by Diane Duane
The pain came swelling up through that dark surface with more strength than ever. Cracks ran swiftly everywhere, crevasses opened and the heat blasted up from them in fury. Ael held still, put her arms out in front of her, and called on the wind, called her Element by its name. The rumble in the ground and the rage of the pain slowly began to die away, leeching out of her consciousness. Things went dark again. And now, Ael said to the silence, now, and she threw her arms open.
Her eyes flew open, and saw light. Tr’Hrienteh staggered back from her, struck, bleeding from a head wound; she had been standing too close, and the powerpack from one of the straps had caught her near the eye. Ael tore the straps off her wrists, and the electrodes off her head, and went for tr’Hrienteh.
It was not going to be easy work, in so confined a space. And worse, the other was a student of the same arts that Ael knew. Tr’Hrienteh was strong, and fast. They had worked out too many times together at “laughing murder” for it to be otherwise. But Ael had to put those memories far from her now—forget the laughter, and concentrate on the murder. It was a grief to her.
But so was the memory of her son, and so was this new treachery, reborn from that one. Will it never be done? she thought, and she leapt at tr’Hrienteh, striking at her. Tr’Hrienteh blocked the blows expertly. Ael struck again, and again. They crashed into the cupboards in the little room. Ael was thrown back hard against the single pallet where patients were brought to lie. As tr’Hrienteh came at her again, Ael seized her upper arms, grappled with her, threw her across the room and up against the wall. Then she spun, using the pallet for leverage, and sank one boot into tr’Hrienteh’s midriff on the lower right side, trying to strike straight through to the wall behind. She saw tr’Hrienteh’s furious face suffuse with dark green. She heard the ribs by the heart crack, and then the spine.
For a long moment, tr’Hrienteh did not move. She just hung there, looking shocked. Then she slumped over sideways, half-propped against the diagnostic pallet.
Staggering, weaving, Ael pulled herself upright to brace herself against the wall, gasping. This comes of too much trust, she thought. And of my own folly. But also, of theirs. She looked over at tr’Hrienteh. She, and those with whom she was working—they genuinely thought that if you strike off the neirrh’s head, the body will lie quiet afterward. They truly do not understand what has been happening to them—what is about to happen.
And perhaps that is for the best.
Ael slapped the door-opener and staggered out into the hall. About halfway up the corridor, she had a sudden cold thought. Back to the sickbay she went at speed, never giving a second thought or look to the cooling body leaning against the pallet. Ael went to one of the equipment cupboards near the back of the room, touched in the combination to it, and got out tr’Hrienteh’s disruptor. Ael unlocked it, armed it, and walked out the door again, more steadily this time, with the disruptor at the ready. Who knows? My “old friend” may have other old friends aboard who are doing something similar on my bridge.
But when she got there, and the lift doors opened, no one but her normal staff looked at her, and the Sword rested undisturbed across her seat. Aidoann looked at Ael, her expression one of utter consternation. “Khre’Riov,” she said, “what in Fire’s name has come to you? You look ghastly.”
“Fire’s name indeed,” Ael said softly. “Do not be concerned, Aidoann. I have simply been plugging a leak. Get me Enterprise. Now.”
Kirk was sitting in his quarters, at his desk, staring at a dark screen.
It went well. It really did go well, even though all hell broke loose at the end. So why do I feel so terrible?
It was a foolish question; he knew perfectly well what was going on. He was deep in shock over Danilov’s death, not least because of their friendship. But the timing was cruelly unfortunate. Dan had been the one man he could have known was absolutely both trustworthy enough to carry home the message that most desperately needed to get there, and influential enough to make sure that it reached the necessary destination. Now, before the other Federation ships left the area, he was going to have to think of something else to do, and fast.
The mental image of the terrible thing that was making its way stealthily toward Earth’s sun had been obsessing Jim through every minute that something more immediate hadn’t. Now that Augo was over, it was starting to get in the way of eating and drinking and thinking and sleeping—which was completely understandable, but was also making it impossible for him to pay as much attention as necessary to the ten thousand other things he had to be taking care of right now.
He put his head down on his arms and tried to think. I need another courier, he thought, and laughed a small hopeless laugh under his breath. Someone who has easy access to the highest ranks of Starfleet Command, and absolute credibility with them.
The communicator beeped.
Wearily he reached out and punched it. “Kirk here.”
“Captain,” Ael said. “We have a problem.”
“Really?”
She sounded rather surprised at the flatness of his tone. “Or rather, we have had one, but it is solved.”
“Oh? What?”
“I have found out how Grand Fleet has been anticipating our moves so neatly.”
He straightened up. “How?”
“We have had a Grand Fleet agent on my ship for quite a while now. But no more.”
“Who was it?”
“Tr’Hrienteh.”
He stood up in shock.
And I thought I sounded upset.
“Ael!”
“She will send them no more messages,” Ael said. “I am in the process of going through her computer storage right now. She seems to have thought that there was an adequate erase-lock on her files, but she was a doctor, not a computer programmer.”
“How long will it take you to go through her data?”
“Some time, I think. It is encrypted—”
“I’ll have Spock give you a hand.”
