Star Trek: Vanguard: What Judgments Come

by Dayton Ward

  Mbugua replied, “Aye, sir. What do we do in the meantime?”

  “Update Vanguard on our latest findings, and carry on with our patrol,” Blair said, his attention returning to the viewscreen and the image of the destroyed vessel. “If Admiral Nogura wants us to investigate further, he’ll let us know.”

  Thomas Blair’s gut was already telling him exactly what the admiral would say.

  9

  “Turn your head and say, ‘Ahhh.’ Oh, wait. I mean, open your mouth and cough. Whatever. I never could get those straight.”

  Though Reyes thought he detected the hint of a whimsical smile on the face of Ezekiel Fisher, the doctor offered no other hint that he might be joking. Still, Reyes was certain he knew his old friend well enough to sense a scam in the offing, so he decided to play along for a bit and see what might happen. “Any other parts of your job you tend to mix up? Medications, operations, patients, that sort of thing?” He sat in one of two chairs that, along with the small, unadorned table positioned against the wall, comprised the sole furnishings within the drab, windowless office that had been provided by Ganz for Fisher during the doctor’s visit to the Omari-Ekon.

  The doctor shrugged, keeping his attention on the status display of the tricorder he held in his left hand as he waved a medical scanner over Reyes. “I may have slipped up from time to time, but I’m lucky in that I have people who all are willing to cover up for my mistakes.”

  “That figures,” Reyes countered, now certain his friend was playing at something despite his implacable expression. “Wish I’d had them on my staff. I might’ve been able to avoid all this trouble.”

  Shaking his head in apparent disagreement, Fisher replied, “I doubt it. Subordinates tend to hold a grudge when you don’t remember birthdays, anniversaries, or other special occasions. You always were lousy at that sort of thing.”

  “That’s why I had a yeoman,” Reyes said, before pausing to reconsider his comment. “Come to think of it, I probably forgot her birthday, too.”

  “And there you go,” Fisher said, deactivating the medical scanner and returning it to his tricorder’s storage compartment. From where he sat, Reyes had been able to see and interpret the unit’s status displays, and he knew that the doctor’s scans had found nothing out of the ordinary. Despite some rough days in the early going, Reyes had suffered no lasting effects during his tenure as a guest first of the Klingons and now the Orions.

  “So, what’s the verdict, Doc?” he asked after a moment, wondering what Fisher’s response might be and hoping it at least would be entertaining.

  Drawing a breath, the doctor replied, “My scans are inconclusive. It’s possible you came into contact with someone who’s infected, but so far no symptoms have manifested themselves. I’m going to inoculate you anyway, just to be safe.”

  Rather than reply, Reyes offered a nod with an expression he hoped would convey the proper level of concern for anyone who might be observing the examination, not the least of whom was the towering, muscled Orion male who had been assigned as Fisher’s escort. He stood behind the doctor, blocking the only exit from the office.

  “You cannot do that,” the sentry said.

  Fisher offered the guard an admonishing glare. “Says who?”

  The blunt nature of the question seemed to catch the Orion by surprise, and Reyes watched while the guard blinked several times, as though struggling to formulate a reply. “My orders are to prevent you from having any physical contact with this human.”

  “Son,” Fisher said, “you want to live, right?” He crossed his arms, adopting his most disapproving demeanor—the one Reyes knew was reserved for wayward interns and low-ranking Starfleet officers who came to Vanguard’s hospital with injuries sustained during a bout of binge drinking at Stars Landing. The expression on the sentry’s face was such that Reyes almost laughed, though he was able to maintain his professional decorum.

  “Yes,” the guard replied after a moment, uncertainty beginning to cloud his stern expression.

  Nodding in what Reyes took to be understanding, Fisher replied, “Well, okay then.” He indicated Reyes with a wave of his hand. “This man has presented preliminary indications of having been infected, which means he requires a vaccination, the same vaccination I gave you an hour ago. If I miss inoculating even one person on this ship who’s come into contact with the contagion, it means that I’ve wasted a lot of valuable time and medicine vaccinating the rest of you. Get what I’m saying?”

