Mere Anarchy
Shadows of the Indignant
Dave Galanter
POCKET eBOOKS
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An Original Publication of POCKET eBOOKS
This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: xxx-xxx-xxx-x
Pocket eBook first published February 2007
Chapter One
“Damned violation of my rights is what this is.” Leonard McCoy spat that—and a few other things that turned heads—at the blank expressions of the two Starfleet security officers as they stood next to his table. All eyes in the restaurant had been on the pair of uniforms since they’d disrupted the atmosphere by beaming directly to the hostess’s station, but now the patrons were looking more at McCoy.
The older of the two security agents was on the short side, wiry, but had an air of confidence and authority. His younger, more athletic, female counterpart was inexperienced enough to look amused at McCoy’s situation, a small smirk playing at her lips. “We have our orders, sir,” she said.
“Where’ve I heard that before?” McCoy muttered. “Is there a charge, or a plan, or do I just sit here until Kingdom Come?”
This time the male officer spoke. “Our instructions are to hold you here until we receive further orders from the admiral, sir.”
“I’m not a ‘sir,’ Lieutenant. I’ve resigned. I’m a civilian. Do you understand that?” McCoy tried to keep his voice in check, but people continued to stare. And why shouldn’t they? How often did anyone beam into a small family restaurant in Fox Chase, Kentucky?
“Yes, sir,” the man said.
“Then stop calling me ‘sir.’” McCoy grumbled.
“We’ll try, sir,” the woman said. Her youth was showing. She was amusing herself at McCoy’s expense, which was unprofessional, and it garnered a harsh look from her comrade.
McCoy noticed for the first time that while the male didn’t have his phaser out, his hand did hover over the weapon in its holster.
“Do I threaten you, son?” McCoy asked.
The man smiled, and his brow crinkled a bit, probably at the unique thought of McCoy’s thin, almost frail frame being menacing. “No, sir.”
“Then take your hand away from that weapon. This is a public venue,” McCoy barked, then motioned toward his half-empty dinner plate and the silverware on it. “Unless you think I’m going to fling my butter knife at your neck as I make my dramatic escape.”
The hostess who’d seated McCoy less than an hour before and had wished him a good meal came sheepishly toward the table. Her gaze cast mostly downward with only passing sympathetic glances toward him, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Excuse me, Doctor?”
Poor girl couldn’t look McCoy in the eye at all. When he’d signed for the credit transfer she was the one who said she’d have to check on why it wasn’t going through, and she was the one who must have made the call about his flagged account. All that brought Starfleet Security barging in, and she obviously felt responsible. She was a sweet young girl—probably not more than twenty-two or twenty-three years old—and McCoy wondered at exactly what age he’d decided people in their twenties were “children” to him, but he felt as if he must allay her guilt. “Well, it’s not your fault,” he said to her quietly.
She smiled meekly and whispered, “I really am sorry but we really do need y’all to move to one of the banquet rooms.” Her voice trailed off and as McCoy sighed and began to move she quietly added: “And… we still need someone to pay the bill.”
“I’ll take it.” A familiar voice sliced into murmurs of recognition that bubbled around the man who now made his way from the entrance. The two security agents remained unmoving and yet seemed to tighten their stance as their superior neared. McCoy slumped back into his seat and waited as the murmurs hushed and the man who’d offered to pay the check lowered himself into the seat across from his doctor.
“I knew it had to be either you,” McCoy said, “or Nogura.”
Jim Kirk smiled pleasantly. “It’s good to see you, Bones.”
“Don’t you ‘Bones’ me, ‘Admiral’ Kirk. What right have you got to—”
Ignoring McCoy’s outburst, Kirk nodded to the two security agents. “Thank you. That’ll be all.”
Both nodded, stepped back to the hostess’s station, and a transporter beam whisked them away in a flash of sparkle and buzz of sound as the hostess showed Kirk and McCoy to a more private room used for parties and banquets.
“Hey, listen—” McCoy tried to begin again once they were seated, but now Kirk was looking toward the doorway and into the main dining room.
“Could I get some coffee?” He called for one of the waitstaff.
The doctor did all he could to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head with disbelief. “Excuse me—I’m ranting at you. The least you could do is have the courtesy to listen.”
A young man set down a coffee cup in front of Kirk and filled it, then nodded and quickly retreated to the main dining room. No one wanted to intrude but everyone was probably watching the doorway and listening as best they could.
“Go on with your rant,” Kirk said, sipping his coffee. “Get it out of your system.”
“Why the devil have I been arrested?” McCoy demanded.
“You’re not under arrest. The guards are gone. I just wanted to be sure I didn’t lose track of you.”
If anything infuriated McCoy more than the situation, it was Kirk’s expression. As if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary, as if he hadn’t disrupted the lives of God knows how many people in the little small-town restaurant, as if it were reasonable and rational to take a friend into custody when you want to meet him for a chat.
“How about calling me and asking me to meet you for lunch?” McCoy asked.
Kirk shrugged. “Would you have said yes?”
