Foul Deeds Will Rise

by Greg Cox

  “With ulterior motives,” she pointed out.

  “Yet another issue we’ll discuss later and at leisure.” He rose to his feet, making ready to leave. “I’ll have the Enterprise contact the camp to arrange matters. Please don’t get cold feet once I’m gone. I really want to continue this conversation. I think it will be good . . . for all concerned.”

  “Don’t worry,” she promised. “Stage fright is not among my many failings, and I have never been late for a performance.”

  “It’s settled, then. I look forward to seeing you later, aboard the Enterprise.”

  He started down the aisle toward the nearest exit, already wondering how he was going to explain this to McCoy . . . and Riley.

  “Jim?” she called out before he got too far.

  He turned around to look back at her. “Yes?”

  “You are being very forgiving and accommodating. Should I be suspicious?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Should I?”

  Four

  “You are cleared to land, Galileo. You are requested to lower your shields. Do not deviate from the prescribed flight path or we will be forced to open fire.”

  The stern instructions came over the shuttlecraft’s comm unit as the Galileo descended toward the remote Pavakian military base, located near the planet’s border. Piloting the shuttle, Spock confirmed that the fort had lowered its own defensive force field so that the shuttle could approach unobstructed. He made visual contact with the base.

  “Not exactly what you’d call a warm welcome,” observed Mister Scott, who was seated beside Spock in the shuttle’s cockpit. At this stage of the disarmament process, the Pavakians were allowing only two Starfleet inspectors to visit the restricted site, so Spock and Scott were alone in the shuttle. Scott scowled beneath his mustache. “You’d think they weren’t happy to see us.”

  “Pavakians are not known for the warmth of either their temperament or climate,” Spock stated. “And it is unlikely that our mission is regarded with enthusiasm by every element of their military.”

  The Vulcan observed their destination as they descended through a cold, gray sky. The Pavakian base was located in a stark, inhospitable wasteland surrounded by barren, rocky hills sparsely dotted with scrub. Gazing down at the harsh terrain of this equatorial region, Spock could well understand why the Pavakians had found Oyolo’s lush environment and biodiversity so tempting. By comparison, life on Pavak was a constant struggle to survive. That the Pavakians had managed to build an advanced space-faring civilization despite such obstacles did them credit.

  The base itself appeared highly secure. Along with its force field, the complex was also guarded by high mesh walls that were surely capable of being energized or electrified. Guards and heavy artillery were stationed at every gate and watchtower while batteries of phaser cannons further defended the base’s perimeter and airspace. A single paved highway connected the base with a large urban metropolis in the distance, although the base seemed to be quite self-sufficient. Inside its barricades were a variety of structures, including barracks, garages, hangars, and armories. A massive concrete silo, which appeared of newer construction than the rest of the base, dominated the site. The sun was just rising on the horizon, confirming that it was early morning on this part of the planet.

  Galileo touched down on a landing pad, where a large contingent of armed Pavakian soldiers were on hand to greet them. Spock chose to view this as a demonstration of respect, but he acknowledged that the potentially intimidating show of force could be interpreted differently.

  What message was truly intended?

  He shut down the engines and opened the starboard hatchway. Under ideal circumstances, Spock would have preferred to leave a crew member to watch over Galileo in their absence, but that was not an option in this instance, so they would have to leave the shuttlecraft unattended. He rose from his seat and joined Scott at the open hatch. Befitting their role as peacekeepers, they left their phasers aboard.

  “Let us meet our hosts, Mister Scott.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The hatchway closed behind them as they emerged from the shuttle. A bracing cold immediately imposed itself upon their senses. Despite the base’s location near the equator and the fact that it was technically summer in this region of the planet, the temperature was uncomfortably frigid, particularly by Vulcan standards. Even Scott, who’d been raised in the rigorous climate of his native Scotland, displayed evidence of discomfort. The men’s breaths frosted before their lips, and Spock was grateful for their heavy-duty field jackets. He also found himself envying the Pavakians’ layers of fur.

