She cleared her throat and stepped to one side of the podium, resting a milk-white hand on it. “The captain has informed me that we have an intruder on board. The evidence indicates that it is Jeffrey Adams.”
She let the murmurs stop before she continued. “Adams attacked Ensign Lisa Nguyen and then fled. The transporter room and hangar deck have been alerted, but so far he has made no attempt to leave the ship.” She paused for a moment to let the information sink in. Stanger made a move as if to stand up and say something, but held himself and kept his eyes focused intently on her. “Nguyen is all right. Her injuries were serious, but she was saved by the appearance of Ensign Lamia. Both Nguyen and Lamia are in sickbay, where they will remain until it is determined whether or not Adams infected them.”
Tomson’s voice was without inflection, but she said the words with true regret. She’d been watching Lisa Nguyen for a couple of years now, and of all her people, Tomson trusted Nguyen the most. She’d been planning to have her promoted to lieutenant, junior grade, to her second-in-command. It was not a decision she had made lightly. She liked Nguyen, and was sorry to see this happen to her.
Adams’ appearance brought with it an additional problem: who was to assume command of the night-shift search. While Tomson was tempted to extend her own shift to twenty-four hours a day, she realized she would have to delegate. But Nguyen was the only one she trusted enough to delegate anything to.
“As usual, we’ll split into two shifts. I’ll be coordinating the first one. Those of you on duty will be assigned a specific area to search. First, though, you will report to sickbay for a briefing by Dr. McCoy on the necessary precautions.” She paused. “That’s it. Those of you not on duty are dismissed—but I want you here fifteen minutes before your shift so you can report to sickbay first.”
The audience rose; the night shifters lingered for their assignments; the day shifters began shuffling out. All except Stanger. He stood off to one side of the podium. She stepped over and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Do you have a question, Ensign?”
“Yes, sir.” His voice was lowered so that the others, who were speaking softly to each other, could not hear. “Who’s coordinating the search for the night shift?”
Tomson let her lips press tighter together. She resented the question; she’d been hoping against hope that McCoy would call to say Nguyen had had a miraculous recovery. As it was, she was forced to choose from among a bevy of junior-grade ensigns, none of whom had the seniority aboard the Enterprise, much less the experience. “I haven’t made that decision yet.”
“I’d like to offer myself for consideration, Lieutenant.” If Stanger was still smarting from being chewed out the other day, he did not show it. Handsome, she caught herself thinking, looking at his dark, broad features, smoothly arranged in a display of respect and responsibility. For an instant, the face of al-Baslama flashed in front of her. She canceled the image immediately, but was left with an odd sense of hatred for the man standing in front of her. You’d like to take Moh’s place, wouldn’t you, Stanger? she thought with sudden resentment.
“I realize I, haven’t made a very good impression, Lieutenant, especially being late the other day” Stanger continued. “But in spite of any rumors you may have heard, I’m very competent. I’ve organized a number of searches in my day, and I’m damn good at it. I’ve been trying to think of a way to show you that, sir.”
She gazed at him without answering for a moment. She often used silence as a means of unsettling people, but Stanger did not squirm. He simply stared right back at her.
“I need someone to supervise evening shift,” she answered finally. “You’re day shift.” He started to say something and she silenced him with a look. “I need everyone on day shift I can get, with Nguyen and Lamia out indefinitely.”
“Then let me do the next day shift, and the following evening shift. I’ll take Esswein’s place. He can rest up, and then take my place tomorrow morning.”
She approved inwardly of his determination, but did not show it on her face. “You’re either very sincere or very slick, Mr. Stanger.”
“Both, sir,” he said, straight-faced. “And determined. Nguyen and Lamia are my friends. I want to find Adams. Will you consider it?”
She used silence again, but again it failed to ruffle him. When she finally did speak, she was thinking more of Mohamed al-Baslama and his spotless record than she was of Stanger and his feelings. “Acker Esswein will be temporary second-in-command,” she said abruptly. “Quite frankly, Mr. Stanger, I can’t trust you not to screw up again.”
