Kirk nodded. “Yes. You’re aboard that ship now.”
McCoy noticed the woman’s heart rate and respiration start to climb. “Where are the others with me?” she asked. “What have you done with them?”
Kirk lowered his head and told her, “I’m afraid they’re both dead.”
A look of pure hatred twisted her features. “You pyurbs,” she spat at them.
“I am sorry.”
The woman’s head snapped to McCoy, and he continued, “We tried, but they were very badly injured, and we just weren’t familiar enough with the Urpires to do anything to save either of them.”
The woman considered McCoy, her eyes wide and suspicious. “But you know they were Urpires,” she noted. “What do you know of the Urpires?”
“Almost nothing,” McCoy admitted. “Your friends were the first we’ve ever actually encountered.”
The woman considered McCoy a moment longer, then said, “Then I hope Erhokor forgives you.” She then looked back to Kirk. “What do you plan to do with me, then?”
Instead of answering her, Kirk asked, “What is your name?”
The woman scowled at the evasion, but answered, “You can call me Ghalif.”
“And you are a member of the Taarpi, Ghalif?”
“You seem to know a lot for someone from a hundred light-years away,” Ghalif said, sneering. “How many Taarpi have you encountered?”
Kirk leaned in over the top of the biobed, making sure Ghalif received the full force of his glare as he told her, “Well, there were the ones who attacked my ship.”
“Jim,” McCoy said softly, as he noticed the woman’s vital signs spiking again.
But Ghalif showed Kirk none of the anxiety her autonomic systems said she was feeling. “You allied yourself with the Goeg,” she said defiantly. “We’re entitled to defend ourselves.”
“We only allied ourselves with them after your unprovoked attack on us in the Nystrom system,” Kirk said, ignoring McCoy’s caution.
“What were you doing in that system in the first place, if not helping the Goeg hunt our people down?” Ghalif asked.
“We’re explorers,” Kirk told her. “We were investigating the energy-absorbing crystals filling that system, and they were used as weapons against us.”
“Explorers,” Ghalif scoffed. “Why should I believe you’re any more trustworthy than your Goeg friends?”
“How about the fact that you’re here getting medical care, and not sitting in a Domain holding cell right now?” Kirk asked her. “Because I’m the only thing keeping you from facing charges for the deaths of over a hundred civilians on that transport vessel.”
“Oh, the Goeg will blame us for that, no matter what,” she said, the bravado gone from her attitude. “If I’m not the one jailed and beaten, it’ll be someone else.”
Kirk considered the shift in the woman’s demeanor, and then lowered his face closer to hers. “Tell me what happened,” he said. “If you weren’t directly responsible for what your ship did to the transport, I will do whatever I can to ensure that you’re treated—”
Ghalif started laughing. “You really are from the other end of the galaxy, if you think that’s going to matter.”
Kirk looked to McCoy, and they exchanged confused looks. “Why do you say that?” Kirk said, looking back to the Abesian.
She had stopped laughing, and simply shook her head instead. “If the Urpires were alive, maybe I’d be believed . . . but probably not.”
“What are we supposed to believe?” Kirk asked.
Ghalif lifted her head and looked directly at Kirk. “It wasn’t the Taarpi who destroyed that vessel; it was the Goeg. They murdered their own people, to discredit us.”
* * *
McCoy entered sickbay deep in the night shift. Unable to sleep, he had decided to check on Ghalif and get a head start on some reports he’d been putting off. As he headed into his office, McCoy raised the lighting control to half-power. Caught in the shadows of his converted lab, someone was standing over his patient’s bed. Not daring to call for security, McCoy grabbed the skull that stood on his shelf and headed to the lab where the Abesian woman was sleeping.
“Doctor, if you are trying to sneak up behind me, I suggest that you practice the skill,” came the Vulcan’s even tone.
“You and those damn ears,” McCoy whispered, outraged. “Spock, what the hell are you doing in here?”
“Studying a Taarpi.”