  His expression wavering as he appeared to ponder Fisher’s words, the sentry finally said, “I will have to verify this with Ganz.”

  “You do that,” Fisher replied, “and while you’re at it, remind Mister Ganz that Starfleet regulations state that in the event of any form of potential viral contagion, the station’s chief medical officer is required to conduct a thorough inspection of all vessels docked or seeking to dock at this facility. Further, all infected persons aboard any such ship are required to receive the proper vaccinations in order to arrest the possibility of widespread infection.” He indicated himself by pointing his thumb at his chest. “Since I’m the chief medical officer, if I don’t get to do what regulations require me to do while your ship’s docked at our station, the alternative is for you to undock your little ship from our station and be on your merry way. I’m betting Mister Ganz won’t be happy when he finds out his having to leave is all your fault, and that’s before the fever really takes hold and body parts start falling off people in a day or so.”

  The guard now eyed both Fisher and Reyes with no small amount of concern. “Body parts?”

  Fisher nodded. “Yep. The small, fleshy parts are usually the first to go.” Reyes was forced to look away as the doctor made a point of glancing toward the wide belt encircling the sentry’s waist. “It’s not a pretty sight, let me tell you, but that’s Arcturian blood disease for you.”

  “Arcturian blood disease?” Reyes repeated. He had heard of the rare disorder once or twice before, but that was the limit of his knowledge on the subject. Still, he sensed the need to help strengthen the obvious falsehood Fisher was attempting to feed the Orion. “You’re kidding.”

  Continuing to play his role, Fisher said, “Wish I was. Somebody brought it aboard. Probably a freight hauler picked it up from one of the colony planets.”

  “What is this Arcturian blood disease?” the sentry asked, his tone one of skepticism. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “That’s okay,” Fisher said, and Reyes said nothing more as the doctor turned back to the table and the equipment he had laid out atop its surface. “Not many people know about it.” Reaching for his medical kit, he picked up a hypospray and checked its setting. “It has a lot in common with Rigelian fever, and seems to favor humanoids of various species, including humans, Vulcans, and Orions. Tellarites seem immune, but then Tellarites are pretty much immune to almost everything.”

  Watching Fisher ready the hypospray for use, Reyes silently commended Fisher on the ease with which he was playing this little game of misinformation. The strength of a good lie was in not overselling it, and the doctor’s delivery of all the technical-sounding medical mumbo jumbo was just as smooth and polished as when providing an actual, truthful diagnosis. Indeed, Reyes was starting to wonder if the Orion might run from the room in a panic, perhaps to summon a superior or even Ganz himself in order to weigh in on what the guard might well believe was a dangerous viral outbreak aboard the Omari-Ekon.

  “I didn’t think there was a cure,” Reyes said, fueling the fires of deception, though still worried about not overdoing it.

  Shaking his head, Fisher stepped closer to his friend, his right hand wielding the hypospray. “There wasn’t, at least not until six months or so ago. Starfleet Medical was able to synthesize a ryetalyn derivative that works well enough.”

  “What is ryetalyn?” the Orion asked.

  Fisher did not answer before pressing the hypospray to the left side of Reyes’s neck as though read
ying to inject the vaccine into his patient’s carotid artery. At the last instant, with his body blocking the guard’s view, Fisher changed the alignment of the hypo so that it now rested just below Reyes’s jaw before triggering the device’s injector mechanism. The tiny office was filled with the hypo’s pneumatic hiss as Fisher completed administering the vaccination, and Reyes could not help scowling in momentary irritation at the injection, which was more painful than he was used to feeling. The odd sensation continued for several seconds, and he had to force himself not to reach up to rub his jaw as Fisher turned back to the table.

  “Ryetalyn is the only known antidote for Rigelian fever,” the doctor said as he returned the hypospray to his medical kit. “Given the similarities between the two strains of contagion, somebody at Starfleet Medical figured it made sense that their respective antidotes would also be related.” When he turned once more to face his escort, Fisher noted that the Orion’s expression was one of complete befuddlement. “Get all that, sport, or are you still worried about body parts falling off?”

