by David Mack
Martinez said softly, “This definitely looks like the party we came to find.”
“Agreed,” Una said. “Though I doubt we’ll be welcomed as guests if they see us.”
“It’s our own fault for coming empty-handed,” Shimizu said. “We should’ve brought a bottle of wine or a nice dessert.”
“Save the jokes, Tim,” Una said. “Find a way to access their computers.” She regretted having to rebuke him. Secretly, she was glad he was rediscovering his sense of humor.
The trio retreated from the platform’s edge and moved toward the wide core cylinder. Circling it counterclockwise from the entrance to the spiral ramp, they arrived at a bank of consoles that resembled the ones Una had seen inside the Usilde citadel. “Here we go. Now let’s see what we can learn about the Jatohr and their mission.”
Martinez was confused. “You know how to use this thing?”
“I’ve spent the better part of two decades studying every scan I made of the Jatohr and their technology. I still don’t know it as well as I know the helm of a starship, but I think I’ve got a handle on the basics.” She keyed in commands, grateful once again for her eidetic memory and the years she had spent cracking the Jatohr’s programming language with help from dedicated Starfleet computers. Then she noticed how fixated Shimizu and Martinez were on her work. “Would one of you keep an eye out for armored slugs, please?”
Shimizu backed away, his mien apologetic. “Aye, Captain.”
As Una resumed her efforts, Martinez asked, “What are you trying to do?”
“First, I’m tapping into the Jatohr’s sensor logs, to see exactly how long it’s been in our universe since I arrived in this one.” The system behaved contrary to her expectations a few times before she found what she sought. “Forty-five days. Good. That means we still have fifteen days to make the rendezvous.” She stopped and thought about time’s passage. “Wait. How can it have been forty-five days? It didn’t . . . I mean, I don’t . . .” Then, reflecting on her time since stepping through the doorway, her memories of crossing the desert suddenly felt longer and more surreal than ever before. She looked at Martinez. “Raul, how long do you think it’s been since you were sent here?”
“A hundred years? Maybe a hundred and ten?”
“So your perception of time’s passage here is slower than real time at home, but mine is faster? How can that be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m human and you’re Illyrian?”
It was a reasonable hypothesis; residents of the Illyrian colonies were raised with far more rigorous mental training than were most of their fellow Federation citizens. “Maybe. Something to think about—after we get home.” She entered more commands into the Jatohr’s computer system. “Now I’m sending all the sentry globes on a permanent vacation. That should clear the way for our people to reach the gateway when it opens and make it easier for us to get out of here in one piece.”
“Neat trick. What else have you got up your sleeve?”
“If this works, I should be able to program one of the Jatohr’s transport pods to pick us up on the roof and take us to the gateway site. Which means we don’t need to be—”
Shimizu cut in: “Um, Captain?”
She and Martinez turned to see a matte-black sentry globe hovering in the dark above Shimizu, who was trapped in a silent, sickly green beam emanating from the sphere.
Creeping onto the platform from the entranceway in the main pillar was a line of armed Jatohr. The first three had already cleared one another’s lines of fire and aimed their stafflike weapons at her and Martinez. The triangular mouth of the lead Jatohr contorted as it spoke in a string of gurgling noises that Una’s communicator translated with immediate ease:
“Surrender or die, creatures.”
Twenty-one
“How’s your head?” Kirk’s question lingered without an answer as he watched Elara stir to consciousness on the other side of a force field in the Enterprise’s brig.
The young Catullan woman sat up on her bunk and massaged the back of her neck, then glared from under her tousled pink-and-violet hair at him and Spock. “Not bad, considering I expected to wake up in a body bag.” A sweep of her hand pushed her hair from her eyes and revealed the lime-and-yellow tattoo on her high forehead. “Don’t suppose I could get a drink?”
Spock motioned toward the bulkhead opposite her bed. “There is a water dispenser behind that panel and a refresher nook in the aft corner.”
“I was hoping for something a bit more intoxicating.”
“Life is full of disappointments,” Kirk said.
She rolled her eyes. “No need to tell me that.” A sullen stare. “So, what do you want?”
“Information,” Spock said. “We have confirmed you are Elara Soath of Catullus, and that you have, until recently, resided on the Orion homeworld. Why did you come to Centaurus?”
Her brooding became an air of jejune mischief. “To get an education.”
Kirk’s patience frayed. “Enough games. We know the university job is just part of your cover. We want to know who you’re really working for.”
If she felt the least bit intimidated, she hid it well. “Who do you think I work for?”
“I think you’re on the Orion Syndicate’s payroll.”
“Never heard of it.” She reclined on her bunk, a portrait of sublime indifference.
While Kirk simmered, Spock carried on. “We can prove that you have sent and received numerous messages from an individual on the Orion homeworld since your arrival on Centaurus. Do you deny this?”
“Why would I? I lived on Orion for years. Just because I moved to the Federation doesn’t mean I cut all my old friends out of my life. Don’t you ever talk to people from home?”
“No, not as such.”