“You know, even for you, this is unusual.” McCoy checked the readings; assured that his patient was progressing, the doctor turned and headed back into his office.
“Out with it,” McCoy ordered.
“Doctor?” the Vulcan asked as he stepped into McCoy’s office.
“You’re here in the middle of the night, checking on a patient. Something that you could have done from your quarters.”
McCoy sat in his desk chair and waited. With any other member of the crew, he would have placed his arm around the person, offering whatever comfort he could to get the troubled soul to open up. But McCoy knew that Vulcans did not like being touched. Spock prided himself on his self-reliance. No matter how much he wanted to speak, McCoy had to bite his tongue and wait. Proving how anxious he was, the Vulcan paced in front of the desk. Spock must have noticed McCoy’s patient silence and realized what he was doing; the pacing stopped.
“I have served as Captain Kirk’s first officer since he took command of the Enterprise. In those years, I have come to understand what you humans call his ‘command style.’ I have been able to anticipate his needs. This has not been”—for a moment Spock regarded McCoy—“easy.” When the doctor did not rise to the bait, Spock continued. “But now I find his actions uncharacteristically subdued.”
“He’s not himself,” McCoy offered.
Spock raised an eyebrow and considered the doctor’s evaluation. “No, he is not.”
“Spock, I haven’t seen it.”
“Doctor, I have.” The Vulcan again regarded McCoy.
“Are you saying that he’s unfit for command?”
“No,” the Vulcan quickly countered. “I am concerned about his emotional well-being.”
McCoy whistled low. “Damn. You’re asking for my help.”
“No, Doctor. I am asking you to help the captain.” Spock headed out of the office, adding just before the doors closed on him, “Because I cannot help him.”
* * *
Two hours before he would have reported to the bridge, the buzzer sounded outside Captain Kirk’s quarters. Wondering what new calamity awaited him, he threw a uniform shirt on and unlocked the cabin door.
“ ’Bout time.” McCoy stepped into his quarters. He was carrying a food tray with a covered dish, an urn, and two cups. Not standing on ceremony, the doctor shoved several books to the side of the desk, put the tray down, and ordered, “Eat.”
Stunned, Kirk looked at the doctor, who had sat down in the guest chair and was pouring himself a cup of coffee out of the carafe. There were days when he wondered what he had been thinking when he offered this irascible Georgian, who had little respect for the dignity of the ship’s captain, the position of chief medical officer. The coffee smelled good, better than the usual out of the mess. Knowing he was defeated, Kirk sat down. Taking the cover off the plate, he was surprised to see a stack of pancakes and sausages.
McCoy reached over and filled the second cup with coffee. “Kona. I’ve been hoarding them. Ground them myself. I’ve been checking your diet reports. You haven’t been eating. Found that aside from throwing his captain, Lieutenant D’Abruzzo knows how to make buckwheat flapjacks.”
“Bones.”
“I can make it an order.”
Not wanting to waste the extraordinary coffee, Kirk sipped some. “You know that the only thing I hate more than Spock managing me is when you try it.”
“Me? I’m making sure that the captain is fit for command. You have to eat—just doing my duty as the Enterprise’s chief medi
cal officer.”
“Bones,” Kirk warned.
“You know I thought that Scotty would need constant supervision once ‘his bairns’ were surrendered to another’s control. I know that you—”
“Doctor McCoy, you are overstepping—”
“No, Jim, I’m not and you know it. Damn, I thought that Vulcan was a hard-headed mule. You’ve had to surrender control of your command to another man. The Enterprise is out of your control.”
“Damn it, Bones!” Kirk slammed his hand down on his desk. “I don’t need you shrinking me! Enterprise was disabled, so far out that it could have been months—hell, years—before we could get help. I made the best bargain that I could. I did what I could to save my crew, my ship—”
“And now you’re wondering if you’ve made a bargain with the devil.”
“I believe Laspas’s intentions are good.
“Because you like him?” McCoy offered softly. “Hell, Jim, I know how lonely command is, and to share that burden with someone who truly understands what you are going through. . . . Jim, he’s not you.”
