Legacies #2

by David Mack

  Sirens whooped and emergency lights pulsed on the walls, giving every movement the appearance of stuttered stop-motion. Elara spun to one side, then the other as armed local police charged toward her. She wrapped her arm around Joanna’s throat, then put her own back against the wall beside the door to the lockup. “Stop moving or she dies!” The police halted their advance, but their weapons were still aimed in her direction. “Drop your weapons!”

  The nearest officer shouted back, “Drop yours!”

  “Not happening.” She took her disruptor off Joanna’s back just long enough to shoot open the door to the pharma lockup. As it swung inward, she backed through it, keeping Joanna squarely in front of her every step of the way. Confident there were no more surprises awaiting her inside the reinforced storage space, she paused to consider her next move. There were drugs here that could counteract and preemptively block the kinds of knockout gases the police and Starfleet were known to use in scenarios such as this. She suspected those would soon be useful.

  “You make a move on this room, I’ll kill her! We reach?”

  The same officer replied from the corridor. “We hear you. Let’s just stay calm.”

  Elara knew this likely wouldn’t end well for anyone—least of all her.

  So much for a clean getaway.

  * * *

  Leonard McCoy emerged from a transporter beam into the midst of pandemonium. Dozens of local law enforcement officers, nearly half the security division from the Enterprise, and more than a hundred armed Klingon troops had surrounded New Athens University Hospital.

  In the middle of the circus of flashing lights and shouting heads, he found Kirk and Spock conferring in the open, halfway between the gathered official vehicles and the shattered front entrance of the medical center. None of the other assembled authorities paid the two senior officers of the Enterprise any mind, a fact that left McCoy flustered and baffled. He marched toward his comrades and, despite having reminded himself several times to remain cool and collected, erupted in a flood of bluster. “Dammit, Jim! What in blazes happened?”

  Kirk moved to restrain him. “Bones, calm down, it’s under—”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! That’s my daughter being used for a hostage!”

  McCoy tried to dodge around the captain, who nonetheless took McCoy by his shoulders. “Bones! We have the suspect cornered! Every exit is covered. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Great news, Jim—unless she decides not to go down without a fight. Then this mess turns into a crossfire, with Joanna smack in the middle of it!”

  Spock edged between Kirk and McCoy. “Everyone is aware of the risk to your daughter, Doctor, and all possible steps are being taken to ensure her safety.”

  “Are you out of your Vulcan mind? How can she be safe with a gun to her head?”

  No matter how furious McCoy became, Spock remained calm. “In scenarios such as this, negotiation often proves effective. The suspect has no viable means of escape.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the suspect! I just want my daughter. Can’t we beam her out?”

  “Not at this time,” Spock said. “Her captor is using a data scrambler to block unwanted transporter activity, preventing us from establishing a lock on either her or Joanna.”

  McCoy trembled with rage. “So what are we doing about it?”

  Spock remained unfazed. “Our best strategy is to provide the suspect with face-saving concessions in exchange for Joanna’s safe release.”

  Kirk relaxed his grip on McCoy’s shoulders. “Listen to him, Bones. We can do this.”

  Under any other circumstances, McCoy knew he could be a reasonable man. His training as a physician and as a Starfleet officer compelled him to seek peaceful resolutions to crises such as this—or, if force became necessary, to mitigate its use so that it caused a minimum of harm. But this was his little girl being used as a pawn. As a father, he wanted blood.

  Listen to your head, not your heart, he counseled himself. Hear your better angels. This isn’t a time for violence. Let cooler heads talk this out.

  It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done: he ceased his struggling and backed away from Kirk and Spock. “All right, Jim. We’ll do this by the book.”

  Kirk gave him a sympathetic nod, then turned to Spock. “Where do we stand?”

  Spock pulled out his communicator. “Spock to Uhura. Status, please.”

  “Setting up a secure comm link to the suspect now, Commander. She won’t negotiate with the local authorities or the Klingons—she only wants to deal with Starfleet.”

