by Peter David
“Rakhal did what?” Spock asked. Although he did not raise his voice or stir from his position by the workstation, Akachin cringed.
“Rakhal told them we were open to charter as well as free-trade. And that, this trip, we had a very important passenger indeed.”
“You can make warp seven at least,” Soleta said. “Why not run? Turn yourselves in to the nearest authorities and ask for protection. You’d probably get off with a fine, maybe some counseling, but you’d be able to keep your ship…”
Assuming he wasn’t already in trouble with the law.
“You don’t understand,” Captain Akachin wailed.
Now, thought Soleta, she did. Only too well. She suppressed a most un-Vulcan sigh.
“I’ve seen our…our creditors’ ship. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s got weapons that could crack Pride like a Denorian groundnut. I tried to explain to the ship’s captain that my deal with you was a preexisting contract. After all, their own law states, ‘a deal is a deal.’ Their captain wouldn’t even appear onscreen, but he did point out that clause two of that law is ‘until a better one comes along.’And besides, they don’t consider contracts between aliens binding.”
“So,” said Spock, “what is it that they want? I can hardly be expected to have funds sufficient to pay back your loans. Nor do I think your creditors would accept repayment if a freighter is what they want.”
Soleta suppressed a cynical smile. Spock’s family was one of the noblest—and richest—on Vulcan. If Spock wished to buy a freighter, he probably could. But the adage that Vulcans did not lie had always been a convenient myth, and Spock was half human at any rate.
Something on Akachin’s belt, almost hidden by his belly’s overhang, went “beep.” “I had a proximity alarm set!” he cried. “They’re here!” He looked wildly about the cabin as if Spock and Soleta could do anything to help him. “I’ve got to get to the bridge.”
Soleta didn’t even wait for Spock’s gesture. They followed him out of their quarters and up to the Pride’s cramped bridge, a space of battered, polished metal and weathered blacks and grays. Each station looked different from all the rest, as if they’d all been cannibalized from a variety of ships, but each was well maintained and appeared to be running smoothly.
“Captain’s just come in,” said the Bolian, extending his hands toward a blank screen in a gesture meant to be placating.
“You’re late!” the words crackled out.
“We had three run-ins with local authorities,” Akachin started to explain. “I told you. What’s the point in owning a controlling interest in a free-trader if it’s been impounded?”
“Rule Number 62. The riskier the road, the greater the profit.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. There’s no profit if we’re blown out of space.”
“So, because you’ve got a problem, we should suffer? Do you think latinum grows on trees? Unacceptable, Revex, you idiot. But, you’re here now. And these fools say you’ve got the merchandise.”
“I’m a freighter pilot, not a slaver!” Revex wailed. “It’s not a crime to carry passengers!”
“We’ve already established what you are. What we’re talking now is price. And the price is your life and the lives of your wretched crew. Who, incidentally, should never gamble. Why, my youngest son would have seen through some of the tricks I used! Did you bring your passenger on board?”
“I’ve got…”
Spock pushed past the Qualorian before he could say, “I’ve got two.”
“The Federation does not pay ransom,” said Spock. “I urge you to abandon this plan before charges can be filed.”
He spoke as composedly as if he spoke in negotiations or from the bridge of a starship with plenty of firepower. Soleta suppressed the urge to protest, which would give away her existence, which was clearly something he did not wish to do.
“Oh, the Federation is hardly the be-all and end-all, Mr. Ambassador. The field of bidders for the rights to obtain you is quite wide.”
“I wonder who those bidders would be,” Spock mused. “For example, I face two sets of capital charges on Romulus—for espionage in 2268 and again in 2344. The logical assumption is that a spy can be executed only once, but Romulans can be very creative.”
Which just might be one more reason why Romulans preferred to suicide rather than be taken prisoner. Soleta looked down. It wasn’t just that he was criticizing half her heredity, but Spock had already cheated death once, and she was still Vulcan enough to be concerned that talking about someone else’s resurrection could be construed as a violation of Vulcan’s strict customs about personal privacy.