A feigned frown of insincere pity. “Must be a bore being you.”
Her insouciance grated on Kirk. “The same person you talked to on Orion was also in regular contact with a known Orion Syndicate operative—a Tiburonian man named Jorncek. Who, it turns out, just yesterday robbed the very same pharmaceutical lockup in which you staged a hostage crisis.” He waited for any sign of a reaction, to no avail. “Care to explain that?”
“I’m no solicitor, but I’m pretty sure guilt by association doesn’t actually count as evidence in a Federation court of law.”
“True. Let me tell you what does constitute evidence in our legal system. Firing a deadly weapon in a public place. Taking a hostage. Assault on, and attempted murder of, a civilian and an unarmed Starfleet officer. Being arrested in possession of a deadly weapon and a contraband signal scrambler. Resisting arrest.”
Elara sighed. “Is that all you have? My lawyer will say I fled from the Klingons, whom I saw first. What you call assault and attempted murder I’ll claim was self-defense. I’ll cop to the weapons charge and the contraband, then plead to a reduced charge of destroying public property. I’ll serve twenty months, tops, in one of your cushy penal resorts.”
With a look, Kirk cued Spock to deliver their retort.
“I suspect your sentence will be greatly extended when the Starfleet Judge Advocate General files charges of espionage, illegal surveillance, and treason. Once convicted, you will be sentenced to no fewer than fifteen years at the maximum-security Tantalus Penal Colony.”
His threat made Elara sit up and face them, this time without pretense. “What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘treason’?”
“As you noted, Miss Soath, you emigrated to the United Federation of Planets. If you were merely residing here on a vocational or academic permit, you still would be charged with espionage and illegal surveillance. But as a provisional émigré, you agreed to be subject to the laws as they apply to citizens of the Federation—including the statutes that govern treason.”
Her intense façade melted away, leaving only t
he frightened eyes of a young woman fresh out of options. “You’re bluffing.”
“We’re not,” Kirk said. “We found your DNA on hidden surveillance devices inside the conference room where the peace talks took place. That’s enough to indict you as a spy—and make you an accomplice to the disappearances of Councillor Gorkon and Mister Zeroh.”
Elara’s face blanched. “No, you don’t understand—”
“Then make me understand,” Kirk said.
She struggled to collect herself. “I need legal counsel. I want to cut a deal.”
“Talk to me,” Kirk said. “Right here, right now, or no deal. Ever.”
It was clear she knew she was in no position to make demands. Suddenly a bundle of nerves, she started to pace inside the confines of her cell. “Yes—I was hired to spy on the conference and report back. But that was all. It was just intelligence gathering. We had nothing to do with the people who vanished.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and my boss. The Red Man.”
Intrigued, Spock asked, “Why do you call him ‘the Red Man’?”
She looked at Spock as if he had grown antennae. “Because he’s red.”
Sensing that wasn’t going to be a productive avenue of discussion, Kirk asked, “How do you know your boss wasn’t involved?”
“Because he was even more shocked by the news than I was.”
“So if your people didn’t get rid of Gorkon and Zeroh, who did?”
“I don’t know! But it wasn’t me. Okay?”
Kirk kept his countenance stern. “We’ll see.” He walked toward the exit. “Spock.”
They left the brig and halted in the corridor as soon as the door slid closed behind them. Kirk looked to his friend for counsel. “What do you think of her story?”
“It does comport with the facts we already possess. And her reactions were consistent with genuine surprise and fear.”
“Good enough for me. Hand her over to the planetary authorities—then put all our people to work on finding that Romulan bird-of-prey. Because it’s here, Spock—I can feel it.”
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “We should use caution, Captain. If Major Sadira has returned with the Transfer Key, there is no telling how much damage she might be able to inflict with it.”
“Exactly why we need to stop her now, Spock—and at any cost.”
* * *
McCoy switched off his medical tricorder and reset the biobed’s overhead display to standby. “That should do it. You’re fit as a fiddle.”
Joanna sat up and swung her legs off the bed. “I’ve never understood that phrase. How fit is a fiddle, exactly? Fitter than a flute? What about a piano?”
“How would I know? I’m a doctor, not a linguist.” His remark earned a smile from his daughter, who had been hearing his I’m a doctor quips all her life. He set aside his diagnostic tools. “I guess I owe you a real thank-you for saving my life down there.”
She tried to deflect his gratitude. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. That crazy little minx would’ve skewered me if not for you. Thank you.”
A warm and heartfelt smile. “You’re more than welcome, Dad.”
He helped her off the biobed. “I still can’t get over you—throwing punches, firing a disruptor, all like some kind of daredevil.” He regarded her with a newly deepened sense of paternal pride. “When did you get so strong?”
“When you weren’t looking.”
“That’s always when it happens, isn’t it?”
Suddenly concerned, she looked around. “What time is it?”
“Just after fourteen hundred.”
“No, I mean, what time is it in New Athens? I have a class at three o’clock.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gestured toward himself. “Stay. Have dinner with me.”
