STAR TREK: The Lost Era - 2298 - The Sundered

by Michael A. Martin

  Had Kasrene known that Vulcans were touch-telepaths? It seemed as likely as not; it wasn’t as though the Federation kept that information classified.

  As he and Chekov carefully laid Tuvok on an unoccupied biobed away from the corner where trauma team worked, Sulu looked once again straight into Tuvok’s glassy, staring eyes.

  Perhaps those eyes had glimpsed whatever it was that had moved Mosrene to attempt murder.

  After slicing away most of Kasrene’s suit, Chapel and the trauma team employed an artificial respirator, a pair of cardiostimulators, and even a forcefield-mediated open-thoracic surgical procedure. Using waldoes to cross the isolation field, they continued working on the ambassador’s still form for another forty-two minutes before Chapel finally pronounced her patient dead.

  Chapel turned away from the waldoes and the gore-spattered trauma table, cursing. She had lost patients before, many times. She had learned to live with that long ago, though it was still extraordinarily painful whenever it happened. She knew that some percentage of those who required her help would arrive too injured, too ill—or just plain too late—to be saved.

  But she found it hard to accept such a loss when she understood so little about the dying patient’s physiology. For all she knew, a first-year Tholian medical student might have been able to keep Kasrene alive. Now that she could never know the truth of it, all she had was self-recrimination.

  “You did everything you could, Doctor,” said Chekov, [99] who seemed to have no trouble guessing the drift of her thoughts. He had dropped by the sickbay every fifteen minutes or so since the trauma team had begun its futile effort to save Kasrene.

  Chapel shook her head. “What I did was precious little. Maybe the Tholians ought to consider training some of their junior diplomats in emergency surgery. Or do they have a separate goddamned medical caste, too?”

  “Chris, I’m sorry,” Chekov said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  She gently brushed the hand away. “I’m all right, Pavel. I just wish these people had at least shared a little of their medical data with us. I was flying blind.”

  “Admiral Yilskene’s people didn’t seem overly concerned about what happened to Kasrene,” Chekov said. “Yilskene doesn’t even seem in much of a hurry to debrief Mosrene about what happened. I just don’t get it.”

  “I think you explained it pretty well earlier. ‘The castes must look after their own.’ Well, they did a pretty miserable job. And so did I.”

  “Doctor, Kasrene was run through with a monomolecular blade. You do understand that this patient was beyond saving, don’t you?”

  “Certainly beyond my abilities.”

  “When you consider the internal injuries a weapon like that can inflict, I don’t think a Tholian medic could have done any better.”

  That’s why monoblades are illegal on most Federation worlds, Chapel thought. But then, we’re a long way from the heart of the Federation, aren’t we?

  “I’m not sure I understand your point, Pavel,” she said aloud, doffing her surgical smock and tossing it into a nearby clothing ’cycler.

  He sat on the end of an empty biobed and ran a hand through his gray-streaked hair, apparently gathering his [100] thoughts. Oh, please. Not another story about growing up in Novy Riga, Russia. Chapel controlled a wince.

  Chekov looked around as though making sure none of the sickbay staff were close enough to overhear him, then studied her with a serious expression. “Did I ever tell you what it was like to be forced to watch while Khan cut the throats of everybody on the Regula I research station?”

  Chapel nodded, though she was surprised that he would mention this. From her medical database, she knew that Chekov had suffered intense posttraumatic stress as a result of that experience, which had later sidelined him from serving as Captain Sulu’s exec for several years. She was also aware that he. generally took great pains not to discuss that particular chapter of his career, even with Excelsior’s chief medical officer.

  “Khan stuck these ... alien slugs into my ear, and into Captain Terrell’s,” Chekov continued, staring off into his memories. “Once those creatures had entwined themselves into our brains, we had no other choice but to follow Khan’s orders. No matter how hard we tried to resist, we couldn’t stop ourselves. At least, when Khan ordered him to kill Jim Kirk, Clark Terrell found the courage to point the phaser at himself instead.”

  Watching his hands slowly turn white as they gripped the sides of the biobed, Chapel felt she had to stop him from going any further. She simply didn’t want to see her old friend trot out his pain, particularly for her benefit.