Besides, the Romulans were hardly the only species who might want Spock—and Soleta, once they learned of her existence—dead. Even if the crew simply turned around and returned them to Thallon, what assurance did they have that Si Cwan would feel like being generous a second time? Or that he’d even know they’d been sent back? She thought the only thing Chancellor Yoz would willingly tell Si Cwan was to drop dead.
“So,” asked Spock, “when does the bidding start?”
“Rule Number 79: Beware of the Vulcan greed for knowledge,” the alien voice crackled disagreeably. “And if ‘never argue with a Vulcan’ isn’t a Rule of Acquisition, it should be. Take him away. Put him someplace safe. Someplace I don’t have to listen to him.”
In despair, Revex Akachin gestured. Four crew members rose to escort Spock and Soleta back to their quarters, apparently turned brig for the duration. They did not dare to touch them, but swept along behind them like the most deplorable shore patrol Soleta had ever seen.
“I still can’t decrypt these prefix codes,” Soleta complained approximately seventy-two-point-five hours later. All of the likely algorithms, and some of the severely exotic ones, including a few she’d invented on the spot, had failed. Akachin’s encryption might have been old, but it was effective.
Spock muttered under his breath.
“I ask forgiveness,” Soleta said, surprising herself with the formal courtesy.
“I said ‘damn,’ ” Spock said. “I too ask forgiveness for my language; I learned the habit from my wife. Who is, incidentally, half Romulan. The first half-Romulan, in fact, to attend Starfleet Academy.”
Soleta lifted her hands from the keyboard and flexed aching fingers. There is no pain, she told herself. Right. Whatever adept said that mantra worked had clearly not spent seventy-two hours attempting to crack these damnable archaic prefix codes.
“Captain Saavik,” Soleta said. “That’s right! I’d forgotten she was half Romulan.”
“Soon to be admiral, if I know anything about it,” Spock said. “So you can see that being half Romulan does not preclude an eminently successful Starfleet career.”
“But Captain Saavik never lied about her background.” And it didn’t hurt that she’d had one of Vulcan’s first families backing her.
“Nor did you,” said Spock. “However, unless we master this ship’s systems, I would estimate that we have a ninety-two-point-six-seven percent chance of not needing to continue this discussion. If the algorithms we have employed have not decrypted the prefix code, then it is logical to assume that it is concealed by a simple cipher. Here is my hypothesis: The key to that cipher is most likely in Captain Revex Akachin’s head.”
Soleta felt her lips curving up into an unpardonable and completely feral smile.
Spock shook his head imperceptibly, one side of his mouth quirking up as if he saw something familiar.
“So, what we have to do is get the captain down here,” Soleta said. “Starting a fire or a riot would not be helpful. He would probably only send the crew, or he’d try to knock us out with anaesthezine gas because they don’t know we have masks.”
Spock opened a storage locker and produced one of the spy-eyes. “I think we need more information,” he said. “It may be possible for me to reconfigure this so it can listen as well as transmit. After all,” he said with a gh
ost of what looked like humor, “the bridge meant to spy on us; it seems logical to spy on them.”
He bent to the task.
“I’m ready to test our bug,” Spock told Soleta. “You might want to stand away from the bulkhead. I am not quite certain about the volume lev…”
“YOU BANKRUPT, NO-LOBED IDIOT!” came a shriek from the bulkhead before Spock could turn the volume down. “It’s simple enough. You played. You lost. You owe. What’s more, my ship’s got better guns and more of them than your pathetic excuse for a freighter. If you do not drop your defense and permit yourself to be boarded…we can always say your warp core overloaded so we can at least collect insurance.”
“The situation does not sound promising,” said Soleta.
