From the Depths (Star Trek: The Original Series Book 66) by Victor Milan

Author:Victor Milan [Milan, Victor]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pocket Books/Star Trek
Published: 2000-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

THE DOOR ANNUNCIATOR to Kirk’s cabin chimed. Sitting at his desk reading a digest of reports on Okeanos—or Island, or Discord—James Kirk lifted his head, thought about rebelling, and finally said, “The hell with it. Come in.”

The door slid open to admit Dr. McCoy. “You look relieved, Jim.”

“Maybe it’s the sight of that bottle in your hand.”

“This?” McCoy held it up. Brown liquid sloshed inside. “Just a product of the local culture.”

He tossed it to Kirk, who only just managed to field it. He peered at the label. “‘Hagbard’s Select’”

“Literary reference, they tell me.” McCoy went to the settee and sat down.

“The seal is broken,” Kirk said, “and there appears to be some missing.”

“Well, since the stuff is manufactured by a belligerent in a war you’re trying to stop, it’d be a clear dereliction of duty for me to permit my captain to drink the stuff without subjecting it to rigorous scientific analysis first.”

He rubbed his stomach. “It passed the taste test with flying colors. And it hasn’t killed me yet. So I feel confident in pronouncing it fit even for a starship captain. Especially one with a load of travails.”

“You can say that again.” Kirk squinted at the bottle a little more closely. “Except—tell me one thing. Just what grows on this planet that somebody might be able to distill ‘fine sipping whiskey’ from?”

“Some things, Jim, a man isn’t meant to know. Now drink, don’t analyze. Prove you’re a man instead of a Vulcan.”

Kirk went to the sideboard, took out a couple of tumblers, and poured a couple of fingers in each. He handed one to the doctor.

“You first.”

“What? You don’t trust me?” He hoisted the glass. “To the wonders of modern medicine.” He tossed it off, smacked his lips, and sighed. “Ah. Five or six more like that and I’ll forget what it’s like on that infernal Dutch oven of a planet.”

Kirk sipped his cautiously. It rolled silkily over his tongue and down his throat—then seemed to ignite like a kerosene spill.

“My,” he gasped, “that’s—”

“Smooth. But beware the afterbite.”

“I’ll say.” Kirk paused, sucking on his lips. “You know, a man could get accustomed to that.”

“The way you sounded when I rang,” McCoy said as Kirk poured himself another, “I figured you thought I was the Terror of Red Tape Mansion.”

“She’s still safely down on the planet, continuing her own inquiries.” Kirk sat in his desk chair. “For some reason the Susuru don’t mind her staying on.”

“She tells them what they want to hear. Also, I think their bosses, those ‘forward walkers’ or whatever you call ‘em, are only too eager to give their shiny new ridge-headed friends anything their black hearts desire.”

He looked closely at Kirk. “Funny you should use the word safely in this context. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that silver-tongued Klingon bastard is beating your time.”

Kirk laughed weakly. “Do you really think that’s likely, Bones?”

“Well, now, Klingons and humans are anatomically compatible, reproductively speaking, much as it might gripe them to admit it—”

“I mean—do you really think a woman in her position—”

McCoy was leaning back.

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