  “Me, I just stood there until I couldn’t stand the pain from that damned eel anymore,” Chekov continued. “I discovered that I just wasn’t strong enough to—”

  “Why are you telling me this, Pavel?” she interrupted.

  “Because even though you did everything you could, Christine, sometimes that simply isn’t good enough.”

  Chapel favored him with a wan smile. “Thanks, Pavel. Maybe you should consider hanging out a shingle for psych-counseling services.”

  [101] “That would be too much like evaluating crew morale reports, Doctor,” he said, returning her smile before nodding toward a nearby biobed. “How’s Tuvok?”

  Chapel led the way to the bed where Tuvok lay, far from the mess and clamor of the trauma team, whose members were still packing up their instruments and discreetly covering up the Tholian ambassador’s sliced-open corpse with a light blue tarp.

  Chapel looked up at the readings on the biobed monitor above Tuvok’s head. “Not good. He’s suffering from some sort of neural shock. I haven’t seen a Vulcan brain exhibit trauma of this type since Spock tried to mind-meld with V’Ger.”

  “Spock got better,” Chekov pointed out.

  “He was also extremely lucky.” Chapel recalled, not without a little melancholy, the unrequited infatuation she had felt toward Spock when they had served together on the original Enterprise. With the benefit of many years of hindsight, she realized now that her nonrelationship with Spock probably stemmed from her feelings of loss after her separation from Dr. Roger Korby, her late fiancé; Korby had proved to be even more remote from love—to say nothing of simple humanity—than even the most stoic of Vulcans.

  Still, she occasionally wondered whether Spock ever thought about her after all these years.

  “So what’s Tuvok’s prognosis?” Chekov wanted to know, concern striating his forehead.

  “It’s too soon to lay odds, but I do have an initial treatment idea,” Chapel said as she crossed to the companel on the wall and punched a button. “Chapel to Dr. T’Lavik.”

  “T’Lavik here, Doctor,” came the Vulcan physician’s response, her voice a calm, even contralto. Though her shift had ended several hours earlier, she didn’t sound like someone who’d been roused from slumber. “What can I do for you? Vulcans, heal thyselves, Chapel thought. “Please report to [102] sickbay immediately, Doctor. I need a consultation for treating psionic trauma. The patient is Lieutenant Tuvok.”

  There was a slight but noticeable delay in T’Lavik’s response. Chapel imagined that, like most Vulcans, T’Lavik would be somewhat sensitive about discussing Vulcan touch-telepathy with a non-Vulcan. “I will be there presently. T’Lavik out.”

  Chapel turned from the companel and faced Chekov. “Don’t worry, Pavel. I’ve already lost one patient today. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let another one slip through my fingers.”

  A huge weight had settled upon Sulu’s shoulders after Christine called to inform him of Kasrene’s death. So Mosrene’s plan succeeded, whatever the reasons behind it.

  Sulu stood between Aidan Burgess and Janice Rand in the dimly lit VIP quarters that had been assigned to Tholian Ambassador Mosrene. Mosrene, now out of his cumbersome enviro-suit, sat on the floor behind the orange-tinted forcefield barrier that contained the hot, high-pressure sulfurous atmosphere he required. Outside the barrier, the air was uncomfort
ably warm, though breathable for class-M life.

  Sulu found himself wishing that the forcefield separating him from Mosrene were attached to the entrance to the ship’s brig. The only problem with that, as Burgess had already pointed out, was that Mosrene may not have done anything wrong in the eyes of Tholian law.

  Kasrene’s erstwhile assistant betrayed no emotion that Sulu could construe as either guilt or remorse; to the contrary, the Tholian’s demeanor seemed as unfathomable as ever, his face and body an enigmatic congeries of fractured-looking gold-and-ruby crystal formations. Mosrene’s limbs were folded beneath him, his tail outstretched to the rear, sphinxlike.

  Sulu decided that the direct approach would be best. [103] “Mosrene, I need to know why you killed the ambassador. Can you explain yourself?”

  Mosrene’s voice, mediated by the universal translator, rose in a chorus that sounded somewhat nettled. “I am Ambassador Kasrene’s lawful successor, Captain Sulu. Please address me as Ambassador Mosrene.”