  That, coupled with the guard’s worried look, almost made Reyes laugh. Though he had not been privy to specifics, he had heard assorted scuttlebutt about Admiral Nogura ordering some kind of medical inspections for all Starfleet and civilian vessels moored at the station. According to the gossip mill running rampant through the Omari-Ekon’s bar and gaming deck, teams of Starbase 47 medical personnel were crawling in and through the six docked ships, looking for who only knew what. Reyes had suspected a ruse from the outset, and he was sure Ganz, if not Neera herself, would also doubt the sincerity of any such action on Nogura’s part. For the scheme to succeed, it meant Fisher and his people pushing a hard sell with inspections, examinations, and even vaccinations of supposedly “infected” people aboard any of the targeted vessels.

  “Had to quarantine anyone yet?” Reyes asked.

  Fisher nodded. “Two from one of those low-warp freighters. I’ve got them down in the hospital in an isolation ward. So far they’re not showing anything serious, but the regs state we observe them for forty-eight hours.” Casting a look in the guard’s direction, he added, “Nothing’s fallen off yet, but I suppose we’ll see.”

  “Mister Reyes,” a voice, low and soft, echoed in Reyes’s mind, and he grunted in surprise at the unexpected intrusion. “This is Lieutenant T’Prynn.”

  Studying him warily, Fisher asked, “You all right?”

  In his head, Reyes heard T’Prynn’s voice say, “If you can hear me, tell Doctor Fisher that you have a cramp in your lower leg.”

  Reyes reached down to rub his left calf. “Sorry. I guess I’ve been sitting here too long. Got a cramp.” He cleared his throat as he adjusted his position in the chair, using the opportunity to glance at the guard, who showed no apparent signs of suspecting that anything untoward was taking place.

  “You need to watch those,” Fisher replied. “Probably not getting enough potassium in your diet. I’ll have the quartermaster send over a crate of bananas.”

  “Doctor Fisher has implanted a subcutaneous, subaural transceiver along your jaw,” T’Prynn said. “It operates on an encrypted, low-power frequency well below the range of scanning equipment employed by Ganz’s people. We will now be able to communicate without detection.”

  Reyes had already guessed that much, as well as figuring that Fisher must also be outfitted with a similar device. Since receiving the initial communication from his former intelligence officer and agreeing to assist her if and when she was able to call upon him, Reyes had been waiting for some sign or signal that she was ready to proceed. Were he able to do so without attracting undue attention from Fisher’s escort, he would have smiled in unabashed admiration at T’Prynn’s seemingly never-ending resourcefulness.

  “I will ask you a series of questions,” T’Prynn continued. “At the same time, Doctor Fisher will also be asking you medical-related questions. The answers you provide to me should also be appropriate for his queries. If you understand, please tell Doctor Fisher that you’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

  “Since you’re pumping me full of this and that,” Reyes said, “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything that might help me sleep?”

  Fisher nodded. “I can probably help you with that. What’s the matter? All that craziness in the casino keeping you up nights?”

  At the same time, T’Prynn said, “We require someone to access the Omari-Ekon’s navigational logs and extract information. I cannot elaborate as to the nature of the data, but I can tell you the matter is of extreme importance. Are you willing to make such an attempt?”

  It took Reyes a moment to sort both questions in his head, during which he covered the lag with a small chuckle for the benefit of Fisher as well as the guard. Whatever T’Prynn was planning, he was certain she would not ask him to place himself at such extreme risk unless she believed it to be important. If he were caught while attempting to retrieve information of the sort T’Prynn was seeking, Reyes harbored no doubts that it would mean a death sentence at the hands of Ganz’s people.

  Finally, he answered, “You could say that.”

  “Excellent,” T’Prynn replied.

  “I think I’ve got something here with me that will work,” Fisher said, as he appeared to inspect the contents of his medical kit. “According to your files, you have no allergies. Is that still true?”

  On the heels of the doctor’s question, T’Prynn asked, “Do you think you will be able to access a computer terminal? I should be able to guide you through the process of locating and extracting any relevant data.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Reyes replied, nodding.