“I would very much appreciate that.” She was controlling her voice very tightly.
“Ael,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”
“Yes,” she said, and the weariness showed through. “So am I. And, Jim, I sorrow for your loss too. Ddani’lov did not trust me, I know, but I also know that he was your friend and wished you well.”
“Yes,” Jim said. “Yes, he did.” He let out another of those long sighs that seemed to keep escaping him at the moment. “Ael, while we’re talking—I want to conference with Veilt and his fellow Clan-Chief as soon as I can.”
“Thala,” Ael said. “I will arrange it, if you like.”
“Thanks. The gist of it is this, though. We should go straight in, and immediately. You should call in all your remaining forces to meet us. I don’t think that Grand Fleet now has enough ships close to ch’Rihan and ch’Havran to stop us. They’ve miscalculated, I think, and we should press the advantage before they think we’ll dare to.”
“I agree,” Ael said. “Spock and I will carefully check tr’Hrienteh’s data to see if there is evidence to support your theory.”
“And if there’s not?”
“Later for that,” Ael said. “But you are having one of your hunches, I think.”
“Don’t know if I put much trust in those today,” Jim said.
“I do,” Ael said, “so be still. Also, Captain—just before I went down to see tr’Hrienteh for the last time, I received a message from K’s’t’lk begging me to come to see her and Scotty as soon as I might. They knew you were busy with other things, so perhaps they have not messaged you as yet, or you simply have not seen it. But I think we must talk with them as soon as may be.”
“All right,” Jim said, leaning on the desk again. “You sort out Veilt and Thala. I’ll set up something with Scotty and K’s’t’lk. Call me when you’re ready.”
“I will.”
There was a short pause. Then Ael sighed. “We are both a little bruised right now, are we not?” she
said.
“Bloodied,” Jim said, “but unbowed.”
“There is the Kirk I know,” Ael said. “I will talk to you shortly. Out.”
Jim stretched, and glanced around his quarters. A shower would be good, but it can wait for the moment. He reached into the closet and pulled out a clean uniform tunic, stripped out of the old one, put the new one on, and headed out of his quarters and down the hall.
Another courier, he thought, trying to pick up where he’d left off. Someone who has access to the upper levels at Fleet. But also somebody who can walk into the office of the President of the Federation and make himself or herself or itself heard. Someone I know to be absolutely trustworthy, and who the President will also know to be so. Somebody who—
Right there in the middle of the corridor, he stopped. A crewman who was walking close behind him almost bumped into him.
Very quietly, and pretty vehemently, Jim began to swear, and to laugh.
“Uh, sorry, Captain!”
“Don’t worry about it, Ensign Li,” he said, and waved Kathy Li past him. “It wasn’t you. Go on.”
She hurried past him, blushing. Jim, though, stood there and shook his head at himself, then headed on down the corridor.
I can’t believe it.
I can not believe it! It’s been under my nose for days. But all this damn admiral business kept me from seeing it.
At Spock’s door, he hit the buzzer.
“Enter,” said the voice from inside.
Jim went in, glanced around as the door closed behind him. Spock was sitting in meditative mode at his desk, gazing at the screen, but otherwise looking surprisingly unoccupied. He started to rise; Jim gestured him back into the seat.
“Mr. Spock,” Jim said, and came over to the desk, glancing at the screen. It was showing a view of ch’Rihan and ch’Havran.
“Captain?” Spock said, looking slightly bemused.
“I was just talking to Ael,” he said. “She’s found a leak aboard her ship.”
“It would not surprise me,” Spock said. “The strains of the recent combat on any vessel of Bloodwing’s age—”
Jim started to laugh again, and then stopped himself. “Not that kind of leak.”
Spock’s eyes widened. “You mean the ‘mole’ she has long suspected?”
Jim nodded. “Tr’Hrienteh.”
That took even Spock by surprise. “She must be profoundly affected,” he said after a moment.
“That’d be a fair bet,” Jim said. “She’s going through the surgeon’s computer files at the moment. Apparently they’re encoded. She could use your help.”
“I will go immediately,” Spock said.
“One thing before you go,” Jim said. “And depending on the schedules of those ships out there, you may want to do it first.”
Spock looked at him inquisitively.
“Mr. Spock,” Jim said, “I want you to send a message to Sarek.”
Spock put his eyebrows up. “I have been composing one. As a matter of course, I send such communications to my father whenever we…” He trailed off.
“Get into yet another life-and-death situation,” Jim said. “Of course you would, Spock. It’s entirely logical.”
Spock gave him a quizzical look. “In fact,” Jim said, “were I ever so paranoid about communications coming out of this ship, I would nonetheless assume that you would send such a message, and so no one else will be surprised when you do.”
Spock was looking more mystified by the moment. “That seems an accurate assessment of the circumstances. But I fail to see—”
“So did I,” Jim said, “and now I feel like an idiot. You, of course, won’t be able to fall afoul of any emotion so sheerly messy. Lucky you. Tell me something, though. Do I correctly remember you telling me that you and your father have studied cryptography together?”