  Sulu closed his eyes to tamp down his frustration. He took a long, deep breath before opening them and speaking again. “There must be far more discreet methods of rising in the Tholian hierarchy, Ambassador Mosrene, than killing your superior in the middle of a diplomatic meeting. So I have to conclude that you had reasons to act that go beyond simple career enhancement.” He glanced significantly at Burgess, hoping she would pick up on his wordless message: Let me handle the interrogation. You’ve already said more than enough to these people.

  Mosrene turned his head so that his white, emerald-rimmed eyespots seemed to widen very slightly. “That is so. Ambassador Kasrene was about to divulge ... sensitive information, which I deemed best contained. I owe no further explanation to anyone, save my superiors in the diplomatic caste. They will understand the necessity of my actions, just as the other members of our delegation did.”

  “I’m sure he’s right about that,” Burgess said.

  Rand nodded. “I have to agree, too, Captain. Either all three of Kasrene’s other aides were Mosrene’s confederates in an assassination conspiracy, or else they’re all absolutely confident that Mosrene will be vindicated.”

  Reluctantly, Sulu was forced to concur. Since none of the surviving Tholians aboard Excelsior had so far implied that anyone besides Mosrene was responsible for Kasrene’s death, he tended to trust Rand’s latter hypothesis.

  Still, the fact that a cold-blooded killing had occurred aboard his ship—one apparently sanctioned by Tholian law, no less—bothered him intensely. On top of that, he was [104] irked by Mosrene’s dismissive tone, which he was convinced wasn’t a product of his imagination or a maladjusted translator. Though Federation law and Starfleet protocol prevented him from taking any action against Mosrene, Sulu found himself tempted to give this newly promoted Tholian ambassador over to the tender mercies of Security Chief Akaar, at least for an hour or two.

  “What sort of information might have been worth Kasrene’s life?” Sulu asked.

  Mosrene made a sound like a choir hiccuping in six-part harmony. Sulu interpreted the noise as an involuntary chuckle. “It is the sort of information that requires containment—at any cost,” the Tholian said. “Therefore it is the sort of information which I will discuss with you no further.”

  Mosrene’s eyespots narrowed and vanished, as though he had suddenly fallen asleep or entered a deep meditational trance. He seemed almost literally to turn to stone, and did not respond when Sulu called his name.

  The companel on the-wall sounded. “Chapel to Captain Sulu.”

  Sulu stepped to the wall and punched a button, his eyes still fixed on the immobile Tholian. “Sulu here.”

  “It’s about Lieutenant Tuvok, Captain.”

  “Please don’t tell me you have more bad news, Doctor.”

  “Why don’t you come back to sickbay, and let Tuvok give you the news himself?”

  For the first time, it seemed, since the attack on Kasrene, Sulu allowed himself a sigh of relief. “I’m on my way.”

  “What do you remember, Lieutenant?” Sulu asked, anxious to learn everything that had passed between Tuvok and Ambassador Kasrene. Besides himself and Tuvok, Dr. Chapel and Dr. T’Lavik were also present in the sickbay, along with Chekov.

  Sitting up on the biobed, Tuvok appeared alert and [105] energetic, if somewhat pale. “I remember one of the ambassador’s hands reaching toward me. Next, I experienced a lancing pain through my skull. And then I felt ...” The young Vulcan trailed off, an uncharacteristic look of confusion crossing his face.

  “You felt what?” Sulu said, leaning forward.

  Frowning, Tuvok turned toward Dr. T’Lavik, who was watching him attentively. “What is wrong with me, Doctor?”

  T’Lavik, a centenarian Vulcan female with large ears and iron-gray hair, raised a placating hand. “Your memories of this experience may remain disorganized for some time, Lieutenant. You must be patient while your ability to recall them returns.”

  Tuvok appeared to mull that over for a moment before nodding in apparent resignation. But to Sulu’s experienced eye, the young science officer was positively refulgent with impatience.

  Sulu had to admit that he was beginning to feel that way himself. “What else do you remember, Mr. Tuvok?” he asked, trying his best to sound soothing rather than badgering.

