January, Year 20 of the Anglo-American Alliance
“Another beautiful day in Paradise,” Gary Mitchell muttered, throwing himself onto his bed with a dull thump.
The 17th Street Boarding House was hardly paradise, and the room Gary shared with Jim Kirk was not beautiful, with its chipped dull-white paint and its faded brownish carpet. But it was better by far than the dumpster, and Gary knew he should be grateful to Edith Keeler for giving them a job so they could rent a room here.
Then why did he only resent her?
Maybe it was because Kirk was spending so much time with her. Yes, the girl was pretty, but she wasn’t that pretty. And she was such a “ such a goody-goody, making those speeches about turning your life around, serving everyone soup with that vapid little smile on her face.
Gary sighed and rolled over on his bed, looking at the dusty old clock sitting on the bedside table. Kirk was late again “ no doubt canoodling with That Girl, or else holding a whispered conversation with the other man who did odd jobs around the mission. Roger Pike, he had introduced himself, but Gary was sure he had heard Edith Keeler’s mother call him Chris. He was always pulling Kirk aside and asking him questions that Gary could just barely not make out, and Kirk was always answering them in an equally low voice. These little meetings invariably ended with Pike whispering something and Kirk shaking his head regretfully, saying that he couldn’t. He was sorry, but he couldn’t.
Well, Gary was tired of it, and when Kirk got here, he was going to ask him straight out what that was all about.
If Kirk ever got here. How long had it been? Putting in extra time was all well and good, but they got paid by the job, not by the hour, so what was the point in prolonging it? Really, Kirk could be incredibly stupid for a man with a degree in political science. Not that the course was totally unbiased these days “ in fact, it was extremely biased “ but that was another story.
Gary swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. That did it. He was going to find Kirk and made him talk. After all, Gary didn’t keep secrets from his friend, so why should his friend keep secrets from Gary?
--
Kirk leaned against his broom, glancing up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was late, and the man had been working for ten minutes past the agreed time allotted for the job, but the kitchen floor had still needed sweeping, and what was a few minutes more or less?
Now, though, as he surveyed the sparkling clean result of his handiwork, Kirk felt more than ready to collect his pay and go home. “Home” being a relative term, of course. He leaned the broom against the wall, conscientiously removing clinging pieces of dust from the brush part of the broom and dropping them into the dustbin.
The mission had closed half an hour ago, and it felt awfully empty without everyone. Even Gary had gone back to their little rented room, and Edith was tidying up upstairs.
Edith. He had only met her two weeks ago, but there was an indefinable something about the girl that was just… well, indefinable. Lost in a daydream about her big eyes and creamy skin and smooth, dark hair, Kirk walked right past the person standing by the kitchen door without paying any attention to him.
After about three steps, Kirk realized that there was someone there and stopped, turning around. The someone was a man perhaps a little older than Kirk, wrapped from chin to toe in thick, uncomfortable-looking clothing, a knit cap pulled low over his head, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.
“The mission’s closed “ “
“I am aware of that.”
The man straightened, unfolding his arms and clasping his hands behind his back. Kirk studied his long, pale, oddly expressionless face and realized that it didn’t look Anglo-American. Not at all.
“Who are you?”
“I live downstairs. Mr. Pike sent me to convince you to accompany me to our rooms to assist us with the project. He seemed to be under the impression that you were aware of the project and would not report us to the authorities.” The man’s voice was flat.
“Right, well, I won’t. But now’s not the greatest time… I really can’t go down there. My friend will be expecting me…”
“Mr. Pike informed me that you would say this, and asked me to prepare a logical set of arguments to persuade you to help us. Item a: you alone of anyone we know have actual experience in this area. Item b: our basement is much more comfortable than the 17th Street Boarding House. Item c “ “
“My friend “ “
“As both you and your friend are hiding from the authorities, neither of you can approach the authorities; therefore, neither of you can report us; therefore, there is no need to worry about your friend not approving of our project; therefore, you may bring your friend with you.”
“Look,” Kirk began, frustrated, “I don’t know who you are, but “ “
“My name is Spock.”
