by S. D. Perry
He had come to ask a favor. He would not lie.
"My hope is that the time we spent together transcended our respective politics," Spock said. "I feel that you might want to assist me now because the brief intimacy between us contained no betrayal of emotion. The actions surrounding our encounter, my actions, did not honor that connection, but in my mind, the closeness remains untouched by treachery." The sharpness of her demeanor softened, her expression relaxing. "I see."
When she didn't expand on her understanding, Spock decided to repeat his request. "Will you speak to me regarding cloaking technology?"
The commander sighed. "You tempt me ... but I've known you to lie, Spock, and trusting you now would be idiocy on my part. When I return to Romulan space, I expect to be stripped of my command because of you and your captain. Fortunately, both my bloodline and the Senate's desire to hold my failures up as an example of Federation deceit put some value on my life, or I would be facing execution as well."
It was unfortunate that she would not speak with him. He acknowledged his responsibility for her circumstances and prospects. "I am sorry."
She smiled faintly at him. "Don't be. You'd be dead by my order if your mission had failed, the Enterprise destroyed. Things are as they are. And though I would like to believe you ..."
Her eyes narrowed, the sudden change in her face indicating that she'd thought of something to make her trust possible.
"There is a way. Share your mind with me, Spock. If I can know that you're telling the truth--if we form a link and I see that you can be trusted, that your purpose is not to deceive, I'll speak to you." Spock saw a tenuous logic to her proposal, although his initial instinct was to reject it. The mind meld was deeply personal, an intimacy that far surpassed the gentle emotional probings of their last experience... but the information she possesses could be of vital importance--and I have linked before as a matter of furthering a Starfleet agenda... He recognized that he was, in part, seeking a rationalization --because a part of him wanted very much to open up to the commander, to experience her thoughts and feelings as she searched his consciousness for intent. The indulgence was unacceptable, even distasteful; however, refusing the link for personal reasons was even more so. Logically, the reasons for participating outweighed the reasons to resist participation.
"Very well," he said, committing himself--and was unable to deny an anticipatory flush of thought and sensation as the commander stood and walked to the couch, her apparent indifference to his acquiescence somehow responsible for exciting his curiosity further.
After giving the coded data chip to Lieutenant Uhura, Kirk went to his quarters and sat for a while, thinking. His sorrow and anger were in balance for a time, but anger gradually began to take over. Gage Danes was dead, and there was no doubt that it was murder, not to him, not after Darres's call. Scotty had gone to the station to see what he could find, but with as strange and unresolved as things had been lately--Casden, the investigation, Jain and Ket tar act--Kirk wasn't betting on his engineer turning up anything solid.
Gage had it right all along... or someone thought he did, someone who wanted to shut him up. But what had Darres actually known? He'd believed that Casden was diehard loyal to Starfleet, that it was a setup--but if so, why? And there was Spock's unavoidable conclusion, that such an operation absolutely required a conspiracy ... but who, and how many? What objective was supposed to be served by murdering Casden and his crew?
And now Gage, too, like a cover-up of a coverup. Whatever was going on, it had to be stopped. Too many had died already.
It kept coming back to the Federation's recently acquired cloaking technology ... and that bothered him, for more than one reason. If someone with less than honorable intentions got hold of a cloaking device--which might have already happened--they could do an extraordinary amount of damage, putting lives in jeopardy, even inciting a war among the galaxy's major powers.
On its own, that was bad enough--but added to the mix was the unhappy possibility that he was to blame, at least partially. Rear Admiral Cartwright might have given the order, but he'd carried it out. He couldn't disown his part in bringing the technology to the Federation, and even the idea of it made him feel sick. That graviton reading had come from somewhere, and if the Romulans weren't responsible for what happened to the Sphinx, it seemed likely that the technology had been seized from Starfleet Intelligence. Maybe by Kettaract, maybe by some125 body else, but it didn't really matter; if he hadn't taken the device, there wouldn't have been anything to seize.
As it usually did when he was feeling sorry for himself, his internal voice spoke up, taking him to task.
You can brood about it or you can act. Do something, do anything, just don't sit still wishing things were different.
Kirk stood up from the edge of the bed and walked to his desk, tapping the intercom button as he sat down. "Kirk to bridge."
"Yes, Captain, this is Lieutenant Uhura."
"Any luck with that chip, Lieutenant?" He didn't expect results so soon after giving it to her, but it was worth asking.
"Not yet, sir," she said, sounding faintly discouraged. "It's a complicated code."
"I have faith in you, Lieutenant," he said. "But take a break for a moment, if you don't mind-contact Commodore Jefferson at Starbase 27 for me, and pipe it to my quarters ... and see if you can locate Admiral Cartwright's current whereabouts, and request an interview. I believe he's at Starbase 29."
"Yes, sir. Stand by, please."
Kirk waited, tapping his fingers on the desktop, not quite sure what he was hoping to find out... but the information that Commodore Jefferson had passed along about Casden had to have come from somewhere--and if Darres was right, if the rumors were lies, tracking down the source could be important.