His expression did not change, but as she turned away, she thought she saw a shadow fall over his face.
Sulu settled in his chair at the navigation console on the bridge and tried to keep his mind on his work. It wasn’t easy; Chekov had already laid in the course, and there was very little for a helmsman to do except sit and make sure that nothing went wrong with the equipment. And once they arrived at their destination in the Sagittarian arm, Sulu’s greatest challenge would be to slow the ship to sublight speed in order to facilitate star-mapping. Such uninspiring work was bad enough on an ordinary day, but today there were other factors working to increase Sulu’s restlessness: the shipwide alert in the middle of the night about the intruder on board, and the rumors about the attack on Nguyen and Chris Chapel’s closeness to death. The truth was impossible to get. McCoy was talking to only a few, and those few weren’t telling.
Sulu would have liked to discuss all this with Chekov, who sat next to him at the console, to see if the navigator had any insights or new information on the rumors. But the captain’s dark mood had kept both of them silent.
And then McCoy had called the bridge. Sulu heard enough of it to know that Adams had been spotted in sickbay. Kirk left the conn in Spock’s hands. The impassive Vulcan remained at his station, gazing serenely into his viewer at things Sulu could only guess at.
With the captain safely gone, Chekov shot Sulu a sideways look that the helmsman took as an invitation to talk. Sulu glanced apprehensively at the science officer’s station. The Vulcan’s hearing was sensitive enough to overhear them, no matter how softly they whispered, but Spock seemed far less likely to be irritated by it than the captain.
Sulu turned to face his friend. “So. Looks like we have an uninvited guest aboard. How long before you think we’ll be turned around and headed back for Star Base Nine?”
The corners of the Russian’s mouth crinkled upward, giving his broad, boyish face an impish look. “Five credits says I’ll have a new course laid in before lunch.”
The helmsman considered it. “Why not?” He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing more exciting to look forward to.”
“Except maybe a visit from our friend Dr. Adams,” Chekov said mysteriously, his dark eyes acquiring the glint Sulu knew so well. Another Muscovite legend would soon be unleashed on an unsuspecting public.…
Sulu smirked skeptically. “I keep my door locked. Besides, what would Adams want with me?”
“The same thing he wanted from the people on Tanis, the same thing he wanted from the security guard.” He leaned closer to Sulu and hissed, “Your blood.”
“Come on, Pavel” Sulu laughed aloud in spite of himself, then looked guiltily around to see who had heard. Spock ignored them steadily, face still buried in the viewer; but Uhura glanced up from her communications console and gave Chekov a dirty look.
“Sorry.” Sulu smiled at her. She looked back down at her board without returning the smile; she was probably worried about Nurse Chapel and, like the captain, didn’t appreciate humor at this particular time. Sulu forced the smile from his face and turned his attention back to the navigator. “For God’s sake, Pavel, don’t be so theatrical. We all know Adams is psychotic, but Security will find him”
“Security can do nothing about it,” Chekov intoned. It seemed to Sulu that his Russian accent was growing thicker by the second. “Security knows nothing about dealing with �
��he paused for effect—wampires.”
“Wampires?” Sulu felt entirely ignorant.
Chekov shook his head, irritated. “No, no, a vampire.”
“Oh. You mean a vampire.” Sulu frowned. “I think I’ve heard of them. Isn’t that a type of Terran bat that lives in South America?”
The stocky young man turned away, disgusted. “I’m not talking about bats.” Then, with sudden inspiration, he fumbled under the collar of his tunic. “Here. This is what I’m talking about.” He drew out a gold crucifix on a heavy chain.
“Pretty.” Sulu gave a soft, low whistle. “But not exactly regulation. Where’d you get that?”
“A family heirloom.” Chekov held it up by the chain so that the cross dangled hypnotically in front of the helmsman. “Very useful against wampires.”
“Bats?”
“The undead. Creatures who return from the grave to drink the blood of the living.”
Sulu shook his head and grinned broadly down at his console. “Pavel, I swear. Sometimes you’re too much. I can never tell when you’re serious.”