  “Understood. Spock out.” The first officer closed his communicator and said to Kirk, “Curious. Why would she rather speak with us than with the local authorities?”

  “Let’s just get her talking. Where are we with a tactical plan? Do we have schematics for the seventh floor yet?”

  “Ensign Chekov is retrieving the blueprints for the complex. As soon as he has them, he’ll route them to my tricorder, along with real-time sensor data from inside the hospital.”

  “Very good.”

  Spock’s communicator beeped, and he flipped it open. “Spock here.”

  “Mister Spock,” Chekov said, “hospital schematics uploading now.”

  The first officer glanced at his tricorder. “Acknowledged. Status of preparations inside?”

  “All patients and staff evacuated from the seventh floor. The rooms above and below the lockup have been cleared and are under guard. Your suspect isn’t getting out those ways.”

  “Well done, Ensign. Stand by for further instructions. Spock out.” He tucked away the communicator and faced Kirk and McCoy. “The comm channel and location are secure. We should initiate contact and attempt to begin negotiations.”

  The captain took out his own communicator. “Maybe let me handle that part, Spock.” He flipped open the device’s grille. “Kirk to Enterprise.”

  Uhura answered, “This is Enterprise. Go ahead, Captain.”

  “Patch me through to the suspect, Lieutenant.”

  “Stand by, sir. Hailing her now.”

  McCoy grabbed Kirk’s wrist and made him lower the communicator. His voice a rasping whisper, he said, “Jim. Joanna’s my only child. She’s all I have left in this life. I can’t lose her.”

  Kirk allowed the gravity of the moment to rest between them. “I understand,” he said. “I give you my word, Bones—as your captain, and as your friend—we will get her back, safe and sound. But I need you to trust me.”

  A leap of faith—that was what the captain was asking of him. After all they had been through, and all the times Jim Kirk had proved himself brave and loyal to a fault, McCoy knew he owed the man at least this much trust. But the price of failure—his daughter’s life—was so high that he couldn’t help but harbor doubts, even when he knew the matter was in the best hands possible. He swallowed his anxiety and nodded once to grant his blessing to the operation.

  Over the communicator, Uhura’s voice: “Channel open, sir.”

  Armed with McCoy’s consent, Kirk swung into action.

  All McCoy could do now was hope he hadn’t just gambled away Joanna’s life.

  * * *

  There wasn’t much to talk about as the kidnapper wrapped Joanna’s wrists with medical tape. The Catullan woman had already bound Joanna’s ankles with most of another roll of tape, all while keeping one wary eye on the doorway, as if in anticipation of a fast-strike rescue mission.

  “Do you really need to use that much tape?”

  A sour look from the Catullan. “You want me to put you down like an animal?”

  “It’s cutting off the circulation to my hands and feet.”

  Her complaint was answered with a few more twists of tape. “You’ll live.”

  The panel on the wall buzzed, indicating an incoming call. Setting a
side the tape, the captor put her back to the wall and sidled over to the comm, then thumbed open a channel. Her anxiety was telegraphed by her gruff salutation: “What do you want?”

  A charming male voice replied, “A better question would be: What do you want, Elara?”

  The question deepened her scowl of distrust. “You know my name. Who are you?”

  “This is Captain James T. Kirk, of the Starship Enterprise. You asked to talk to Starfleet; here we are. So let’s talk.”

  Elara snuck quick peeks into the corridor outside the lockup, then ducked back inside. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

  “You don’t. But neither do we. Which is why we’re hoping for a show of good faith.”

  “Like what?” The Catullan drew her disruptor and aimed it at the open doorway.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, we’d be grateful if you’d let us talk to Miss McCoy, to confirm she’s alive and well.” Kirk was trying to adopt a deferential tone, but Joanna could hear the strain in his voice, as if kowtowing to a kidnapper offended the captain’s nature.