As for Cartwright... he'd assigned the Enter126 prise to retrieve a cloaking device from a Romulan ship, by any means necessary. The mission had been an unusual one, and though Kirk had carried out his orders faithfully and without question, he'd wondered more than once from whom the admiral had received his orders. Cartwright had handed down the assignment without explaining anything, and had struck Kirk as something of a blowhard Uhura interrupted his wondering thoughts. "Captain, I've reached Starbase 27, but it appears that Commodore Jefferson has been reassigned. I have a Commander Lewis on line with that information."
Strange. "Put it through."
Lewis was an older woman with dark hair and an artificial smile, who introduced herself as being in charge of personnel placement for Starbases 25 through 30.
Kirk got straight to the point. "Commander, where's Commodore Jefferson?"
Lewis shook her head, her expression quickly turning sour. "I don't know, sir. The whole situation is most irregular--Commodore Jefferson's placement here was apparently temporary, he was here less than three months and his security status did not require him to explain his business to me." Her voice had taken on the defensively pedantic tone of a minor bureaucrat, unhappy with being bypassed. "Two days ago, I received the standard 344-B data excusing him from duty, straight from Starfleet Command. No explanation, no sector designation. He left only a few hours after receiving his leave."
Lewis shook her head again. "Most irregular," she repeated. Kirk thanked her and broke the connection, not sure what to think. He wasn't one for coincidences, but he couldn't imagine any reasonable alternative' Uhura to Captain Kirk. I have Rear Admiral Cartwright standing by, from Starbase 29."
The communications lieutenant sounded taken aback, and Kirk felt much the same. It usually took hours, even days to get a call back from a man like Cartwright, a high-ranking and highly placed administrator still on his way up. It had been less than ten minutes since he'd asked Uhura to find him.
"Put him through."
Cartwright appeared on the screen, stiff and unsmiling. "What is it, Captain? I'm a busy man."
Apparently not that busy. "Of course, Admiral. I was hoping to discuss a recent assignment with you, regarding a
Starfleet Intelligence matter--"
"This is a secure line," Cartwright said, almost derisively. "You can speak freely."
"Yes, sir," Kirk said politely, though not without some effort. The admiral wasn't going to give him any information if he pushed--and like it or not, the man was a superior officer, and deserved some respect. "It's about the cloaking device. I was curious, sir, about the origins behind that mission. If--"
Cartwright interrupted. "Captain, you did a fine job," he said, his tone flat and uninterested, as if he was reciting memorized lines. "You should feel proud to have contributed so much to the continued security and safety of the Federation. But your orders have been fulfilled, and Starfleet Intelligence has the ball now. Your part in all that is over--and considering the delicate nature of what transpired, it seems to me that you shouldn't be concerning yourself any further."
He smiled then, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Is that all?"
So it seems. "Yes, sir."
"Fine. Good day, Captain."
Cartwright faded out, and Kirk stared at the blank screen, thinking that the scope of his concerns just kept growing, his unease deepening, but in a vague, nebulous way that made it nearly impossible to pin down. It seemed like the more information he got, the less things made sense.
He hoped that Spock was having better luck, and that he'd return soon with something that might actually help--because at the moment, Kirk was feeling pretty damned helpless.
She'd thought often of what had happened between them since coming to Starbase 23, the memories of that single day filling her with anger, hurt, disappointment... embarrassment, that she'd been so confident of her persuasive skills, and shame that she'd failed so miserably. But there had been other emotions, too, feelings of connection that held meaning for her, now as then--and as Spock sat on the couch beside her, it was that connection she wanted. Her pride had been wounded, but bearing him a grudge for his loyalties was nothing, less than nothing, a useless exercise in useless emotion. He'd done what he'd had to do, just as she had.
Without speaking, his careful gaze taking her in, he reached for her. His fingertips were cool and dry, nestling into her hair and resting against her brow. He moved closer to her, his lips pressing together slightly as he adjusted his touch.
The commander closed her eyes, aware of the heat of his body, the sound of his breathing. She had to be mad, letting this happen, asking for it to happen, she knew it but she didn't want to put a stop to it, either.
"Relax," Spock said softly, his voice deep and soothing by its very poise. "Breathe."
She leaned against the couch's back, her eyes still closed, amazed to think that this was her reality, that he was touching her and she was willing. She expected that he knew her idea to bond was only partially for the reason she'd stated--and truly, she wouldn't feel right telling him Empire secrets without being sure of his objectives--but she also suspected that he could pluck the information from her mind if he so chose.
I do this because I wish to know him. Anything else is a pretense. It was her last clear, focused thought.
She realized faintly that she could no longer hear his breathing, both of them inhaling and exhaling as one. There was a curious sensation of gently falling, drifting, not down but away. Toward.
"Our thoughts are as one," he said, his voice even softer, deeper, the sound like a sudden small light in total darkness, drawing her focus--and the change was so gradual, so peaceful, that she hardly noticed the transition as she slipped into his consciousness.
Distantly, she felt his fingers in her hair, through his hands. She felt a cool tide of mild thought, the careful structure beneath... and beneath that were emotions, but not quite as she knew them. The feelings were strangely removed, powerful but abstracted. She felt them, but it was her own perception that gave them definition. Struggle. Doubt. Regret. Love. And loneliness, so strong that she ached with it, so pervasive that it was not separate from him, from them.