“No?” asked Spock. “I’ve dealt with Captain Akachin, on and off, for five-point-eight years. He’s a good enough navigator, but his stress management leaves a great deal to be desired. I expect that he will come here, to wring his hands and explain and apologize before turning us over to his creditors in…ten…nine…eight…Do you hear footsteps, Soleta?”
Buzzz.
“Come!” said Spock. Treating Akachin to a raised eyebrow, he asked, “I wonder that you would bother to ask for admittance, seeing as this is your ship—barring those shares squandered by your crew—and you are about to hand us over to their creditors.”
“I’m sorry, Spock,” said the captain. “But I don’t know what else to do. That ship’s got enough firepower to blow us halfway to the Delta Quadrant.”
“So you expect us to yield to the logic of necessity,” Spock said. “And in case we proved recalcitrant, you brought along your phaser.” He gestured at the weapon, which Revex had tried to conceal by wearing a drab maroon jacket over his coverall.
The shipmaster sagged. “What do you want of me, Spock? I’ve done everything I could. Now, you’re a Vulcan. Smart. And a diplomat, too. Can you think of any way to get us out of this?”
“I can,” said Soleta. “Let us help you. We are experienced, trained ship-handlers with combat training. Release the ship’s prefix codes. Give us a fighting chance.”
“I can’t do that,” protested Akachin, his eyes wide. “You’d have full access to every system on board.”
“That was the general idea,” Soleta admitted.
“You’ve never flown in combat,” Spock’s voice overrode her. “We have. It is logical, therefore, to turn control of the ship over to those who have the best chance of defending it, and themselves.”
The Qualorian was shaking his head, backing toward the door as Spock gestured, almost imperceptibly, to Soleta. She pounced on him, feeling his yelp of protest, his easily quashed resistance as release after all this time of imprisonment. Efficiently, she disarmed him and placed the phaser by her computer.
“You think the crew would care if I took him out, Ambassador?” she asked. “I think the exec would take over, and he’d still turn us over to whoever’s out there.”
“Clearly,” said Spock, “diplomacy has failed. See what you can do with Revex. But remember, we need him.” He stood back, as if leaving the nervous, now-whimpering ship captain to his fate.
“I see, Ambassador,” Soleta said. “I do see.”
She let herself grin. It came as an even better tension release than beating Akachin’s head against a bulkhead until the knowledge she wanted popped out of it.
She gave him a shake that made him yelp and made the folds on his face wobble up and down.
“I’ll only say this once,” she told him. “Ambassador Spock’s probably told you about his belief that Vulcans and Romulans can be reunited. Now, I’m one of his students. Does that give you any hints to what I’m about to say? I am not at all averse to prying the information I need out of someone in any way I can. In fact, I think it is only logical. So, are you going to give me the cipher for the prefix codes, or am I going to rip it out of you? And don’t you even think of fainting! I’ll wake you and ask the questions all over again.”
Spock held out a cautionary hand as Revex Akachin gave him a despairing “see what you got me into” look. “I’ll enter the codes,” he said. “Let me sit down.”
“How do I know you won’t blow up the ship?” Soleta demanded. She moved the phaser out of reach and managed not to snort in disdain. The setting was barely strong enough to stun.
“Because I’m not Romulan and I’m not crazy. I only want to live!” her prisoner wailed. “Look, if you don’t trust me near the computer, let me write the codes down, then. If I speak them someone might hear. I posted guards outside the door.”
“Our escort to the enemy ship, no doubt,” Spock said.
Soleta gave Revex one more shake for good measure. “Your ship’s in danger. You’re in enemy hands. And you’re worried about your crew overhearing a cipher you can change any time you want? I find your priorities illogical in the extreme.”
“Don’t break the captain, please, Soleta,” Spock requested as mildly as he might have asked for more plomeek soup at dinner. “We may still need him.”
Akachin grew so pale that Soleta eased her grip on the front of his coverall to allow him to breathe.
“I won’t break him,” she promised. “But I won’t release him until he writes down his precise codes. Here!”