  “Welcome to Fort Dakkur,” a Pavakian officer addressed them in a frosty tone that rather belied the content of his greeting. He stepped forward to meet them. “I am Brigadier-General Pogg. I will be responsible for you during your stay here.”

  Fine black fur covered a blunt, square face, except around his mouth and chin where snow-white fur created the illusion of a beard and mustache. His uniform and military bearing left no doubt as to his profession. The sable down upon his face made it difficult to gauge his age, but he conveyed an impression of vigorous middle age. A disruptor pistol was holstered at his hip.

  “We look forward to your hospitality and cooperation, sir,” Spock said. He introduced himself and Mister Scott. “Our mission here can only benefit all concerned.”

  “I have my orders,” Pogg said stiffly. “You may rely on me to carry them out.”

  Unlike his father, Spock was not a diplomat, but he thought it best to bring any potential conflicts out into the open in a timely fashion. In his experience, reliable data was essential to achieving one’s objective.

  “May I ask, sir, if you personally approve of your orders?”

  “My personal views are irrelevant,” Pogg replied. “I subscribe to the chain of command.”

  “Nonetheless,” Spock said, “I would be interested in knowing where you stand with regards to our mission.”

  Pogg’s eyes narrowed and he contemplated the visitors carefully before responding.

  “Let me make myself clear. As a soldier, I am all in favor of peace. I’ve lost too many good men and women to this ugly conflict and have offered my condolences to far too many families and orphans. But, as a patriot, I can’t say I’m happy about the Federation sticking their nose in our business. Pavak is perfectly capable of keeping up its end of any agreements with Oyolo without outsiders looking over our shoulders.”

  “I appreciate your candor, sir,” Spock said. “But let me point out that Starfleet’s involvement and, specifically, our own arrival at this base, was a compromise agreed to by both parties. Because Pavak would not allow any Oyolu inspectors to visit your military installations, a third party was required. Were the situation reversed, would you be content to simply take the Oyolu’s word that all weapons of mass destruction had been destroyed?”

  “Not for a moment,” Pogg admitted. “But this is a Pavakian base—and Pavakian weapons—that we are discussing. Allowing any outsiders to this fort rubs me the wrong way. I take Pavakian autonomy and sovereignty very seriously, gentlemen.”

  “As well you should,” Spock said. “However—”

  “This is a fascinating debate,” Scotty interrupted, shivering, “but perhaps we could continue it somewhere a wee bit warmer?”

  “Of course,” Pogg said. “My apologies for forgetting that you are unaccustomed to our climate. We have prepared quarters for you in the officers’ barracks. Follow me.”

  He escorted them across the grounds to a utilitarian, block-shaped building within walking distance of the landing field. A detachment of armed soldiers accompanied them, but they kept a reasonable enough distance that Spock felt more like a guest than a prisoner. As they passed through various levels of security, Spock wondered whether such measures had been upped in anticipation of their
visit. He was aware from his briefings that both the peace talks and the disarmament agreement remained controversial on Pavak, with a significant percentage of the populace bitterly opposed to making any concessions to Oyolo. It was probable that the fort’s defenses, both within and without, were at least partially intended to protect the base from disgruntled elements on their own planet.

  Spock found this more troubling than reassuring.

  Thankfully, the guards stayed outside as Pogg admitted them to a suite on the top floor of the barracks. The accommodations were Spartan, but adequate. Picture windows offered a view of the fort and outlying terrain. The temperature was still fairly chilly, but perhaps it could be adjusted; if not, years of living among humans had accustomed Spock to environments considerably cooler than Vulcan. He was pleased to note a computer terminal and work station in one corner, as well as what appeared to be a personal communications unit. He fully intended to keep the Enterprise apprised of their activities here.

  “Aye, that’s more like it,” Scott said, although he appeared to be in no hurry to remove his field jacket. “It was a tad nippy outdoors, if ye don’t mind me saying.”