  After a moment’s apparent consideration, Tuvok said, “I believe that the ambassador initiated telepathic contact with me. I cannot recall the specifics as yet, but I do remember her consciousness reaching out toward mine. I remember our minds ... touching.”

  “Is that even possible?” Chekov asked no one in particular. He sounded skeptical. “I know that Vulcans are touch-telepaths, but I thought there always had to be skin-to-skin physical contact.”

  T’Lavik looked as doubtful as Chekov did. Speaking to Tuvok, she said, “It is unlikely that you experienced a genuine mind-touch with the Tholian ambassador, Lieutenant.”

  “I know what I experienced,” Tuvok replied. Sulu was impressed by the bedrock certainty he heard in the lieutenant’s [106] voice. That certainty was something he had learned to trust implicitly over the past five years. Perhaps ...

  “Ambassador Burgess briefed us about Tholian telepathy,” Sulu said, his words staying just ahead of the hypothesis that was forming in his mind. “She said that Tholians possess a sort of ... networked intelligence, in addition to their sentience as individuals. Almost a hive intellect.”

  Dr. T’Lavik nodded. “You are referring to the Tholian Lattice, Captain.”

  “You’re familiar with it, Doctor?” Sulu asked.

  “I studied the Tholian culture extensively during my Starfleet Academy training. Although there are significant gaps in the Federation’s knowledge, we do know that Tholians of the political, diplomatic, warrior, and worker castes spend a significant percentage of their short lives immersed in the Lattice. However, the brainwave frequencies of the Lattice are entirely incompatible with those required to initiate a Vulcan mind-meld.”

  So that’s that, Sulu thought, dejected. Kasrene probably did try to send Tuvok whatever information provoked Mosrene into killing her. But she never had a serious chance of success.

  “And yet I distinctly recall Ambassador Kasrene’s mind touching mine,” Tuvok said, still insistent. “The contact did not last long, but I am convinced that it was genuine.”

  “Yet you say you cannot recall any details from this encounter,” T’Lavik said.

  Tuvok glared at her, his uncharacteristic emotions making his features look even more alien than usual. “You yourself counseled patience, Doctor. Perhaps the details will return to me with time.”

  “Maybe Tuvok is right,” Chapel said.

  T’Lavik looked askance at the chief medical officer. “Again, the Vulcan-Tholian brainwave incompatibility cannot be ignored,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

  “But brainwave frequencies tend to change during the [107] dying process,” Chapel said. “When Kasrene’s br
ain began shutting down, her neural patterns might have become momentarily compatible with Tuvok’s. Long enough to establish a very brief mental link.”

  Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “That is a very logical explanation, Doctor Chapel.”

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Chapel said with a wry smile.

  “Lieutenant Tuvok’s experience may merely be a delusion induced by simple neurological trauma,” T’Lavik said, ignoring the banter and still speaking directly to Chapel. “That scenario is the most basic application of T’plana-Hath’s Razor—the idea that the simplest explanation is also likely to be the most logical one.”

  The science officer’s eyes suddenly became unfocused, as though he were looking inward.

  “What is it?” Sulu asked.

  “I believe I’m beginning to recall more of the experience, Captain. Kasrene wanted me to know something.” A sweat broke out on Tuvok’s brow as he concentrated in protracted silence. At length, he said, “I cannot yet reconstruct Kasrene’s message in its entirety. But I do recall certain ... emotional subtexts.” This came out sounding almost like an admission of unseemly behavior.

  “ ‘Emotional subtexts,’ ” T’Lavik repeated, an ever-so-slight tinge of scorn coloring her words. Sulu wondered, and not for the first time, whether he would ever encounter an intelligent species that was more emotional than Vulcans. At times they seemed uncannily proficient in the fine art of sarcasm.

  “Yes,” Tuvok continued, a vaguely confessional shame still shading his words. “I experienced her ... belief that the knowledge she wished to impart was essential to the welfare of both the Federation and the Tholian Assembly. She was convinced that whatever it was she knew—whatever it was that Mosrene wanted suppressed—had to be brought to light quickly. It seemed to concern some calamity that both [108] Kasrene and Mosrene believed to be imminent. I regret that I cannot visualize the coming disaster itself. Perhaps if our telepathic contact had lasted longer ...” He trailed off, scowling.