Her chipper mood started to fade. “Thanks, Dad, but I really should get back down to campus. Can you walk me to the transporter room?”
“Actually, I plan on walking you to some guest quarters.”
She pulled away, suspicious. “What’re you talking about?”
“Sweetheart, you’ve had two brushes with death in less than twenty-four hours—”
“And I’m still standing,” Joanna cut in. “Damn it, Dad, when are you going to stop trying to protect me?”
“Never.”
Her raised hand prevented him from blurting out any more mawkish sentiments. “This has to stop, Dad. There’s a fine line between protecting and over-protecting. And you’re crossing it.” She gathered her personal effects from a low rolling table at the foot of the biobed. “I know I’m only a student, but I’m serious about being there for my patients and my coworkers.”
How could he make her see things his way without divulging classified information she wasn’t allowed to know? He couldn’t tell her of the captain’s suspicion that a Romulan warship was in the system, threatening not only to derail the conference but perhaps ignite a war and condemn countless innocent souls to exile in a strange parallel universe. He wasn’t allowed to warn her or any other civilians just how close they all were to becoming the flash point of a war that would be exceptionally brief but, for everyone on Centaurus, horrifically final.
“One day,” he said, blocking her path to the door. “That’s all I’m asking for. Stay on the ship for one day while we try to sort out this mess with the conference.”
“You’re asking a lot more than that, Dad. You’re asking me to let you make my decisions for me. To go back to being a child instead of a woman living her own life.”
She had spoken softly, but her words cut like a blade through his heart. He knew she was right. Even in the face of all that he knew but couldn’t say, she was still right. It was her life, not his. If I really love her, I need to respect her and her choices.
He stepped out of her way.
Joanna walked past him, then paused as the door opened. She looked back. “Thank you.” A wan smile of forgiveness. “I could use some company for the walk to the transporter room.”
He beamed with delight. “It would be my honor.” He offered her his arm, and she looped hers around it. Walking with her, he longed for the time when he had held her tiny toddler hands and swung her through the air—but those days were gone.
All these years, when I wasn’t looking, my little girl grew up . . . without me.
* * *
Sulu stood back from the panel. “What do you think, Mister Spock? Could it work?”
“The principle is sound. But its implementation could prove challenging.” Spock looked up from the science console when he heard the turbolift doors open. As Kirk stepped onto the bridge of the Enterprise, the first officer said, “Captain, we may have something.”
Kirk detoured off his route to the command chair and circled the aft upper deck to join Sulu and Spock. “Good news, I hope.”
“Perhaps. Mister Sulu has suggested a means of finding the cloaked Romulan vessel.”
“Let’s hear it,” Kirk said, pivoting toward the helmsman.
Sulu eyed the schematic he had sent to Spock’s station. “Triangulation, sir. It’s something I’ve been thinking about since we tracked that bird-of-prey after the attacks on the Neutral Zone outposts last year.” He called up additional data on a secondary screen. “Our sensors registered fleeting contacts, but couldn’t pinpoint their source when the Romulan ship maneuvered while cloaked.” He nodded at the plan on the main display as he continued. “But, if we can coordinate three synchronized sensor fields, spaced far enough apart, we might be able to maintain a sensor lock long enough to resolve a firing solution.”
The captain studied the proposal with shrewd focus. “It’s a good idea, Mister Sulu. But if the Romulans learned as much from our last encounter as we did, it might not be enough.”
Spock sai
d, “A concern I expressed as well. However, if the ship we mean to find is armed with the Transfer Key, we possess an advantage we lacked in our previous meeting.”
“Explain.”
“The Key needs vast amounts of energy to function, even at short range. If, as we suspect, the Romulans have been using it from orbit, or perhaps from even greater distances, its power consumption will be considerable—as will its emission of tau neutrinos, charge-free leptons that, in theory, should be able to escape the Romulans’ cloaking field.”
Kirk was dubious. “Leptons aren’t the easiest particles to detect.”
“True. But a targeted sensor protocol, combined with Mister Sulu’s triangulation method, could track even small quantities of tau neutrinos at ranges of up to twenty-five light-minutes.”
“How long to make it work?”
“Modifications to the Enterprise’s sensors would take less than one hour,” Spock said.
Sulu added, “We’ll need ninety minutes to prep the second node.”
“What is the second node, Lieutenant?”
“An equatorial sensor station on the planet’s surface. It’s operated remotely by the astronomy department of New Athens University.”
“We’re commandeering a civilian observatory?”
Spock interjected, “It is the only facility on the planet with the requisite hardware, software, and power supply to serve as part of our detection network.”
It became evident the captain’s appraisal of Sulu’s plan was souring with each new detail. “Spock . . . dare I ask what the third node is?”
“For maximal effectiveness, it will need to be another starship, one with sensor capabilities comparable to those of the Enterprise.”
Kirk’s brow knit with irritation. “You mean the Klingons.”
“The HoS’leth would be a viable candidate, yes.”
Noting the captain’s displeasure, Sulu said, “I just provided a theory.”