These were the things that he did not allow himself, but could neither cast out. She found disdain for himself, and frustration. She found his honesty, his morality--and there she found herself, and understood.
There is no lie.
Again, the silver-blue rush of intellect, washing over it all, and she realized that she had seen things, felt things that he seldom acknowledged. The intimacy was shocking in its depth, thrilling and frightening, and she felt him trying to guide her away, to give her back to herself--but he wanted to enter her mind, too, he resisted the desire but couldn't hide it.
With great effort, she found her voice.
Feel me.
She didn't know if she spoke out loud or only thought it, but he heard her. Now, she noticed the change. Spock had opened to her slowly, cautiously, and though she understood that he was now trying to move as carefully into her own thoughts, the sensation was different, a shift of control, an acceptance--being seen instead of seeing. The restrained and gentle essence of him was moving inside of her, experiencing her, just as she had experienced him. And then there was no separation. They were one. There was no understanding of time where they were, no awareness of physical form. She hadn't understood how vulnerable she would be to him, how dependent on him to determine and reestablish boundaries until she recognized him as distinct again, felt herself as apart. There was relief and sadness, a shared understanding of the experience as unique, singular, a recognition that their paths were dissimilar and separate. There was a sensation of drifting away ... and then she felt her heart beating, and his fingertips pressed lightly against her temples.
When he moved his hands, she opened her eyes, watching as he backed away from her personal space, moving to a conversational distance-although for a few moments, there was nothing that needed to be said, nothing at all.
After a time, he asked her questions about the cloaking device, and she started talking.
Chapter Eleven
Except for the captain's calls, Uhura had done nothing but fuss with that stubborn and mean-spirited code for coming up on three hours straight. She'd never seen anything quite like it, and neither had the ship's computer--for all the hundreds of written symbol languages the Enterprise had on file, not one of them matched up to what was on the data chip any better than another.
Three symbols, single-digit number. Six symbols, two-digit number. Ten symbols, another single-digit number, and so on, pages of it. At first glance, it hadn't looked too difficult--a symbol for a letter, a number for a space .. . except there were an odd number of symbols and too many of them, even though Captain Darres's files didn't indicate that he knew any language besides English. And the symbols weren't consistent when she tried to plug in substitutes, not to any language she'd ever heard of. The symbol that might represent one letter in one word didn't seem to be the same in another, and she couldn't tell where the representations changed, where they became something else. After the first two hours, she tried glaring at the screen until everything ran together, but that didn't help much, either.
Although she could have chosen to work in a more private area, she stayed at her station on the bridge, so used to tuning out distractions that her concentration was just fine. Her frustration level, though ... she'd been at the top of her class in the Academy's code and cryptography program, but at the moment, looking at all those angular and curvy little characters in no perceivable pattern, she couldn't for the life of her remember how she'd managed to pass at all.
The numbers had to indicate where the representations change, they had to ... except they didn't have to, no matter how obvious it seemed, no matter how much she wished it were so. It was deeply vexing, to have a chance to use some of her skills on something besides the every day, and then to find herself so absolutely stuck.
"Computer, highlight the probable vowels again," she sighed. Assuming it was English. Assuming the words weren't spelled backward, or cross-matched from a grid ... or worse, that the code was based on a book or a writing, the numbers and
symbols representing marked pages and words. Without a key, those were nearly impossible to break ... which was why she hadn't seriously considered it, not yet. Because if that was the case, she might as well go ahead and tear her hair out now, rather than putting it off--"Still no luck, huh? Have you tried substituting the small groupings with words like 'the' and 'and'?"
Uhura glanced up, saw Sulu looking over her shoulder.
"Yes, thank you," she said, hard-pressed to keep the irritation out of her voice. He was only trying to help.
"I was going to get some coffee," he said. "Would you like me to bring you some?"
That was much more helpful. She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Sulu, that's very nice of you. Cream and sugar?"
"You got it." He squinted again at the screen, then shook his head. "It all looks the same from here, bunch of lines and squiggles."
Tell me about it.
He left, and Uhura sat back in her chair, frowning. It did look all the same, really. A vertical line, two curves. A curve, a slash, another curve. Four lines in a row, of different heights. It was as though someone had dropped the alphabet into a blender and poured the results out on her screen.
Uhura started to stretch, raising her arms above her head--and then froze. She dropped her hands and leaned forward, studying the characters with new intensity. There were patterns, physical patterns. Those four lines in a row were common, where a vowel might be. Where the letter "E" might be. Two curves and a line, the letter "B," maybe, and there were the same curves and lines in a different configuration If the letters were taken apart and put back together and if the numbers represent which letter in each group is going to change configuration, or the number of words away where the change takes place... It fit, it fit and it felt right. She'd still have to figure out the numbers, get the computer to sort characters by shape, fill in -the obvious ones and then start looking at the math The lieutenant smiled widely, suddenly giddy with pride. Sulu deserved a kiss; it seemed she was going to get to keep her hair, after all.