  After a brief bout of indecision, Elara returned to Joanna, seized her by one arm, and hoisted her to her feet. Then she dragged her closer to the comm, all while keeping her disruptor pressed against Joanna’s rib cage. Next came an evil whisper in Joanna’s ear: “Talk, sweet-face. Try to tell them anything tactically useful, and I’ll scramble your guts into soup.”

  Joanna took a breath to calm her nerves. “Captain, this is Joanna McCoy. I’m unhurt.”

  “We’re all very glad to hear that, Miss McCoy.”

  All? Did Kirk mean her father was with him? Joanna imagined the manic state her dad must be in, then felt a sting of regret for the note on which they’d last parted.

  Before her maudlin reflection could manifest as a faux pas, Elara pushed her to the floor in the far end of the room. “You have your proof of life, Captain. Now what?”

  “You tell me, Elara. You hold all the cards here.”

  “Don’t try to flatter me. I’m alone, backed into a corner. If I didn’t have a hostage, you’d have stormed me already. Meanwhile, you have legions and all the time in the world.”

  “We’re still waiting to hear an actual demand, Elara. What do you need?”

  She eyed the tiny space with keen eyes. “A small portable commode. Ten liters of potable water. And something to eat. Preferably something nonperishable.”

  “All right,” Kirk said. “We can arrange all that. Anything else?”

  A mischievous gleam lit up Elara’s eyes. “I want all your people out of the hospital in the next ten minutes. In half an hour I want a warp-capable transport, fully fueled, its transponder disabled, on the roof. And I want safe passage for me and my hostage, to neutral space.”

  This time her demands were met by a pause. Joanna imagined the incredulous stares among the forces assembled outside the complex. Then Kirk said, without a hint of irony or condescension, “We’ll start working on that now, but it might take closer to an hour.”

  “Forty-five minutes,” Elara said. “Not one second longer. Or I start carving up this pretty young thing, bit by bit, until you learn how to follow directions.” She closed the comm channel without waiting for another round of hot air from Kirk.

  Joanna wondered if Elara was stupid, confused, panicked, or feigning those qualities for the sake of deception. Meanwhile, Elara rooted through the drug cabinets and assembled a number of vials onto the countertop beside a fresh hypospray.

  It was a risk for Joanna to struggle too hard against the tape on her wrists or ankles; if she was able to stretch the tape enough to free herself, she had to do so when Elara wasn’t watching. If she miscalculated and broke the tape, her efforts were almost certain to be detected.

  She doesn’t like to make eye contact when she speaks to me, Joanna noted. Maybe if I keep her talking, she’ll avoid looking my way while I work at the tape.

  “You know they’ll never let you just walk out of here, right? With me or without me, there’s no way you’re getting out of this alive.”

  “No one told you to talk.” As Joanna had hoped, Elara’s focus remained on her search of the cabinet’s upper shelves for more drugs. “Do us both a favor and sit quietly until this is over.”

  From the floor, Joanna couldn’t see what vials Elara was collecting. “You already inoculated yourself against knockout drugs. What else do you think they’d throw at us?”

  “No idea. But whatever they send in, you’ll be my early warning system.” Her eyes shifted Joanna’s way. It was just a quick glance, but enough for Elara to realize her every move was being observed by her prisoner. Her gaze narrowed, and she gathered up a roll of gauze and a roll of tape. “I think you’ve seen enough for now.”

  Joanna knew there was no point protesting. It wasn’t as if Elara would listen. The Catullan wrapped the gauze around Joanna’s head, over her eyes, five or six times, until the only sliver of a view Joanna could find was when she looked straight down. Then came a couple rounds of medical tape to fix the improvised blindfold into place.

  Elara returned to the counter to continue her experiment in pharmacology. In the corner, Joanna wrestled discreetly with her bonds—determined not to meet her fate as a bystander.

  * * *

  If there was one thing worse for McCoy than letting others take the lead in the rescue of his hostage daughter, it was listening to them argue in circles about how to get the job done.

