Foul Deeds Will Rise

by Greg Cox

  “Looks like a pretty world,” Kirk observed. “It’s a shame that we’re not visiting it under happier circumstances.”

  “Tell me about it,” McCoy said, seated beside his friend. “I’m not looking forward to checking out the conditions planet-side. Beyond the direct casualties of the fighting, reports indicate that there’s also widespread malnutrition, disease outbreaks, problems with contaminated food and water, and lack of decent medical facilities. Their whole infrastructure has been bombed to bits.”

  “So I hear,” Kirk confirmed. As he understood it, the bulk of the violence had taken place on Oyolo, but he fully intended to visit Pavak as well. Reports and briefings could only tell you so much. “I want to get a firsthand look at the situation, see for myself just where we might be able to render assistance.”

  “Glad to have you along,” McCoy said, “but you sure you’re not needed back on the ship to play referee between our feuding guests?”

  “That’s Riley’s bailiwick, and it’s likely to be a slow, tedious process. Even with the cease-fire in place, there are still plenty of thorny issues to be ironed out: territorial boundaries off-world and throughout the rest of the solar system, prisoner exchanges, more equal trading practices, reparations, prosecution for war crimes, and so on, none of which are likely to be settled in one afternoon.” He shrugged. “I think the negotiations can spare me for a few hours.”

  “And you don’t want to step on Riley’s toes,” McCoy guessed correctly.

  Perceptive as always, Bones, Kirk thought. “Let’s just say I’m erring toward restraint in that respect. If Riley needs my assistance, he only has to ask. In the meantime, I’m perfectly happy to let him haggle over tariffs and immigration quotas while I set boots on the ground.”

  “Can’t blame you there,” McCoy said. “Heck, I’m a doctor, not a diplomat. I figure I can do more good on that poor planet than babysitting some fractious dignitaries.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rear of the shuttle, which was loaded with packed medicine, nutritional supplements, and medical equipment. “I just hope that this stuff makes a difference, and the same with the supplies Spock and Scotty are delivering to Pavak.”

  The Galileo, bearing the two senior officers, had departed the Enterprise shortly before the Copernicus on its own vital mission. Besides enforcing a no-fly zone between the two planets, Starfleet had also agreed to provide qualified weapons inspectors to oversee the disarmament efforts on both worlds. Kirk had dispatched Spock and Scotty to personally verify that Pavak’s threatening stockpile of interplanetary missiles was being dismantled. In the interests of both efficiency and parity, the Galileo also had been loaded with a quantity of humanitarian supplies for Pavak.

  In theory, Starfleet inspectors also would oversee the dismantlement of the Oyolu’s weapons stores, but that was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else, simply to provide a token attempt at even-handedness. Of much greater and more immediate concern was Pavak’s ability to decimate Oyolo with interplanetary weapons, which was why Kirk had put his best people in charge of that end of the operation. If anybody could ensure that the Pavakians were holding up their end of the bargain—and truly disposing of their overwhelming offensive capacity—it was the Enterprise’s top science officer and engineer.

  “Entering the planet’s atmosphere,” Hua announced from the cockpit. “Brace yourself for some turbulence.”

  She wasn’t kidding. Heavy winds buffeted the Copernicus as they descended toward a continent in the planet’s northern hemisphere, which was conveniently still facing the sun at this hour. Kirk calculated that it was roughly late afternoon in that time zone, several hours ahead of the Enterprise’s shipboard clock. Not too bad of a time lag, he thought. On strictly exploratory missions, he often attempted to coordinate the landing party’s location with the ship’s own chronology, but in this case there was less flexibility regarding the landing coordinates. Their destination was the main hub for the relief efforts on the planet, which just happened to be located in this particular corner of the world.

  At least it’s not four o’clock in the morning our time.

  A bumpy ride deposited the shuttle on what appeared to be a large muddy field on the planet’s surface. A shattered city skyline could be glimpsed in the near distance.