“What would you have me do, Doctor?”
“Admit how you feel, understand that you are not alone.” McCoy took his cup and headed out of the cabin. “Eat,” he ordered, “and trust your first officer.”
Nine
Spock placed his thumbprint on the identity recorder the Rokean sentry at the 814’s entry point held out to him. He started to pass, but the guard put up one large hand and pressed it against Spock’s solar plexus. “Wait here, Starfleet,” he growled.
Spock betrayed no surprise, nor any of the discomfort that came with the unwelcome physical contact. “To what purpose?” he asked.
“Code 6-59,” the soldier answered. “All NCC-1701 personnel are to be accompanied by an escort while aboard this starvessel.”
“Indeed.” Spock took a half-step backward, showing that he was being compliant with the new regulation, and also breaking the low-level psionic link the Domain soldier had initiated. Even without the limited touch-telepathic connection, the distrust and antagonism the Rokean projected would be obvious to any non-Vulcan.
After only a few seconds’ wait, another guard appeared from down the corridor and stepped right up beside Spock. The Goeg soldier stood at least twenty centimeters taller than Spock, and looked down with a silent, contemptuous glower. After several seconds of this ineffectual attempt at intimidation, the guard jerked his chin, and Spock took that as a cue to proceed about his business.
With his minder following on his heels, close enough at times to feel his breath at the back of his neck, Spock made his way to the auxiliary engineering section. As he’d determined earlier, Chief N’Mi was there, along with two of her junior engineers, and the Enterprise’s Lieutenant Nakahara, keeping a close eye on the cross-ship warp plasma interchanges. All four turned at their arrival, N’Mi treating both Spock and his guard with a look of trepidation. “Mister Spock.”
“Chief,” Spock answered. “May I speak with you?”
“You are speaking with me,” she said curtly.
Spock inclined his head to acknowledge that literal truth, then said, “Then might we perhaps speak someplace more private?”
“Mister Spock, I realize that things are run differently on your Starfleet vessel,” she said, her small black eyes darting to the large Goeg behind him, “but in the Domain Defense Corps, one does not walk away from her duty post for a private conversation anytime she’s asked.”
Unmoved, Spock asked, “Would there be a more opportune time?”
N’Mi shot a look at the guard again, and then told Spock, “Very well. My rest break is in thirty-four minutes. If you can wait, meet me at my cabin then.”
Spock nodded his agreement to her, and then turned back down the corridor, the guard keeping pace behind him. When he reached the gangway that led back up to the airlock and security check, though, he started down instead.
“Where are you going?” the guard demanded. “You’ll wait on NCC-1701.”
Spock turned and gave the guard an arch glare. “Per the agreement Commander Laspas made with my captain, I am permitted, in my capacity as first officer, to observe and review all areas on this vessel which directly impact operations aboard the Enterprise. This would be a more efficient use of the intervening thirty-two and a half minutes, would you not agree?”
“For you, perhaps,” the Goeg grumbled, and then remained silent as, for the next half hour, Spock walked a circuit of all the 814’s primary and auxiliary engineering areas, with a brief stop at the command center. Second Commander Satrav gave Spock only the barest acknowledgment. Lieutenant Sulu watched him from his observational vantage spot in the rear, with his own Goeg guard close by his side. Per the new restrictions implemented by the Domain commander, only one Starfleet liaison officer was allowed in the command center at a time, and then solitude of the duty was apparently wearing on the helmsman. Spock offered a small nod of his head, calculating that it would be interpreted as a nonverbal message of support and encouragement. The smile Sulu returned indicated it was construed as intended.
At the end of the agreed-upon interval, Spock headed down to the 814’s crew quarters deck, located N’Mi’s cabin, and pressed the signaling button embedded in the doorframe. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal the engineering chief no longer in her uniform, but instead wrapped loosely in a brightly colored and highly translucent silken garment. “Hello, Mister Spock,” she greeted him.