Good question. “I’m not sure,” McCoy admitted, and felt his ire calming. Kirk sometimes had that effect, when he wanted to. McCoy would be hot and bothered about this or that and just yelling at Kirk for a while could vent the steam and quiet his anger.
“See? My way was better,” Kirk offered, taking another sip of his drink. “This is really excellent coffee.”
“Your way,” McCoy said, jabbing his finger at Kirk, “was to put a hold on my financial accounts and have guards stop me from leaving—”
“Did you try to leave?” Kirk asked.
“Of course not.”
The admiral smiled, and the grin was becoming insufferable. “If you had, they’d have followed you, not phasered you.”
“That’s not the damned point.”
Kirk said nothing for a long moment, just looked McCoy over—as much of him as he could see—and then finally said, “You lose a little weight, Bones?”
“Yeah,” McCoy said, annoyed. “You gain some?”
Kirk pursed his lips a bit. “Maybe you need a drink—”
The doctor sighed, shook his head, and raised his arms in defeat. “Jim, what’s this all about?”
“Would you believe I just wanted to cat
ch up?”
“Not for a minute,” McCoy said, and Kirk gave his best impersonation of a kicked puppy. “Please, spare me the wounded expression. Just tell me what you want.”
Kirk took another sip of his coffee, placed the cup slowly back on the table, and looked McCoy dead in the eyes. “I need your help, Bones.”
“That’s a load of bull. Unless they suddenly have no other doctors in Starfleet.”
“Okay, I want your help,” Kirk admitted. “Will you at least listen?”
“Do I have a choice?” McCoy motioned toward the main dining area where the security detail had been standing as if they were still there, implying that they’d suddenly beam in again and wrestle him to the ground if he put his hands over his ears as Kirk talked.
Kirk gestured toward the entrance. “If you really want to go, without even listening, I won’t stop you.”
There was a tense moment when McCoy thought he might do just that—walk out and leave Kirk sitting there. Let him pay the bill to boot. Would serve him right, too, McCoy thought. He was ready to do it—even placed his heels squarely on the floor, prepared to stand up and walk away. But he didn’t know what Kirk really wanted, and the chances were that if it weren’t serious then Kirk wouldn’t have gone to the trouble. Say what you liked about Jim Kirk, he wasn’t prone to flights of fancy. “I’m listening,” McCoy grumbled finally.
Kirk nodded and absentmindedly toyed with the spoon in his coffee. “You remember Mestiko?”
“Sure. The pulsar disaster. Some of the harshest living conditions I’ve seen.”
The admiral nodded, and something played in his eyes that McCoy couldn’t quite put a name to. Some memory that perhaps Kirk had not shared or McCoy had forgotten. It had been some time since that particular mission, and McCoy wasn’t on the Enterprise for the original visit to Mestiko when the pulsar hit. “They’ve come a long way in a short time, considering the massive contamination, both literal and metaphorical, but reports I read say they’re at a fragile stage.”
“What’s this have to do with me?” McCoy asked. “Or you, for that matter? Aren’t you pinned to a desk now?”
“That desk,” Kirk began, a defensive tone marbling his voice, “has given me some perspective on the big picture. I have a look at shipping-line patterns, for instance, and I’ve noticed something that someone without some experience ‘out there’ might have missed.” When Kirk said “out there” he crooked a thumb toward the back of the restaurant as if the endless bounds of the final frontier were just beyond the grill of the small diner. “There’s a pattern that’s changed,” Kirk continued. “Not in supply lines that provide Mestiko her goods, but in the carriers, lines, and merchant ships that furnish the ships that supply Mestiko.”
McCoy felt his brow furrow in confusion. Somewhere in the mess of lines and ships and carriers Kirk had lost him. “Once more, for the doctor in the first row?”
With a chuckle, Kirk seemed to realize what he was describing made sense only to someone who knew what he meant to begin with. He took in a long breath and began again. “Something has changed in the way Mestiko obtains goods from other planets. It’s not very obvious, and in fact it’s well hidden, but I see changes that have all the earmarks of a Klingon covert operation. We’ve seen similar patterns before: Sherman’s Planet, Pentis II, SE-832.”
As if back in the Enterprise briefing room again, McCoy automatically began thinking of the possible medical requirements of a conflict with the Klingons at the starship level: plasma burns, radiation exposure, broken bones—He stopped himself. That wasn’t his job anymore, and it damned well better not be what Kirk wanted from him this time. Besides, what Kirk was talking about sounded like nothing more than idle suspicion. “The Klingons had their paws on Mestiko once before and it didn’t work out.”
Kirk leveled a cynical eye at McCoy. “How easily do the Klingons give up?”
Point made, but so what? What did it have to do with McCoy? “It’s all very interesting, Jim, but I’m sure I can’t help you weed out a Klingon conspiracy.”
Kirk pointed right at McCoy with his left hand as he finished a sip of coffee and set down the cup with his right. “That’s exactly what I want you to do. Help me find out what’s going on. We send a starship in there, we’re not likely to find out anything. Some things take a softer touch.”
Before Kirk had even finished his sentence, McCoy was already shaking his head. “Then send in Starfleet Security—”
“No jurisdiction, technically,” Kirk said with a dismissive wave of his hand as the waiter returned and refilled his coffee cup and McCoy’s water glass. “And it would be hard to sell a covert mission on our side based on just my hunch.”