  “Thank goodness,” McCoy muttered, visibly relieved to be on solid ground at last. “I was starting to feel like we were going through the Galactic Barrier again.”

  “What’s the matter, Bones?” Kirk asked. “Forget your air-sickness pills?”

  “I have a rock-solid stomach and you know it,” McCoy said. “But let’s just say I take back some of the complaints I’ve made about the transporter over the years.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “Some,” he repeated. “Not all.”

  Beaming down to Oyolo had not been an option. With the Enterprise patrolling the buffer zone between the two worlds, the ship had been well beyond transporter range of the planet, which was why the courier shuttles had been required to ferry the delegates to the rendezvous point. Those shuttles, Kirk recalled, had since returned to their respective home worlds.

  “Remind me to get that in writing,” the captain joked as he rose from his seat, eager to get his first real look at Oyolo. He nodded approvingly at the pilot. “An excellent landing, Lieutenant. Considering.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She killed the shuttle’s engines and opened the starboard hatch. Muted sunlight and a gust of hot, humid air invaded the passenger compartment. “Local temperature is approximately thirty-two degrees Celsius,” she reported, consulting a display panel in the cockpit. “It’s pretty muggy out there.”

  “Duly noted,” Kirk said, appreciating the warning. He shed his field jacket, but kept on the red vest underneath. He contemplated equipping himself with a phaser from the weapons drawer, but he decided against it. The security team’s discreet type-1 phasers were probably more than enough to guarantee their safety in the unlikely event of an altercation. This was an errand of mercy after all. “Let’s get to it.”

  As usual, he was the first one out of the shuttle. Earth-level gravity sank his boots into the mud as he took a moment to get his bearings and look around. The shuttle had landed on the outskirts of a sprawling refugee camp that had taken over what had once been a large urban park, approximately three square kilometers in size. A battle-scarred metropolis, strewn with rubble and damaged buildings, encircled the grounds on all sides. An overcast orange sky threatened rain, making Kirk rethink leaving his jacket behind, but the oppressive heat and humidity already had him sweating through the white turtleneck shirt beneath his vest. He felt bad for the hundreds of homeless refugees inhabiting the camp, as well as the Federation relief workers assisting them. He was already missing the Enterprise’s controlled environment.

  “Captain Kirk?”

  A middle-aged Andorian woman, wearing a muddy green coverall, approached the landing party members, who were piling out of the shuttle after Kirk. The woman was short and stocky, with weathered blue features, and she radiated a certain indefatigable energy. Her twin antennae tilted in Kirk’s direction.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said.

  She held out her hand. “Doctor Sala Tamris. For my sins, the director of the emergency efforts here. I can’t tell you how grateful we are for the fresh supplies you’ve brought us. The Galactic Relief Corps is supported by a variety of civilian and government agencies, but it sometimes seems like there’s never enough aid to go around, especially in severe circumstances like this.”

  Kirk knew the GRC was a largely civilian organization, comprised of dedicated volunteers from dozens of different worlds, that provided humanitarian aid throughout the Federation and beyond. They had arrived on Oyolo before the cease-fire took effect, risking their own safety to care for victims on both sides of the conflict.

  “We’re glad to be of assistance,” Kirk said.

 
McCoy joined them and introduced himself. Like Kirk, he’d left his jacket back on the shuttle. A medkit was slung over his shoulder.

  “A pleasure,” he drawled. “You and your people do good work.”

  “We do what we can.” She glanced at the rear of the shuttle, where the rest of the landing party was already unloading the supplies via the aft hatchway. Eager volunteers, dressed similarly to Tamris, helped transfer the containers to a waiting ground vehicle, which looked as though it had seen better days. Cracked and abraded treads would have been discarded by Starfleet due to their distressed condition. “Any little bit helps.”

  Kirk contemplated the sizable camp ahead of them. “How bad is it? I’ve read reports, of course, but . . .”