“Chief,” Spock replied simply, choosing to assume that the obvious questions raised by the scenario presented to him here would be duly answered.
N’Mi stepped aside to allow Spock entry, and then looked to his escort. “Crewhand, I understand that 6-59 is in effect, but I hope you weren’t planning to join us in here.”
“No, Chief,” the soldier said with a tone of distaste that Spock would have considered insubordinate from Starfleet personnel. He gave Spock one last disdainful glare before turning his back to him and taking up a defensive stance just outside the door.
The door slid closed, and the instant it did, N’Mi’s countenance turned from coquettish to furious. “What do you want?” she snarled at him, while grabbing a heavy robe from her bunk and covering herself. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could be making for me by being here?”
“It was you who invited me,” Spock answered.
“I mean aboard this vessel,” she said. “If that guard knew the real reason I had invited you in here was to talk . . .” She trailed off, leaving the possible consequences of their surreptitious meeting unstated.
“Why did you agree to speak to me, then?” Spock asked.
The Liruq’s anger dissipated. “Because I find you fascinating, Mister Spock. The fact that you have achieved what you have, in spite of your minority status and mixed parentage, but also the fact that while living among humans, you embrace your Vulcan nature.”
“I assume that such is uncommon in Goeg society,” Spock said. “I know you are the highest ranking Liruq in the Defense Corps; what is the highest rank achieved by any non-Goeg?”
“Why would you ask me something like that?” N’Mi asked, turning suspicious.
“Does the question bother you?” Spock asked.
The chief answered Spock’s question indirectly by responding with one of her own. “Are you trying to get me to say something against the government I am sworn to serve and protect?” N’Mi’s cabin was quite small, as so much of the 814’s interior was. Regardless, N’Mi had put as much distance between her and Spock as possible.
“I am trying to gain a better understanding of the relationship between the Goeg and the rest of the races within their Domain,” Spock said, taking a cautious step closer. “I’ve learned recently that the Taarpi take their name from an animal native to the planet Lir, noted for being extremely fierce in the defense of its territory and its offspring. The name was initially used by a Liruq resistance group during the war again
st the Goeg thirty-four and a half years ago.” Spock elected not to say what the source of that information was, and the Vulcan had resolved not to share the more inflammatory claims Ghalif had made to the captain.
“I see,” N’Mi said flatly, arms crossed as she gave Spock a hard glare. “And because the Taarpi originated on my homeworld, you assume I must feel some kind of kinship with them.”
“Not at all,” Spock said, noting the growing impatience she was exhibiting toward him. “But as a native of that world, I imagine you are familiar with the sociopolitical conditions that led to the group’s rise.”
“I’m an engineer, not a sociologist.”
“Chief,” Spock said, “the Enterprise has been drawn inexorably into a conflict we do not fully understand, but need to. Your superiors have painted the Taarpi as mindless terrorists who hate irrationally and kill without motive. Such a simplistic characterization is at best unlikely.”
“So you think, because I’m Liruq, I have this special insight you’re looking for, is that it?” N’Mi asked, her dark eyes flashing. “Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Mister Spock. I spent the early part of my life doing everything in my power to get away from Lir, and after that, to prove what I could do in spite of being born a Liruq.” She stepped around Spock, moving to the cabin door as she told him, “I don’t understand the Taarpi any better than you do, and what’s more, I don’t care to. Now, if there was nothing else you wanted . . .” She reached for the door control to excuse him.
“One more thing.” When she gestured for him to go ahead, Spock said, “You expressed the opinion that, like me, you had accomplished all you have in spite of your race. I do not feel that is accurate.”
N’Mi gave him a quizzical look, and Spock explained, “Rather, I would say that those accomplishments were in spite of others, who may have prejudicial attitudes toward you because of your race.” Spock then reached out and put his hand on top of N’Mi’s, pressing the control under her fingers and opening the door. “Thank you for inviting me in,” he then told her, before turning back to the guard and, while ignoring his expression of disdain, led him back to the airlock.
Star Trek: The Original Series: The Shocks of Adversity Page 17