“It would be more accurate to say that I studied cryptography with him,” Spock said. “Though he would describe his interest as merely that of what an Earth-human would call a hobbyist, his talent is considerable.”
“So you would have no problem in composing what seemed a perfectly normal message to Sarek,” Jim said, “and concealing other data in it.”
Spock’s eyebrows went up again. “Either as straightforward code, or as digitized data, the idea presents no difficulty.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jim said. “So you’re going to conceal information about the incoming nova bomb inside that message to your father, and you’re also going to conceal in it my request that he take that information to the President of the Federation without delay.”
Spock nodded. “The suggestion has great merit. I am absolutely at your disposal, Captain.”
“And you’re sure,” Jim said, “that you can encode, or encapsulate, that message in such a way that no one but your father can get at it?”
Jim could have sworn that he saw the slightest smile cross his first officer’s face, but it was gone again so quickly that he had to admit that it might have been a trick of the light. “Of that, Captain, I am quite certain,” Spock said. “When you have composed your message, inform me and I will import it and encrypt it.”
“Good,” Jim said. He let out a long breath. “It’s not a perfect solution, but it’ll mean, at least, that the information about the nova bomb gets back to Earth and into the hands of the one human there who knows for sure that I haven’t gone insane.”
Spock nodded. “Captain, I regret not having thought of this myself, but then I was uncertain for whom outside of Starfleet you might have intended the message.”
Jim made a face. “I hate sealed orders. Spock, when you have your own command, never let anybody stick you with sealed orders. When you think of all the trouble they’ve caused us, especially with the Romulans…”
“Should I ever acquire a command of my own,” Spock said, “the exigencies of command structure itself suggest that I am as likely to get ‘stuck’ as you are, Jim.” He gave his captain a look that even for Spock was fairly wry. “But I will bear that in mind.”
“Good,” Jim said, and suddenly felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. “Meanwhile, have you heard anything from Scotty about how they’re coming with fixing the antiseeding technique?”
“I have just received messages from him and from K’s’t’lk both,” Spock said. “But the matters you have brought me are, relatively speaking, rather more urgent. I will deal with them instead.”
“Thanks, Spock. I’ll talk to you later.” He went out.
SEVENTEEN
Jim and Ael walked slowly into engineering an hour or so later, deep in discussion of tr’Hrienteh’s computers. “Everything,” Ael said. “Every private communication on my ship for the past year may have been compromised. It is going to be very difficult to tell for sure.”
“If anyone can find out,” Jim said, “Spock can. Leave it with him.” He shook his head. “When will Veilt and Thala be ready for us?”
“Within the hour. But, Captain, with or without the data from tr’Hrienteh’s computer, they agree with you: we should set out immediately for ch’Rihan. The government there is apparently in considerable disarray, the uprisings have spread to ch’Rihan from ch’Havran, and there will be no better time for us to strike—for good or ill.”
“Let’s hope for good,” Jim said. “Scotty?”
Scotty and K’s’t’lk were leaning over a tablescreen about two meters wide, arguing over some schematics. Jim peered down at the most complex of the schematics, then shook his head. It looked to him as much like an unusually involved board game as anything else. “Captain,” Scotty said, and turned right back to K’s’t’lk. “Lass, you’re missing the point. The problem the last time was just a function of the power. This solves that problem once and for all.”
K’s’t’lk was chiming in an agitated way, and sounding very out of tune. “I promised the captain there would be no creative physics!”
Scotty acquired a calculating expre
ssion. “Aye. But there’s nothin’ creative about de Sitter space. It’s just there—we’ve known about it for centuries now. Infinitely massful, and infinitely hot, at near big-bang heat indeed. Too useful not to use, if only you can get at it by conventional means. Now if you stuck a wormhole into de Sitter space—”
K’s’t’lk jangled, incredulous. “One which had exactly the right mass-conduction characteristics to suit our needs? If you plan to just reach out into space and find one lying there waiting, then Sc’tty, you’ll be tempting Dr. McCoy to come down and put you on such a course of psychotropics—”
“Nobody does that kind of thing anymore,” said McCoy from behind Kirk and Ael. “Teaching the brain to readjust its own chemistry works so much better.”
“Doctor, please,” Scotty said, and turned back to K’s’t’lk. “Lassie, it wasn’t a natural wormhole I had in mind. I’d thought of constructing a tailored one.”
“No one’s been able to get one to last more than a billionth of a second in the laboratory,” K’s’t’lk said, dubious. “Without blowing up the laboratory, anyway.”
“Serve them right for conducting those experiments in ground-bound facilities, then. Not that there hasn’t been positive technological fallout from that kind of thing. Don’t forget, Cochrane got his first ideas about warp induction from that wee accident at the Brookhaven collider, just before the war.”
Spock appeared behind them. “Well,” Jim said, “how about it?”
Spock leaned over the schematic, examining it. One eyebrow started to go up. “I read the abstract you attached to your message, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, not looking up. “If you are discussing the construction of tailored micro-wormholes—especially in the light of the early Brookhaven experiments—then a billionth of a second might indeed be all that would be required to produce the desired result. Very considerable amounts of energy could be released by even so short an access to de Sitter space.”