  “Let me show you around,” she said.

  Confident that Hua and the others had the unloading in hand, Kirk let Tamris lead McCoy and him through the camp on foot. Temporary structures, fabricated from thermoconcrete and transparent aluminum, were supplemented by weather-beaten survival tents that had been patched over so many times that it was hard to make out the original color. Kirk estimated that there had to be at least a dozen shelters, but even that seemed insufficient to house all the ragged-looking Oyolu crowded into the camp. Displaced men, women, and children lined up for emergency rations of food, clothing, and clean water, while clinging to their meager possessions in the sweltering heat. Families huddled around portable stoves and even old-fashioned cooking fires, or sought shade beneath makeshift awnings and umbrellas. The air smelled of unwashed bodies, rotting garbage, smoke, and open latrines. Torched and bombed-out buildings rose in the distance, where a once-vital city had been.

  “Good Lord,” McCoy murmured.

  “Believe it or not,” Tamris said, shaking her head, “this used to be the city’s biggest and most beautiful park, complete with spacious lawns and gardens, riding paths, playgrounds, and so on. I’ve seen recordings of happy Oyolu families enjoying carefree afternoons here, before the planet turned into a war zone and large sectors of the city were rendered uninhabitable.”

  Kirk peered past the camp to the shattered buildings looming on the horizon. Pavakian missiles had clearly reduced much of the city to rubble. He was reminded of the charred and crumbling cityscapes left behind by Earth’s World Wars. Thankfully, Pavak had so far refrained from launching their most apocalyptic weapons against Oyolo, but that was probably small comfort to the wretched masses struggling to survive in the aftermath of even non-cataclysmic bombings. The lawns and gardens mentioned by Tamris had long since been trampled into an ugly, muddy expanse. It was hard to imagine that this place had ever been as idyllic as she claimed.

  “What a waste,” he said.

  “Indeed,” Tamris said. “And there are camps like this all over Oyolo. The cycle of attacks and reprisals has left the planet with much rebuilding to do, if and when the cease-fire holds. And we still have security concerns, what with occasional riots, looting, and violence against alleged collaborators. Sadly, it’s not just a matter of Oyolu versus Pavakians. There are rival factions and violence among the Oyolu. Minister A’Barra deserves credit for holding the new coalition government together. At times I fear he’s the only thing uniting his people.”

  Kirk had second thoughts about forgoing a phaser. “Sounds like a difficult situation.”

  “That’s what I call an understatement,” McCoy said. “This is a damn tragedy.”

  Tamris nodded gravely. “You’ll get no disagreement from me, Doctor.”

  On the other hand, Kirk was pleased to see volunteers from across the Federation lending a hand. Glancing around, he spied humans, Deltans, Rhaandarites, Arcturians, Tellarites, and even a Horta assisting around the camp. The latter was excavating a large heap of stony debris that appeared to be the remains of a collapsed tower or monument. Vapor rose as the lumpy, silicon-based being literally consumed the rubble, dissolving it with a highly corrosive acid secreted from its own body. Hortas were the finest natural miners in the Quadrant; Kirk could see where they would be well suited to cleaning up after disasters as well. Shattered stone, steel, and concrete were like a buffet to Horta.

  Too bad the Oyolu couldn’t feed on the wreckage as well.

  “Looks like your people are keeping busy,” he commented.

  “And then some,” she agreed. “It’s hard work, but satisfying.” She led them toward one of the larger structures. Armed guards, both Oyolu and otherwise, were posted by the entrance. “This is our main medical facility. I imagine this will be of interest to you, Doctor, but I warn you in advance: This is a far cry from a Starfleet sickbay.”

  “I’ve delivered babies in caves,” McCoy replied. “Trust me, I’m no stranger to frontier medicine.”

  “Good to know.” She approached the entrance. “After you, gentlemen.”

  Kirk paused to indicate the guards. “Part of the security issues you mentioned before?”