She thrust stylus and padd into his hands and waited until they stopped shaking.
“Got them,” said Spock. “I’ll program them now. You take navigation. I’ll take communications and tactical.”
Spock’s fingers danced on the console, activating weapons, modifying communications protocols, sending a message Soleta couldn’t read from this angle. “By the way,” Spock said, “I commend you on your acting abilities.”
“What made you certain I was acting?” Soleta asked. “And sir, that was not a rhetorical question.” Before Spock could answer, however, she cried, “They’re trying to override my course changes, no…got it! I have helm control.”
“Warp factor three,” said the older Vulcan.
“Seal that hatch if you know what’s good for you!” Soleta snarled at the ship’s captain. “And if anyone tries to get us out, you order them to stop.”
“Yes, Commander!” he cried.
“And don’t call me ‘Commander.’ ”
Soleta met Spock’s eyes over the computer and thought they glinted with humor.
She put the freighter into a sharp dive, building up to warp seven and shrieks of “You’ll blow the stability fields, you’ll overload the warp core; she can’t go faster than warp seven-point-one!” from Akachin.
“Alien ship is gaining on us and will overtake in two-point-eight-one minutes,” Spock said. “It has brought weapons systems online. I am preparing to fire warning shots.”
He fired, and the ship jolted as energy left its weapons, but not nearly strongly enough to indicate any significant firepower.
“They’re still gaining.” Soleta, her fingers dancing over the keyboard, watched Spock prepare to fire yet again. “If I fire all this ship’s weapons at once, perhaps I can strike one of the other ship’s weapons ports and damage it.”
And perhaps humans will build a ski resort on Mount Seleya, she thought.
The ship jolted again.
“Structural-integrity field down to ninety percent,” Soleta reported.
Screams erupted outside their quarters, screams in at least five languages, as the guards protested. Someone pounded on the hatch. Soleta glared, and Revex yelled back.
“Direct hit on aft weapons array,” Spock said. “How long can your ship maintain this speed?” he asked Revex Akachin.
Again Soleta glared meaningfully at the man, who twisted to put as much distance between himself and the “Romulan” as he could. “An hour. Maybe two.”
“Imprecise,” said Spock. “Maximum speed, please.”
Soleta pushed Qualor’s Pride’s faltering engines as hard as she could. They fled before the larger, stronger vessel, a stubby, ugly, copper-colored th
ing with bigger weapons and a determination that was the match of theirs.
Spock, monitoring communications, and firing to cover their retreat, called out. “Do you see that asteroid? Set a course for it!”
“We haven’t got any weapons to seed it with, Ambassador!” she said.
“But we may be able to hide in one of its craters. At least long enough for them to become discouraged and leave. I estimate a thirteen-point-nine-eight-percent chance.”
Soleta didn’t find those odds particularly promising. Nevertheless, the ambassador’s experience was greater than hers, and he’d given her a direct order. Dropping out of warp so quickly their pursuer overshot them, she headed for the asteroid and maneuvered the ship into one of its craters.
“They’re trying to break down the door!” screamed Revex. Soleta had been concentrating so hard that she hadn’t heard the banging, thumping, and phaser blasts before. She considered giving Akachin back his phaser for no longer than it took to mutter “preposterous” under her breath.
“Sorry,” she muttered to herself, and triggered the command that released anaesthezine gas throughout the rest of the ship. She heard coughs, muffled yells, and then bodies hitting the deck. “You did say there was something to be said for brute force,” she reminded Spock.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“The gas is nontoxic,” she said. “It won’t harm them.”
“And if it did? Don’t the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?”
Soleta closed her eyes in frustration. They were fighting a battle, and Spock chose this time to chase the oldest ethical dilemma in Surak’s book?
Is there a better time? she suspected he would ask.
“I would say,” she began deliberately, “that it would depend upon their motivations. And the overall circumstances.”