by Greg Cox
Septos permitted himself a bitter chuckle. His flesh and bones still ached from Dellas’s previous displays of “patience.” How much more can I endure? he wondered, close to despair. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the thought of facing the mind-sifter again terrified him. It had taken all his training and mental discipline to resist the machine’s intrusions before, and his strength had only diminished since then. Unable to lie to himself, he knew just how close he was to total collapse. He could only pray that Dellas did not realize this as well.
“Let’s try this one more time,” she began, sounding slightly bored but willing to stick with her task even if it took her all day. “Where did you get this technology?”
Vithrok averted his eyes once more.
* * *
Sulu caught the first guard by surprise. Bounding out of the jungle into the clearing, he fired his phaser at one of the Romulan soldiers guarding the entrance to the bunker. Crouching down amidst the underbrush several meters away, Kirk saw the incandescent red beam stun the guard, dropping him to the grass before the shocked eyes of his fellow guard. The other Romulan raised his disruptor rifle, eager to return fire, but had to duck for cover when Chekov emerged from behind a tree and added his phaser fire to Sulu’s. In the light of the energy beams, their Starfleet uniforms were clearly visible. The guard darted into the shadowy alcove that held the entrance to the bunker, then leaned out of the indentation just enough to unleash a volley of disruptor beams.
That’s no good, Kirk thought. He needed to get that guard away from the doorway, not hiding behind it. Plus, where were the other two guards? He was sure he had counted four soldiers earlier. He raised a hand to signal Seven and Osiris, who were hiding further back in the greenery, to wait a little longer. Come on, he silently urged Chekov and Sulu. Lure them out into the open.
Certainly they were making enough noise to rouse the entire Romulan Star Empire. Besides the hiss of their phaser beams, Sulu let out a series of bloodcurdling whoops worthy of any ancient samurai, while Chekov yelled obscenities and invective in his native Russian. At least Kirk assumed they were insults; he couldn’t make out a word of it himself. I just hope the Romulans have got their universal translators working. It would be a shame if they missed the full effect.
Their strenuous efforts produced the desired effect. Two more Romulan guards came running around the corner of the bunker, nearly trampling over their fallen comrade. They fired their disruptors as they ran, forcing the two men from the Enterprise to retreat behind the bole of an enormous tree whose mossy trunk stretched toward the cloudy night sky. The wooden giant was wide enough to conceal both humans as they took turns firing from either side of the tree. Kirk knew their phasers were set on stun. He doubted if the Romulans were returning the favor.
Now that they had the Federation officers outnumbered, the third guard crept out of the shelter of the entrance to join the other two soldiers as they rushed toward Chekov and Sulu, disruptors blazing. “Yes!” Kirk whispered to himself. He beckoned Seven and Osiris closer. “Get ready,” he warned them. Osiris growled in anticipation.
Chekov scored a lucky shot, dropping another Romulan onto the floor of the clearing. The other two kept on coming, though. Chips of wood and bark flew where their beams struck the mighty tree. Sulu and Chekov fired back wildly, too busy dodging the disruptor blasts to bother aiming their phasers. Kirk knew they would have to retreat soon. The Romulans were getting too close.
“Paashol v’chorte,” Chekov hollered in Russian, getting one last dig in before abandoning his position and heading deeper into the brush, Sulu right behind him. The Romulans got the message all right, shouting angrily as they took off in pursuit of the two humans, crashing through the matted twigs and vines like rhinos on a rampage. Kirk waited until they were entirely out of view, then counted to five, just in case one of them turned back.
Nobody did.
“Now!” he barked, jumping to his feet and racing out into the clearing. Seven and Osiris leaped forward as well, the big cat’s powerful legs propelling him above and ahead of Kirk. As they approached the entrance to the bunker, Osiris veered toward the prone body of the stunned Romulan guard, still splayed out amidst the grass. Ivory fangs flashed before Kirk’s eyes.
“Not now,” Seven called out to his feline ally. “Maybe later.”