  “Exactly. We need to protect our supply of drugs and medicines, as well as some of our less popular patients. Those believed to have collaborated with the Pavakians, and profited by their dealings with them, although the line between ‘collaborating’ and cooperating can be a blurry one that is too often lost when it comes to reprisals. People have been attacked and run out of their homes simply for not opposing Pavak as fiercely as others might like . . . and even for supporting the peace process too vocally.”

  “Understood,” Kirk said. Guaranteeing the safety of alleged “collaborators” was one of the many prickly issues to be hashed out in the negotiations taking place aboard the Enterprise. As Kirk recalled, many of the Pavakians’ Oyolu allies and trading partners were already seeking asylum on Pavak and the preservation of their personal fortunes and property, while Oyolo had its own claims on various assets “stolen” by Oyolu expatriates currently living on Pavak. It was a messy situation that had apparently already resulted in hard feelings and bloodshed, even among the Oyolu themselves. “I can see where you’d need to take precautions.”

  “I wish they weren’t necessary,” Tamris said, “but I’m in the business of dealing with harsh realities.” She stepped aside to let the men pass. “As I suspect you are as well.”

  “On occasion,” Kirk admitted.

  A riveted steel door sealed the entrance to the facility. Kirk expected it to slide aside at his approach and was momentarily thrown off his stride when it didn’t. Automatic doors were apparently a luxury the camp could not afford to indulge in.

  “The knob,” McCoy suggested.

  “Thank you, Bones. I think I can manage.”

  Kirk tugged on the handle and held the door open for McCoy and Tamris. The first thing he noticed as they entered was that it was possibly even hotter and stuffier inside the structure than outdoors, despite the best efforts of various fans and open windows. The next thing he observed was just how many sick and injured people appeared to be crammed into the warehouse-sized building. Spock would have been able to estimate an exact head count at a glance, but Kirk registered that there were several dozen at least. He also could tell at once that there were too many patients and not enough doctors, medics, and nurses.

  “Dear Lord,” McCoy murmured. “This makes that so-called ‘hospital’ back in the twentieth century look positively civilized.”

  Tamris gave him a quizzical look. “Come again?”

  “It’s a long story,” Kirk said, recalling their tumultuous voyage through time a few years ago before turning his attention back to the situation at hand. Movable partitions divided the facility into separate sections: triage, recovery, intensive care, and quarantine. Tamris pointed them out as she guided the men through the overtaxed medical center, which nonetheless struck Kirk as impressively clean and organized under the circumstances. The majority of the patients occupied cots instead of proper beds, with sophisticated monitor systems reserved for only the most severe cases. Bags of plasma and saline hu
ng on old-fashioned IVs, while hyposprays were deployed conservatively, the better to extend the center’s limited supplies. Kirk spotted another guard posted outside the quarantine area and wondered how many “collaborators” had been stowed there, away from the other patients, for their own safety.

  There’s healing to be done here all right, he thought. In more ways than one.

  Grief and suffering were everywhere to be seen, as were compassion and dedication. Exhausted-looking volunteers tended to patients suffering from burns, infections, hacking coughs, missing limbs, and other conditions. Kirk had hardly lived a sheltered life, having witnessed his fair share of plagues, massacres, and battlefields in his time, but he was still deeply moved and disturbed by the heartrending sights and sounds around him. Labored breaths and pain-racked groans tugged at his heart. He watched in sorrow as an orderly somberly pulled a sheet over the face of a patient who hadn’t made it. A friend or family member stood by, sobbing.

  “And this planet looked so peaceful from above,” he mused.

  “There’s still beauty to be found here,” Tamris assured him. “You just have to look a lot harder to find it. And make no mistake, gentlemen. Those supplies you delivered are going to make a tremendous difference. We were running dangerously low on anti-virals, anesthetics, cardiostimulators, and working surgical lasers, among other things.”