“I am serious,” Chekov said, slipping his crucifix back under his gold tunic, but the storyteller’s gleam was still in his eyes. “Whoever is bitten is doomed to become a wampire as well. You’ll see, Sulu. You’ll come back to me for help.”
Sulu just shook his head and grinned. Behind them, Uhura made a clicking sound of disgust. Spock continued to stare impassively into his viewer.
“Adams stole one of these portable transfusion units and some drugs.” Hands trembling slightly, McCoy displayed the object to Kirk and Tomson in the outer room of sickbay. “Don’t worry, we’re safe in here. The lab report says the virus can only be spread through direct contact.”
“That’s a relief.” Kirk studied the doctor with concern. It hadn’t really been necessary for the captain to come down to sickbay for the second time that day—but Kirk wanted to see how McCoy was holding up after Chapel’s death. The doctor looked as if he had barely managed to pull himself together, and exuded a faint aroma of bourbon. In the next room, the life-support equipment hummed softly in Chapel’s darkened isolation unit.
“It should facilitate the search,” Tomson said. “I’ll let my people know they can forgo the field suits.”
“Oh.” McCoy rubbed his face as if trying to wake himself up. “By the way, I got the lab results on Nguyen and Lamia. They’ve both got a clean bill of health. Lamia’s probably reporting for duty right now.”
“Great.” For a moment, Tomson seemed on the verge of smiling—but the uncharacteristic surge of warmth soon passed. “What about Nguyen? How’s she recuperating from the wound?”
McCoy released a bone-weary sigh. “Physically, she’s doing quite well. By tonight, she’ll be able to return to her quarters. But she needs at least three days off duty especially considering her poor emotional recovery. The attack seems to have taken all the spirit out of her. Even after I told her the good news, she—well, she seemed relieved, but it didn’t seem to cheer her up all that much. She’s still depressed and I’m not sure what’s at the bottom of it.” McCoy didn’t seem to be doing all that well himself.
“Could I see her?” Tomson said suddenly. “I might be able to cheer her up some.”
The disbelieving look McCoy shot Tomson would have struck Kirk as amusing under less disheartening circumstances. Tomson, with her forbidding exterior, seemed more likely to depress the most manic of optimists. “All right,” McCoy said at last. “Guess it couldn’t hurt.” He motioned Tomson to the back room. “She’s through here. You can go on in—she’s awake.”
Tomson disappeared through the doorway and McCoy turned to face Kirk. “That’s all I know, Captain. I’ll call you if anything happens.”
“What about that vaccine?”
McCoy shrugged as if it were just another nuisance to attend to. “We should be distributing it to the crew by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good.” Kirk did not turn to leave, but stood and stayed his ground, trying to think about how to broach the subject of Chapel.
The wall intercom whistled. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”
He walked over to the bulkhead and answered it. “Kirk here. What is it, Lieutenant?”
Uhura’s voice sounded perplexed. “Something strange, sir. Just a second ago, I picked up an unauthorized transmission from within the ship.”
Adams! But who was he trying to contact? “Location?”
“Tracing it now, Captain. But transmission has ceased. Whoever sent the signal may very well have moved to another part of the ship.”
“Nevertheless, call me here as soon as you have the location. Kirk out.” He switched off the intercom and turned back to McCoy.
“I guess you’ll want to talk to Tomson about this.” McCoy turned, swaying a bit unsteadily, and began moving away. “I’ll be in my office.”
“Bones”
The doctor stopped, keeping his back to the captain. “What is it?”
“I think you know.”
“I have no idea,” McCoy said hostilely, without turning around.
“Christine Chapel. Has there been any change?”
“Not yet.” McCoy tried to get past, but Kirk stepped forward to block his way.
“Doctor I hate saying this as much as you do.” It was true. Maybe he wasn’t as close to Chapel as McCoy, but he felt her death keenly nonetheless. “Don’t you think you owe it to her to let her go?”
He waited for the arguments McCoy would throw at him. That perhaps Adams could tell them something about the symptoms, that there were more tests to run on the virus. That perhaps it was some bizarre new effect of the disease they hadn’t anticipated. Kirk had heard them all; he also knew the doctor didn’t believe any of them himself.
