said indignantly. "Guards!"
The two security men sprang to life, now with a real criminal to guard, and shuffled Darvin out of the room.
Barris offered Kirk an almost polite farewell. "If you'll excuse me, Captain."
He followed the guards out, his attention on a new target of his antagonism now.
"Captain Koloth," Kirk began, "about that apology …"
"Yes?"
"You have six hours to get your ship out of Federation territory."
Anger flared across Koloth's face, but Kirk pushed the tribbles an inch closer, enough to set them off.
As physical pain and emotional infuriation streaked across Koloth's face, the Klingon offered a bare salute and hurried out of the room, with his first officer virtually running after.
As Spock, Jones, and McCoy surrounded him, Kirk felt the annoyances of the past few hours pour off him just as the tribbles had poured out of the storage bin.
"Y'know," he said happily, "I think I could learn to like tribbles!"

 

CHAPTER 13

"REALLY, CAPTAIN KIRK, I must protest this treatment!"
Jim Kirk looked around as two security guards hustled a protesting Cyrano Jones, cradling several tribbles, into Manager Lurry's office. "Ah, Mr. Jones, with an armful. A few questions—"
As the security guards put Jones in a chair, another voice burst through the opening door.
"Captain Kirk!"
Ah, Koloth. And his first officer, too.
Swinging to face them, Kirk snapped, "What do you want?"
The Klingon seemed to think he had something on him. "An official apology addressed to the Klingon High Command. I expect you to assume full responsibility or the persecution of Klingon nationals in this quadrant."
Kirk eyed him, unflapped. "An apology?"
"Yes. You've harassed my men. You've treated them like criminals. You've been most uncourteous, Captain Kirk. If you wish to avoid a diplomatic incident—"
"No, Kirk!" Barris pushed in from where he had been standing nearby. "You can't let him! That'll give them the wedge they need to claim Sherman's Planet!"
Spock, his voice like a balm on the abrasions of the moment, pointed out, "I believe that more than the word of an aggrieved Klingon commander would be necessary for that, Mr. Barris."
Kirk glanced over his shoulder at him gratefully.
"Mr. Spock," Koloth said, "as far as Sherman's Planet is concerned, Captain Kirk has already given it to us."
"Well, we'll see about that," Kirk told him. "But before I take any official action, I'd like to know just what happened." Attention turned to Cyrano Jones as Kirk stepped toward him. "Who put the tribbles in the quadrotriticale? And what was in the grain that killed them?"
"Captain Kirk, before you go on, may I make a request?"
"Yes?"
He pointed at the tribbles in Cyrano Jones's arms. "Can you get those things out of here?"
Not so much to ask. McCoy had reported that the tribbles seemed to have a particularly jarring effect on Klingons, cutting to the core of their nervous systems with what sounded like pleasant trilling to everyone else.
Kirk motioned to the security guards, who plucked up the trilling balls and headed for the door. As the door opened, the guards had to step aside for Arne Darvin.
The stiff young assistant behaved as if startled that someone was crossing his path at a common door, then bodily flinched again as the tribbles in the guards' hands suddenly quivered and screamed.
The guards held back, and Darvin tried to step past them, but the tribbles shrieked fitfully.
"Remarkable—" Spock intoned.
"Hold on a minute!" Kirk ordered. He turned to Jones. "I thought you said tribbles liked everybody."
"They do!" Jones protested in a surprisingly honest tone. "The last time I saw one act this way was in the bar."
"What was in the bar?"
"Klingons! Him, for one," Jones said, pointing at Koloth's first officer, the man Kirk knew had been the chief antagonist in the bar fight.
Kirk went to the doorway and took two tribbles from the nearest guard. Darvin stood there unmoving, his arms tightly folded. Kirk strode back into the room, deliberately moving too close to Koloth's first officer. Sure enough, the tribbles rattled and screamed in his hands.
"Why, you're right, Mr. Jones," Kirk observed with undisguised glee. "They don't like Klingons!"
The door opened and Dr. McCoy came in, which enhanced Kirk's idea. He walked to Spock, and the tribbles purred happily. "But they do like Vulcans."
"Obviously tribbles are very perceptive creatures, Captain," Spock offered, playing along with style.
"Obviously." He turned and extended his experiment to Barris. "Mr. Barris, they like you … well, there's no accounting for taste."
Like a cat who'd just caught the neighborhood rat, Kirk turned to Darvin and the tribbles rewarded him with a piercing squeal.
"They don't like you, Mr. Darvin. I wonder why? Bones?"
McCoy brought his medical tricorder to Darvin and turned it on. "Heartbeat is all wrong … his body temperature is—Jim, this man is a Klingon!"
"Klingon?" Barris gasped.
Swelling with joy, Kirk leveled a victorious gaze on him. "I wonder what Starfleet Command will have to say about that. What about the grain, Bones?"
McCoy turned to him. "Oh, yes … it was poisoned."
Absorbing one more shock, Barris breathed, "Poisoned …"
"Yes, it's been impregnated with a virus. The virus turns into an inert material in the bloodstream. The more the organism eats, the more inert matter is built up. So, after two or three days it would reach a point where they couldn't take in enough nourishment to survive."
"They starved to death," Kirk concluded. "In a storage compartment full of grain, they starved to death."
"That is essentially it," McCoy said, rocking on a heel.
Prowling, Kirk fixed eyes with Darvin. Slowly he prowled the disguised young Klingon. "Darvin, you talk?"
The clean-cut spy attempted, "I have nothing to say."
Kirk shoved the tribbles into his face. They sirened and waggled until Darvin winced.
"All right! I poisoned the grain! Take them away."
"And the tribbles had nothing to do with it."
"I don't know. I never saw one before in my life. And I hope I never see one of those fuzzy miserable things again."
"I'm certain that can be arranged, Darvin," Barris said indignantly. "Guards!"
The two security men sprang to life, now with a real criminal to guard, and shuffled Darvin out of the room.
Barris offered Kirk an almost polite farewell. "If you'll excuse me, Captain."
He followed the guards out, his attention on a new target of his antagonism now.
"Captain Koloth," Kirk began, "about that apology …"
"Yes?"
"You have six hours to get your ship out of Federation territory."
Anger flared across Koloth's face, but Kirk pushed the tribbles an inch closer, enough to set them off.
As physical pain and emotional infuriation streaked across Koloth's face, the Klingon offered a bare salute and hurried out of the room, with his first officer virtually running after.
As Spock, Jones, and McCoy surrounded him, Kirk felt the annoyances of the past few hours pour off him just as the tribbles had poured out of the storage bin.
"Y'know," he said happily, "I think I could learn to like tribbles!"