  Extracting another vial of dark blue liquid from his medical kit, Fisher attached it to the receptor on the end of his hypospray before turning back to Reyes. “This is a vitamin supplement that should help regulate your melatonin levels. Might take a day or two to kick in fully, but you should notice a difference starting tonight.” He placed the hypo against Reyes’s left arm and once more triggered its injector.

  Reyes felt the compound entering his bloodstream as T’Prynn said, “I will contact you later tonight to work out the details of our operation. I suspect your quarters are being monitored, so partake of your evening meal in a public venue, such as one of the restaurants on the gaming deck. I’ll be able to hear you even if you whisper.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Reyes replied, to Fisher as well as T’Prynn.

  The doctor nodded in apparent satisfaction. “In that case, I think we’re done here.” He said nothing else as he returned his equipment to the satchel he had brought with him. Slinging the bag over his left shoulder, he turned to regard Reyes. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Bring me some decent coffee?” Reyes answered. “The stuff they serve over here tastes like sweat running off a rhino’s ass.”

  Pausing as though considering the image that description evoked, Fisher chuckled and shook his head. “Well, so much for my dinner plans.” He held out his right hand. “Good to see you again, Diego. Take care of yourself.”

  Reyes gripped his friend’s hand an extra moment. He considered attempting to convey a message to the doctor or T’Prynn that might in turn be delivered to Rana Desai, wherever she might be. He had learned of her rather sudden departure from the station, but she had not attempted to contact him prior to her leaving. Though he was certain she must have had her reasons for this abrupt decision, Reyes could not help but feel a pang of regret that she had chosen not to share any such rationale with him. While he figured Admiral Nogura knew where she had gone, Reyes was worried that any attempt by him to pass on a message might be exploited by the guard or someone else in Ganz’s organization, such as whoever doubtless was monitoring the conversations right now taking place in this room. Deciding it was not worth the risk, Reyes offered only a simple reply. “You, too, Zeke.”

  “Okay, sport,” Fisher said to his escort as he moved toward the door, “let’s get a move on. Still
plenty of ship to inspect before my day’s over.”

  The sentry scowled as he stepped aside to allow the doctor to exit the room. Looking back at Reyes, he said, “You can go now, human.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” Reyes said, offering a mock salute. “I was worried I might miss my spa appointment.”

  He waited until Fisher and the guard disappeared from sight before releasing a slow sigh, shaking his head in wonderment at what had just transpired. Had Fisher and T’Prynn truly managed to succeed where others before them—by all verifiable accounts—had failed, and embedded a spy aboard the Omari-Ekon? Reyes had to believe that other covert agents had operated at one time or another while working among the Orion vessel’s crew and passengers. Likewise, he was sure most if not all of those spies ultimately had been discovered and disposed of by Ganz or members of his organization.

  Well, let’s hope we can buck that trend, shall we? The thought continued to rattle around in his head even as he left the room and made his way toward one of the turbolifts that would return him to the gaming deck. It was not until he emerged from the lift and was greeted by the raucous sounds and sights of the casino that T’Prynn’s voice returned.

  “I will be in contact with you soon, Mister Reyes, but I will be monitoring this frequency in a passive scan mode, should you have need to call for assistance. On behalf of Admiral Nogura and Commander ch’Nayla, I wish to thank you for agreeing to help us in this endeavor.”

  Glancing around to make sure no one was paying him any extra attention as he headed for the bar at the center of the gaming floor, Reyes could not help releasing a small chuckle as he considered his current situation.

  “I just hope I don’t talk in my sleep.”

  10

  As he had every day for the past three weeks, Lieutenant Ming Xiong made a circuit of the containment chamber. Just as he had done on those prior occasions during the unit’s construction and installation, he studied every detail and allowed nothing to escape his notice. He inspected each setting on every control panel, eyed every joint and seam where duranium metal plates had come together to form the compartment’s outer shell. Even the conduits connecting the container to its source of power were subjected to his unflinching scrutiny. When he came abreast of the first control panel to be inspected during this latest assessment, Xiong without a moment’s hesitation began the process all over again, only this time, he turned and began to circle the container in the opposite direction.