But McCoy did not protest. Hoarsely, he said, “Just give me a little time, Jim.”
Kirk hesitated. “All right. A little time.” He let McCoy retreat to the dark safety of his office.
Lisa was riding a horse. She leaned forward in the saddle and put her hand on the animal’s chestnut coat, feeling its strong, solid muscles rippling beneath her, breathing in its warm, dusty smell, along with the clean scent of Colorado air.
“Ensign?”
The horse stumbled. At the sound of Tomson’s voice, Nguyen started and opened her eyes wide. She attempted to scramble to her feet, but gave it up quickly for an upright sitting position. Her head began spinning and she put a hand on it to make it stop.
“As you were, Ensign. Don’t try to get up.”
The dizziness began to recede. “Lieutenant,” Nguyen said. “Sir. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I didn’t know myself until a second ago.” Tomson found a chair and pulled it next to the bed. Seated, she was as tall as Nguyen was standing. “Dr. McCoy says you’re recovering very rapidly.”
“Yes, sir.” Nguyen could hear the hesitation in her own voice. She was recovering, and it was a relief to be out of the isolation chamber but she could not bring herself to think about going back on duty. She wanted to stay alone, in sickbay forever, to daydream about Colorado. She didn’t want to have to make the choice.
“He also says that you seem very troubled since the attack.” Tomson shifted in her chair as if what she were about to say made her uncomfortable. “I hope it’s nothing serious, Ensign. I need you back.”
Nguyen did not answer. She did not want to come back. To say it was not serious would be lying.
“I’ve been watching you since you first came on board.” Tomson folded her long thin arms in front of her, forming a protective barrier against what she was saying. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t expect much from you at first. But you’ve turned out to be a fine officer. I’ve recommended you for a promotion. I don’t do that for very many people. When it comes through, I’m going to make you my second-in-command.”
My God, Nguyen thought with an overwhelming sense of revelation. You mean she likes me? Suddenly, the lieutenant’s expres
sion assumed a whole new meaning. Nguyen could actually see the concern hidden in those pale, narrow eyes. She’d always assumed from Tomson’s demeanor that the lieutenant despised her. But then, the indications were that Tomson despised everybody. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she stammered. “But there’s something—something you ought to know. I’m thinking of leaving the Fleet.”
“Oh?” The warmth fled from Tomson’s expression, making it cold and mistrustful again.
Tell her you didn’t mean it, her mind argued. Don’t be stupid. Just wait till you’re sure.
Nguyen was sure. She took a deep breath. “No. Not thinking. I’m positive. I’m leaving the Fleet.”
“When did you come to this decision?”
“A little while ago.”
“Nguyen” Tomson’s voice was actually gentle. “The attack shook you up. That’s pretty normal. I’m sure you’ll feel different later. You just need to give it some time.”
Nguyen shook her head and was surprised to find that her voice did not shake at the thought of contradicting her superior. “No, sir. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I—I’ve been invited to join a group marriage. I’m very fond of the people, but the rules are that I would have to leave the Fleet.” Immediately, she felt embarrassed. Tomson would not understand something like that. Tomson could understand nothing but duty and career. She braced herself for the ridicule that was sure to follow.
It did not come. “Ensign.” Tomson fixed her ice-blue eyes on Lisa’s. “Do me a favor. Give it a week. Then tell me this again.”
“Sir, my mind’s”
“Give it a week, Ensign.” Tomson’s, gaze was piercing.
Nguyen sighed meekly. “Yes, sir.” But, she reassured herself silently, it wouldn’t make any difference.
“The time is 0610.” The computer paused to raise the volume of its feminine voice by a decibel and then repeated its message: “The time is 0610.”
Stanger opened one eye a slit and fought to extricate himself from a confusing tangle of dreams. 0610. That meant that the computer had been trying to coax him from the bed for the past ten minutes, its volume steadily increasing until now it thundered in his ear.
Bloodthirst Page 15