Despite Seven’s admonition, Osiris couldn’t resist taking a single swat at the fallen guard with one of his massive paws before rejoining Kirk and Seven in front of the bunker. On closer inspection, Kirk observed that the humanoid-sized recess he had spotted before formed a narrow arch in front of a gleaming metal door. He rapped his knuckles experimentally on the door; it felt like solid duranium. There was no way his phaser could disintegrate the barrier before the guards returned. He glanced at Seven. “Your move.”
Seven nodded. His hand resting atop Osiris’s furry skull, he addressed the door. “This is Supervisor 194. Emergency access code delta-sine-delta.”
With a hiss of released air, the steel door slid upwards, revealing a well-lit vestibule beyond. Open sesame, Kirk thought, impressed by the ease with which Seven had eliminated the obstacle. “Maybe you belong on this mission after all, Mr. Seven,” he said as he entered the bunker with his phaser drawn.
The entrance chamber was large enough to hold all three of them, with marble tiled floors and stone walls that sloped upward at an angle. A decorative sculpture composed of parallel silver rods hung on one wall. A porcelain vase holding a few withered pink blooms sat atop a marble column. Looks hospitable enough, Kirk thought; clearly it hadn’t been designed by the Romulan military. Dried flower petals littered the floor around the vase. Kirk guessed that no one had watered or replaced the flowers since the soldiers captured the base.
Seven tapped a control panel on the wall nearby the open entrance and the metal door slid back down into place, sealing them in. Kirk looked around quickly. He didn’t see any more guards, but he knew they couldn’t expect their intrusion to go undetected for long.
The vestibule opened onto three corridors, to the right, to the left, and directly ahead. “Which way?” Kirk asked.
Osiris answered by taking off down the left-hand corridor, his ivory horn pointing the way. “After you,” Seven said, gesturing toward the hall the emerald cat had chosen.
Kirk shook his head. “You first.” He trusted Seven to a degree, but why take unnecessary chances? He’d rather have Seven in front of him, where he could keep an eye on the unpredictable time traveller. Osiris disappeared around a corner, his tail trailing behind. “Better hurry. Our guide is getting ahead of us.”
Seven conceded to Kirk’s directive, pursuing Osiris down the empty hall. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been spotted yet, Kirk rushed after them. Despite the obvious danger and urgency of his mission, he couldn’t help feeling a trace of amusement at the sheer unlikeliness of his situation: How in blazes did I end up chasing a lime-colored pussycat through an alien outpost on the wrong side of the Neutral Zone?
He could just imagine what McCoy would say.
* * *
“How many agents do you have in the Empire?” Dellas demanded. “What are their names?”
Septos tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He stared at the floor, seeing dried streaks of his own blood upon the tiles. “No one,” he whispered. “I told you before.”
This was not entirely true. Over the years, he had inevitably established contacts throughout all levels of Romulan society, from the imperial senate to household servants and disaffected students. Aside from Osiris, though, few had ever suspected the full scope of his operations, nor guessed at the supremely advanced nature of his sponsors.
Until Dellas.
She frowned in frustration. “I grow tired of your lies. Perhaps your remaining secrets are not worth my efforts at gentle persuasion.” She grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look up at her. “This is your last chance. Cooperate and you will b
e rewarded with your own disgraceful existence. Defy me and I will make you wish you had never heard of the Tal Shiar.”
His heart sank. There was no question of his response. He was prepared to die to protect the aegis and its agents, but he dreaded leaving Dellas in control of this base. The more time she wasted interrogating him, the less opportunity she had to turn his technology against the safety of the galaxy. If she had truly exhausted her patience with him, what new horrors might she turn to? He had not forgotten her vague but chilling reference to plans involving time travel.
“I don’t know,” he stalled. “I can’t think. Maybe if I had some water? Or a chance to sleep . . . ?” He coughed pathetically, spitting up globules of emerald blood. “Please, I need to rest.”
Dellas did not appear sympathetic to his pleas. Could she see through his desperate attempt to buy more time? The Romulan commander stared at him silently, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she tapped the toe of her boot impatiently against the hard stone floor. Finally, after a seemingly endless interval, she turned to the aging scientist at her side, recording the session on his tricorder. “Very well, Vithrok. Prepare the mind-sifter.”