  “By Pavakian standards, the weather is quite pleasant,” Pogg assured them. Crossing the suite, he extracted a bottle from a cupboard. A viscous amber liquid sloshed inside the bottle. “This is an excellent local vintage. Perhaps it will warm your blood.”

  Scotty beamed. “Now that’s what I call hospitality.”

  Pogg poured a drink for Scotty and himself. “And you, Captain Spock?”

  “No thank you, Brigadier-General. I will abstain, as is my custom.”

  “Ye don’t know what you’re missing,” Scott said and raised his glass to Pogg. “Your very good health, sir.”

  He downed the drink, then patted his abdomen in satisfaction. “Aye, that’s a potent brew, just the thing to thaw out my bones.”

  “You approve?” Pogg asked, sounding vaguely impressed.

  “I do indeed, sir. My respect for your people has just been elevated considerably.” Scott fished a flask from the interior pockets of his field jacket. “Now then, in the interests of cultural exchange, might I interest you in a nip of good Scotch whiskey?”

  Intrigued, Pogg accepted the flask and took a swig.

  “Interesting,” he declared afterward, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. His frosty demeanor also began to thaw. “A fit drink for a soldier.”

  Spock observed the exchange with interest. An unconventional approach to diplomacy, he noted, but apparently an effective one. He was not entirely sure his father would approve, but Spock could not fault Scott’s results. If nothing else, the canny engineer had already found common ground with their host, which might well make their mission proceed more smoothly.

  “Are ye quite sure you don’t care to join us in a drink, Mister Spock?” Scott asked. “I realize it’s hardly the Vulcan way, but it seems to me that, over the years, you’ve become a bit more flexible about such things than once you were, no offense.”

  Spock took no offense from what was in fact an accurate observation. Since his encounter with V’Ger several years ago, he had indeed come to realize that logic was merely the beginning of wisdom and not an end to itself. Nevertheless, he remained a child of Vulcan in many respects.

  “Simply because I have become more comfortable with my human heritage does not mean that I intend to embrace its vices.” He located a food processor unit and keyed in a request. “I will stick to tea if you don’t mind.”

  “Suit yourself.” Scott poured himself another glass and made another toast. “To peace . . . and beating swords into plowshares.”

  “A curious expression,” Pogg said, “but I take your meaning.” He raised the flask. “To peace.”

  “To peace,” Spock echoed. He retrieved a cup of hot tea from the food processor and relocated to a dining table surrounded by simple but functional chairs. “In that spirit, perhaps we can begin to discuss the task at hand.”

  Reducing Pavak’s ability to attack Oyolo was a complicated process that was likely to take weeks. The first order of business was to confirm the destruction of Pavak’s stockpile of protomatter missiles, whose warheads were far more destructive, by several orders of magnitude, than the relatively low-grade photonic missiles Pavak had employed against Oyolo to date. Their very existence had only been rumored until the truth had been exposed by Oyolu intelligence agencies working in conjunction with Pavakian peace activists and the interplanetary press. Because the missiles were manifestly offensive weapons, serving no defensive purpose, and because the Oyolu lacked the ability to retaliate in kind, it had been agreed that the apocalyptic threat to Oyolo had to be eliminated if there was to be any hope of a lasting peace. That protomatter, a dangerously unstable substance, was banned by most responsible civilizations had also convinced the Pavakians to relinquish the weapons.

  “Our entire supply of protomatter missiles are being transported to this site to be disposed of,” Pogg said. “We can begin the process shortly.”

  “We anticipated nothing less,” Spock said. “Your people are to be commended for their willingness to destroy this arsenal, and for your restraint in never employing it, no matter the provocation.”