McCoy scoffed. “But you’re going to go—one of the more recognizable admirals in the Starfleet.”
“I’m only recognizable to news watchers on Earth and Federation diplomats,” Kirk said. “But officially we’re calling it a fact-finding mission, should anyone ask. I’ve got Nogura’s approval to go, and take you with me. Technically you’ll be gathering info on Mestiko’s current medical situation.”
Shaking his head again, McCoy couldn’t believe the cockeyed scheme laid before him. “You’ve lost your blasted minds. Both of you.”
Kirk huffed out an amused sound. “That’s just about what he said you’d say. If it’s any consolation, he’d rather I not take you. He wants me to bring Lori Ciana.”
“So why don’t you?”
“Because… that comes with its own problems.”
Feeling the weight of fatigue from his own recent travels, McCoy sighed and tried to let Kirk down as easily as possible. “Jim, I just got home—”
“We’re talking a week,” Kirk said. “Or two—at the most.”
“I’ve been gone for too long. I want—”
“What difference will another two weeks make?” Kirk asked. “You know the planet, and I know you. I trust your guidance.”
“Since when?”
Kirk smiled, probably because he sensed in McCoy’s tone that he was being worn down. “Since I lost my blasted mind.”
“Well,” McCoy said, and allowed himself a slight smile for the first time since Kirk had arrived, “that’s been a long time.”
“Come on, Bones.” Kirk held out his hand, offering it for McCoy to shake over the table. “What do you say?”
“Bastard.” McCoy harrumphed, grasped Kirk’s hand and shook it firmly. “I say I need that drink.”
Chapter Two
It had been some time since McCoy had been to Starfleet Command, and to his mind it was too soon. There was a sterility about the place, from the neatly manicured trees that one would think were fake (but weren’t), to the thin, hard carpeting that lined every corridor. And everything was painted white or beige. Even the uniforms were changing to those bland colors, it seemed. There were still many of the bright red, gold, and blue tunics he’d been used to, but they all seemed to be on visiting officers or enlisted personnel. Command staff officers themselves were all wearing plain jumpsuits now that couldn’t help but remind McCoy of the footy-pajamas that toddlers wore. He wanted to ask the nearest ensign if he were ready for his nap, but willed himself to refrain. On his best behavior, he simply sat and waited for Kirk to get out of a meeting. Occasionally he nodded at a passing security officer who would look to make sure McCoy had the proper visitor’s badge.
When the briefing room doors across the corridor parted, McCoy stood. A large number of officers spread out and went their separate ways, but Kirk guided one man straight for the waiting area.
“Dr. Leonard McCoy,” Kirk greeted, “I’d like you to meet Captain Willard Decker.”
McCoy put out his hand and the captain took it firmly. “Decker?” He looked to Kirk with a curious glance and wondered if there was a relation to the late Commodore Decker.
Kirk nodded. “Matt’s boy.”
Decker was a lean man—and who couldn’t be in the new uniforms—with a pleasant smile and
rather sunny disposition for a Starfleet captain. “I hear ‘Matt’s boy’ so often, I’m not sure if that’s my rank or my first name.”
“Sorry,” Kirk said, and patted the young man on the back. “It’s a compliment, you know that, Will.”
“Your father was quite a man,” McCoy agreed.
“I have two sets of boots to fill, I suppose,” Decker said. “His, and Admiral Kirk’s.”
McCoy looked from Decker to Kirk and back to Decker. “Oh?”
“Will’s slated to become captain of the Enterprise,” Kirk said, and McCoy wasn’t sure exactly what emotion tinged his voice, but there was something there. As if “captain of the Enterprise” was a title akin to “philosopher-king.” “He and Mr. Scott are overseeing the refit,” Kirk added.
McCoy smiled affably. “Is Scotty actually letting you touch anything?”
“We have an understanding, but I’m learning quite a lot from him. It’s an honor on all counts.” Decker looked down at his inner left wrist and shook his head. “Speaking of which, I should be getting back to it.” He offered McCoy his hand again. “Pleasure meeting you, Doctor.” After they shook hands again, Decker turned to Kirk. “Admiral, I hope you’ll come soon to see the progress we’re making on the Enterprise.”
“At my first opportunity, Captain,” Kirk assured him, and Decker nodded a salute and walked briskly away.
McCoy wasn’t sure exactly what kind of relationship the two men had, but there was a tension there, most certainly. Where it came from, McCoy wasn’t sure. Jealousy, as if the Enterprise were a woman whom Kirk was loath to share? Guilt over feeling that he could have stopped Decker’s father from dying unnecessarily? Only one way to find out, McCoy thought.
“Avoiding him, or the ship?” McCoy asked.
Kirk wasn’t going to bite. “I’m a busy man.”
McCoy grunted and decided to accept that, mainly because there was no other choice for now. Someday it would likely come up again, so he filed away the notion for later dissection. “So what am I doing here, anyway? If it’s to see Nogura and have him talk me back into my commission, forget it.”
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