“No!” Septos cried out as loudly as his ravaged body allowed. He did not need to feign his alarm. “You cannot. I need only a little time to think.”
“Your time is up, Citizen Septos,” Dellas stated coldly. “I warned you and, unlike yourself, I mean what I say.” She turned her back on him and took the tricorder from Vithrok, casually perusing its display. “Make sure any new data is triply encrypted,” she instructed him. As befitted a high-ranking member of the secret police, the commander was paranoid about secrecy; even the lone guard wore ear plugs beneath his helmet to keep him from hearing any details of the interrogation.
Vithrok removed the mind-sifter from a pocket of his lab coat. Although of Klingon design, the device did not look intimidating, consisting of a collapsible metal ring affixed to a folded leather hood. The ring, Septos knew from painful experience, fitted over the dome of the subject’s skull while the hood provided a degree of sensory deprivation that heightened the effects of the mind-sifter, which operated by passing modulated baryon waves through the cerebral cortex of its victims. The waves interacted with the brain’s electrical impulses to produce interference patterns that could be recorded and translated into a crude approximation of the subject’s personal synaptic pathways. The technology was not unlike that employed by the mnemonic teaching machines of the ancient Eymorgs of Sigma Draconis VI, but infinitely less subtle. When the device was set at its highest levels, the baryon waves provoked synaptic overloads that could lead to seizures, brain damage, and even death. Septos had already experienced the headaches and nausea, the blackouts and memory loss, caused by the mind-sifter at its lowest settings; he dreaded what was yet to come.
Delicate silver circuitry glittered around the metal ring. Miniature display lights flickered to life as Vithrok powered up the device, adjusting the energy levels by tapping gently on a touch-sensitive pad along the edge of the ring. If not for the ominous dark-brown hood hanging down from the metal band, the electronic interrogation device might have easily been mistaken for a decorative tiara or crown. “We’ll start at Force Four,” he suggested.
“No,” Dellas instructed. She regarded Septos coldly. “Force Six.”
Six! Septos lurched forward, reaching out to stop Vithrok from placing the ring upon his head, but the Romulan soldier standing guard behind him shoved him roughly back onto the stool, then smacked Septos against the head with the back of his hand, stunning the already battered and despairing prisoner. His chin sagged upon his chest. His arms drooped loosely toward the floor. The hood descended over his head, casting him into darkness as the metal ring was put in place above his ears, tightening automatically around his skull. The inside of the hood smelled like fear. His fear.
Forgive me, Osiris, my friend, he thought. I did my best, but I have run out of strategies. All is lost.
“Jolan true,” he whispered, invoking the traditional Romulan farewell. “Jolan true.”
Then, without warning, the communicator on Dellas’s belt emitted a loud buzz. Septos heard her snatch up the device and hold it to her lips. “Dellas here. What is it?”
Septos leaned forward, straining his ears to listen to the voice coming from the communicator: “Commander, the installation has been attacked by Star-fleet personnel.”
Starfleet! Hope surged within Septos. He had no idea what Starfleet officers were doing here, but it could not be good news for Dellas and her forces. What was going on? Had Osiris somehow managed to alert the Federation to Dellas’s no doubt catastrophic plans? Septos summoned up his last reserves of energy and concentration. If nothing else, Starfleet’s unexpected arrival may be the distraction I need.
Disturbingly, Dellas sounded neither surprised nor alarmed by the news she had just received. “I see,” she said, sharing a knowing look with Vithrok. “From the Enterprise, no doubt. I’ve been expecting something like this ever since we identified the ship on our sensors.”
The Enterprise, Septos thought. That was James T. Kirk’s ship, he knew, but what was it doing on this side of the Neutral Zone again? He didn’t understand. If only he could see what was happening . . . !
“But the force field?” Vithrok said.
Dellas’s voice betrayed no anxiety. “Clearly it was not sufficient to curb the infamous Captain Kirk.” She spoke again into her communicator. “What is the status of the attack?”
“The perimeter guards repelled the initial assault,” the voice reported. “They are now in pursuit of the humans.”