  Pogg chuckled mordantly. “I’m not sure all my fellow Pavakians would agree with that,” he said, the whiskey appearing to loosen his tongue to a degree. “There are many among my people who still think that we should have employed the missiles to bomb the Oyolu into submission once and for all. They blame weak-willed Pavakian ‘traitors’ and alarmists and sympathizers for tying the military’s hands. They would prefer total victory to compromise, no matter the cost.”

  “Armageddon, once unleashed, has a tendency to spread unchecked,” Spock said, “and even total victory often comes at a cost, if only to the victor’s sanity and nobler aspirations. My own people nearly destroyed themselves in brutal, internecine warfare before we finally realized that reason yielded greater rewards than revenge, and that wanton destruction benefits no one in the end.”

  “Easier said than done,” Pogg said. “Outsiders cannot truly appreciate how deep the enmity between Pavak and Oyolo goes. Generations of hatred and bloodshed cannot be put aside overnight.”

  “Perhaps not,” Spock said, “but our work here could be an important first step to allowing you to at least peacefully coexist in the same solar system.”

  In truth, destroying the protomatter warheads was only the beginning of the disarmament process. In the weeks and months to come, teams of qualified Starfleet engineers, chemists, and other scientists would need to make regular inspections of various silos, bases, factories, and other sites to ensure compliance with the cease-fire agreement. Investigators would also need to conduct private interviews with Pavak’s top weapon designers, who would have to be guaranteed freedom from government interference or repercussions. It would serve little purpose to destroy one stockpile of missiles if Pavak retained the capacity to manufacture more without delay. Spock recalled that Pavak was currently in opposition to Oyolo so that the two planets were closer together than at any other time. Now, he reflected, would be an ideal time for Pavak to launch a devastating attack at its neighbor, when the distance between them was a mere eighty million kilometers.

  All the more reason to ensure that the most lethal missiles were destroyed in a timely fashion.

  “We will, of course, require access to all relevant files and databases,” Spock said, “to verify that all warheads are fully accounted for.”

  Pogg bristled. “Are you implying dishonesty on our part?”

  “Not at all,” Spock insisted. “I was merely stipulating the conditions required to produce the desired result.”

  “You needn’t remind me.” Pogg lifted the flask to his lips, then reconsidered and handed it back to Scott. His posture stiffened. “I have my orders. I understand what is expec
ted of me.”

  Spock hoped that would be sufficient. Weapons-inspections operations could be unpredictable and even hazardous. It was not unknown in the annals of such missions that prior arrangements could come apart without warning. Only six months ago, Federation weapons inspectors visiting a suspected biogenic weapons plant on Samotta III had been barred from the premises at the last moment and even detained on the planet for a time. Spock was only too aware that, orders or no orders, full cooperation on the part of Pogg and his fellow Pavakians was by no means guaranteed. Indeed, some resistance was to be anticipated.

  “I did not mean to imply otherwise,” the Vulcan stated calmly. “I wished only to avoid any misunderstandings later on.”

  “You’ll get what you were promised,” Pogg said gruffly. “No more, no less.”

  Five

  An antique ship’s wheel, from the golden age of sail, was the centerpiece of the Enterprise’s forward observation lounge, which was located on C Deck at the stern of the saucer. The relic evoked a proud maritime tradition, as did the inlaid compass design at the center of the polished hardwood floor. Ceiling-high viewports overlooking the ship’s twin warp nacelles also offered a panoramic view of the vast starry vista beyond. An inscription beneath the wooden wheel spelled out the ship’s ongoing mission: “To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before.”

  At the moment, the lounge provided an ideal setting for tonight’s reception. A lavish buffet offered gourmet food prepared the old-fashioned way in the ship’s galley, as opposed to synthesized fare from the food processors. An open bar dispensed drinks both intoxicating and otherwise. Tinkling glasses imparted a festive note that was at odds with the somewhat less than convivial mood of the guests of honor. Kirk couldn’t help comparing the tense, uneasy atmosphere to the more jubilant celebration he’d attended down on Oyolo. He gathered that the first full day of negotiations had not gone well.