Kirk stared at him for a moment. Well, he was foreign, so he guessed Spock might not be a strange name where he was from. “Right. Well, look, uh, Spock, your arguments are logical and everything, but… well…”
He couldn’t think of a single argument to counter Spock’s, and so said, “I just don’t feel like going down there.”
“Feelings.” The man bit the word out, his face still devoid of expression. “Emotionalism is an unnecessary weakness.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about “ “ Or on “ “ “ but I’m going to be late. My friend “ “
“Your friend,” the man said, “can wait. However, Mr. Scott has instructed me to inform you, and I quote, ‘This place will blow sky-high if I put the two magnets an inch closer together or farther apart than they should be’. And he does not know how much distance is supposed to be between them.”
Kirk slammed his fist against the wall. “I’m not an engineer! I don’t know how far apart two magnets are supposed to be from each other! I didn’t even know there were magnets in a warp drive!”
“I do not believe there were in Cochrane’s warp drive. We have been forced by circumstance to… improvise.”
“Then how does, does Mr. Scott expect me to know where to put magnets in a thing when the only one I’ve seen didn’t have magnets?” Kirk was getting angry now, and he started to walk away, but the man blocked his way, one hand resting on each wall of the corridor.
“That was, indeed, my query,” he said conversationally. “Mr. Scott and Mr. Pike just told me to go before you left for the day. I believe they were attempting to evade the question.”
Casting his eyes up to the ceiling, Kirk said a silent word of prayer to whatever deity might be listening, then looked back at the man. Someone familiar with James Tiberius Kirk might have seen the glint of steel in his eyes and backed away hastily, but Spock was not yet one of those privileged few, and he stayed where he was.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stand aside,” Kirk said firmly.
“The thought of doing so fills me with gratification,” the man said, deadpan. “However, my orders are to the contrary.”
Closing his eyes, Kirk took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. Then, without warning, he lifted his fist and swung at the man’s jaw “ and hit it with a satisfying thwack. Amazingly, he elicited no reaction from his opponent, only a raised eyebrow “ and his knuckles ached.
“Okay,” Kirk said, and tackled the man, knocking him easily to the ground. The two grappled for a moment, the other man flipping Kirk over easily and pinning his wrists to the green carpet, whereupon Kirk kicked him as hard as he could in the stomach, sending him flying “ he really was amazingly light for all his strength. Kirk got up quickly, rushing over to his adversary, who had cracked his head against the wall.
“Are you “ “
But Kirk broke off. The man’s knit cap had fallen off, and sticking out from his short dark hair were two undeniably pointed ears. Kirk blinked, shook his head, looked again. Definitely pointed. And his eyebrows slanted unnaturally, and… Kirk was not religious, but he remembered an old picture in an art book he had read long ago, maybe even before the Anglo-American Alliance: a picture of the devil.
“What are you?” he asked in horrified fascination.
The man let out a barely audible sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. Concerned, Kirk bent as if to check his pulse, but he was stopped by a raised hand.
“You have not seriously injured me, Mr. Kirk. Please do not touch me.”
“Ah “ okay.”
“To answer your question, I do not know what I am.”
Kirk couldn’t stop staring at the ears. He knew that it must be a perfectly natural condition (wasn’t there a disease that resulted in pointed ears…?), but Kirk was still irresistibly reminded of Satan “ or perhaps one of the faerie folk of now-forbidden myth.
The man stood up, bending to retrieve his cap and replacing it on his head. He brushed off the sleeves of his coat and straightened his scarf as if he couldn’t bear to be even a little untidy.
“I do not understand why you attacked me.”
“You were blocking my way.”
“I am still blocking your way.”
“The idea is that I already beat you up once, so you’re supposed to move out of my way.”
“You did not ‘beat me up’, and even if you had, I fail to see the logic of your statement.”
“What are you, a robot?”
“That is inaccurate. A robot is a synthetic, man-made “ “
Kirk shook his head. This one was hopeless. “No, figuratively! You know. Logic. Robots use logic. Besides, you “ “
“Jim?”
Neither of them had heard the front door open, but Gary Mitchell stood in the hallway, looking from one to the other with a strange expression on his face.
“I must go,” said the strange man. “James Kirk “ come.” And he vanished down the corridor.
Kirk turned to face Gary, whose expression had turned hostile.
“Jim, what was that all about?”