“Acknowledged,” Dellas said, handing the tricorder back to Vithrok. “Meet me at the entrance to Level One. I will be there at once.” She snapped the communicator shut and headed toward the exit. Then her footsteps paused long enough for her to look back at her prisoner. “Jolan true, citizen. It seems you will have the time you requested. I suggest you do not waste it.”
I don’t intend to, he thought, being careful not to let his defiance show in his posture. Vithrok deftly rolled up the sides of the hood until Septos could see again, but he kept his gaze fixed hopelessly upon the floor even as the Romulan scientist lifted the mind-sifter off his head. Vithrok spoke not a word to Septos, nor did he look him in the face; no doubt, Septos guessed, the commander’s scientific advisor preferred to think of their prisoner as merely another test animal. Septos waited until Vithrok hurried off to catch up with Dellas, taking the mind-sifter with him and leaving Septos alone with just the single guard. His mind worked furiously, trying to figure out how to best take advantage of this opportunity.
The first thing to do was immobilize the guard. Ordinarily, this would not be a problem; his ancestors had been bred for centuries to provide him with a Romulan body with the maximum possible genetic potential, potential he had been trained from childhood to realize. But weeks of captivity and physical abuse had sapped much of his strength. Even with his advanced fighting techniques, he was by no means certain that he was in shape to overcome a determined Romulan soldier. Stealth and surprise were what was needed here. . . .
A low moan escaped his lips, followed by a series of horrible, hacking coughs that shook his entire body. Suddenly he let out a ghastly cry of pain and toppled forward off the stool, crashing onto the floor with much noise and impact. He felt a sharp pain where his brow connected with the unforgiving stone floor. His body lay crumpled upon the tiles, twitching spasmodically and bleeding profusely from a gash in his forehead.
“Get up,” the guard commanded. Reaching beneath his helmet, he popped the plugs from his ears and shoved them into a pocket in his uniform. His accent betrayed his origins in the outer colonies. “Get up, you traitor!”
Aside from the twitching of his limbs, Septos did not move from where he had collapsed, his head turned sideways on the floor. Greenish saliva bubbled at the corner of his mouth. His eyes rolled upward until only the bloodshot whites c
ould be seen. His fingers and toes jerked repeatedly, scraping against the marble tiles, as though he was being subjected to a sequence of electrical shocks. A puddle of blood formed around his head, streaming from the wound on his brow.
“You! Can you hear me?” the guarded demanded, sounding more uncertain now. “What’s the matter with you?”
The twitching subsided, leaving the unresponsive body limp and motionless. No sound escaped Septos’s lips, only a thin trail of chartreuse drool that slid onto the floor, merging with the darker green blood from his head wound. It was impossible to tell if he was alive or dead.
Swearing under his breath, the guard shoved the stool out of the way and stepped closer to the figure on the floor. He nudged Septos with the toe of his boot, then kicked him cruelly in the ribs. The body remained inert. The guard drew his disruptor pistol from his belt and knelt cautiously next to the body. He shook the body by the shoulder, causing Septos’s head to wag back and forth. Empty white eyes stared lifelessly across the floor.
The pool of blood spread beneath the guard’s knee, soaking the bottom half of one leg of his trousers. “P’farr,” the soldier swore again, momentarily distracted by the mess.
That moment was all Septos needed. He snapped into action, his palms bracing himself against the floor, his spine arching backwards as his legs curled up and wrapped themselves around the his enemy’s neck. Then Septos straightened his entire body, throwing the guard backwards. Now, he thought, quickly, while I still have the advantage of surprise. He disengaged his legs from around the guard and jumped to his feet. He wanted to attack at once, but the sudden movement proved too much for him, and a wave of dizziness caught him off guard. He tottered unsteadily while his opponent, now flat on his back on the floor, raised his disruptor. Septos’s eyes widened in alarm; panic gave him the strength he needed and he kicked the weapon out of the guard’s hand just as he fired. The disruptor went flying and, for an instant, white-hot energy spun like a pinwheel from the weapon, threatening both Septos and the guard. Septos felt the heat of the beam pass within a centimeter from his scalp. Then a deadman’s switch shut off the beam, and it dropped harmlessly to the floor.