  “We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Chekov said.

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Kirk said. “The best strategy in a hostage crisis is to bide your time and wait for the captor to make a mistake.”

  McCoy felt his temper rising. “And if that mistake gets my daughter killed?”

  “It won’t come to that, Bones. We won’t let it.”

  Chekov remained impatient. “Why not seal the floor and pump in anesthezine gas to put them both to sleep?”

  “Plenty of reasons,” McCoy said, his tone sharp. “For one thing, anesthezine affects humans faster than it does Catullans. If this Elara woman sees Joanna pass out, she might kill her before she loses consciousness too. Second, she didn’t choose a drug lockup by accident, Lieutenant. By now she could have dosed herself ten ways to Sunday to preempt any knockout drugs we might try to push through the ventilation system.”

  A new idea possessed Chekov. “Wait! She asked for water. We could lace it with something more potent, something strong enough to overcome her dosing.”

  His suggestion drew Spock’s dry disapproval. “And what if Elara insists Joanna drink first from each container? How might such doctored water affect her when she likely has not had a preemptive dose of stimulants?”

  “Not to mention the native differences in their blood chemistries,” McCoy added. “If Elara’s using stims, any dose strong enough to put her down might kill Joanna.”

  “All right,” Kirk said. “That tactic is off the table for now. What’s left?” Before Chekov could say the words, Kirk cut him off: “Aside from a direct assault.”

  Spock said, “We could offer her amnesty in exchange for surrender.”

  “She’d never believe it, and there’s no way I can sell it to the JAG or the local magistrate.”

  McCoy heard footsteps. He turned to see three local police officers approach. One held a lightweight box with an open top; the other two carried reinforced crates loaded with lightweight metal canisters filled with potable water. “Here come Elara’s first two demands.”

  Watching the police deliver the prepackaged snacks and bottled water, Spock looked troubled. Kirk took notice and asked, “What’s wrong, Spock?”

  “I find myself perplexed by the contradictory agendas implicit in Elara’s demands. Asking for food, water, and a commode suggests she means to fortify her position and remain inside the hospital fo
r the immediate future. However, requesting a shuttle and free passage out of Federation space represents an open declaration of her intent to flee. Why demand both?”

  Uhura shrugged. “To keep her options open?”

  “No,” Kirk said, “to sow confusion. To keep us guessing and delay our response.”

  McCoy let slip a bitter harrumph. “It’s working.”

  The sonic whitewash of a transporter beam filled the air. The Enterprise officers turned toward the golden shimmer forming on the quad behind their command post. It was a single person materializing inside the brilliant glow, which faded to reveal Lieutenant Commander Scott. The chief engineer held a squat ­contraption—a Starfleet standard field-issue portable commode. The devices weren’t used often, only when landing parties needed to be careful about conserving their water during extended planetary deployments without support from a starship. Until that moment, McCoy hadn’t been certain the Enterprise even had one on board.

  Scott stepped forward and offered the commode to Kirk as if it were a treasure beyond price. “Here you go, sir. One commode, ready to serve”—he winked as he ­continued—“with a few wee modifications, made to order.”

  “Well done, Mister Scott.” Kirk set the commode next to the food and water.

  It was impossible for McCoy to miss the broad, Cheshire-cat grin on Scotty’s face. “All right, Scotty, I’ll take the bait: What’s so special about this portable toilet?”

  “A microsensor hidden inside the seat,” Scott said. “Passive until there’s weight on the hoop. Then it scans the person using it. If it reads anything but a Catullan, nothing happens. But if it senses our Catullan friend on the privy . . . let’s just say she’ll be in for a doozy of a jolt.”

  It was the most preposterous thing McCoy had ever heard. “Of all the cockamamie, half-baked . . .” He turned an accusatory stare at the captain. “Your idea, I presume?”

  An abashed deflection. “I’d say it was more of a group effort.”

  The doctor shifted his reproach toward Spock. “You knew about this?”