Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - 062 - The Missing

by Una McCormack

  “Crusher’s reports did say that the People had various health problems . . .”

  “There are you,” said Tanj.

  “But I’d assumed that was because they were wandering about, rather than because their civilization isn’t advanced,” Pulaski said. “It’s unlikely they’d have ships like that and be unable to cure conjunctivitis, isn’t it? Besides, if it’s a question of needing medical assistance, why not simply ask for our help?”

  “Perhaps,” said Delka dryly, “they are a proud people.”

  Pulaski snorted.

  “Who knows,” Tanj said. “It’s possible there’s simply been a misunderstanding—”

  “I think I can tell when someone has accessed a secure file!” Pulaski said hotly.

  Delka raised a diplomatic finger. “I think that what Maurita meant was that they don’t understand the concept of classified information. That they wouldn’t have understood that they were doing something offensive, or that could be construed as hostile.”

  “Thank you, Delka, that’s exactly what I meant.”

  “They don’t look like the kind of people who don’t understand the concept of classified information,” Pulaski said. “Uniforms like that go hand in hand with classified information. A place for everything and everything in its place.”

  “Here’s a thought, Kitty. Maybe they’re insomniacs desperate for a good night’s sleep and your files seemed the best choice.”

  “Remind me why I like you?”

  “If I can make a suggestion,” said Delka “The next time we meet, you should give a presentation on your work. That might send the message that they can ask rather than go looking.”

  Tanj snapped her fingers. “I like that. Good idea. Kitty? Are you willing?”

  Pulaski sat in her chair and sulked.

  “Kitty?”

  “What? Oh, very well!”

  “I knew she wouldn’t pass up a chance to talk about her research,” Delka said to Tanj, with a smile.

  “Shut up, the pair of you,” said Pulaski. “And don’t be fooled. I’m still keeping my eye on Alden.”

  “I sincerely hope so,” Tanj said briskly. “No doubt he’ll be keeping his eye on Metiger. And I’ll be keeping my eye on everyone and everything—you included.”

  * * *

  Pulaski’s shtick when talking about her current research was always to start by claiming she was chasing the secret of eternal life. It usually got a laugh from people and it always got their attention. Sometimes folks would say that if anyone was going to work out how to live forever, it would be Katherine Pulaski. Once she’d warmed her audience up with this opener, she could get down to the science. Sometimes they followed it, often they didn’t. But they were always interested.

  Except this time. The team from the Chain (she assumed they were the same five, although apart from Aoi, who had a different badge, she struggled to tell these uniform gray-faced, wide-eyed entities apart) sat through the whole hour without even blinking. Literally, not blinking. Just . . . looking. Straight at her. Without as much as a blink. It creeped Pulaski out. At least Metiger was interested. The Tzenkethi had been taking careful and substantial notes from the minute Pulaski opened her mouth.

  “Well,” said Pulaski, winding up the presentation and deactivating the holographic display, “that, really, is as far as I have gotten.” Which is a damned long way, she thought bitterly. She looked around the room. “Any questions?”

  The team from the Chain continued looking at her politely. One of them blinked, slowly.

  “What, nothing?” There was usually some interest in what she had to say. Often there were plaudits. “Zilch, zero, nada?”

  “Your work confirms all that we knew already,” said Aoi, after a moment.

  “Okay, then,” said Pulaski. “So that’ll be no questions.” She leaned one hip against the table and folded her arms. “But that’s fine. Less about me and more about you. I’ve got plenty of questions of my own.”

  The visitors gave no response.

  “So I’ll get on and ask them, shall I? We’re curious about you, you know. We want to learn.”

  “All information comes through proper channels,” Aoi said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get that. Starfleet’s the same. But not everyone’s so hung up on the rules, are they? Your friends on DS9, for example—they’re a lot more laidback. That’s what a first contact should be. Kicking back and having a cup of tea. Not all this formal nonsense—”

  Aoi suddenly leaned forward. “Our ‘friends on DS9’? What do you mean?”

  “Well, DS9 is a Starfleet space station,” Pulaski began, halting when Aoi raised his hand. “Okay, you know that already. There are people from your species there right now. They call themselves the People of the Open Sky—”

  After being used to their visitors’ lack of interest in everything they had had to say, Pulaski wasn’t prepared for the swiftness of Aoi’s response. The visitor stood up quickly, unfurling as if a whip had been cracked. “All crew on board at once and then initiate protocol nine-three-sixty. High alert. These are your orders.”

  “And we will obey,” his crew chorused as one. Pulaski had never heard anything so creepy in her life.

  * * *

  “Well,” said Blackmer, bringing to a sudden halt his midmorning briefing with Ro. “Look who’s turned up.”

  “Who?” Ro leaned toward the tricorder he was waving under her nose.

  “Our missing Tzenkethi. And look where she is. It seems she’s been staying with the People of the Open Sky.” Blackmer leaned back in his chair. “Can I please arrest somebody now?”

  Seven

  Captain’s Log, Personal.

  I should offer some thoughts on the Prime Directive, although I believe that a complete discussion could easily sustain a full-length work in itself. This, the guiding principle behind all exploration conducted under the banner of Starfleet, is of course intended to prevent the hideous forms of exploitation that can come when an advanced civilization makes contact with one that is less so. Even the most cursory reading of Earth history will show the extent to which we should be on guard against these circumstances. Beware of involvement and intervention, the Prime Directive insists, because our history instructs us that that way lies tragedy. In no way do I mean to understate this, and I do not advocate casual meddling in the affairs of others. But I increasingly come to believe that in certain circumstances lofty disinterest can be, in its own way, a form of self-aggrandizement, implying, as it does, that we are in some way superior to the civilizations we meet and must remain aloof. How can one walk away from suffering?

  Surely, then, there must be a third way?

  I recall an excellent speculative novel in which the explorers from Earth, on discovering a new and technologically less advanced civilization, agonize as to what degree of involvement would be appropriate. They solve this thorny problem by asking the people concerned what they think would be appropriate; in other words, the humans demonstrate that they have truly learned the lessons of the past by no longer assuming that they have the answers as far as others are concerned . . .

  Sitting in Blackmer’s office, looking at the monitor that showed the holding cells, Ro studied Corazame carefully. The Tzenkethi was sitting quietly on her bunk, her hands folded, her head down. Her skin was dulled to a dim brown. She seemed almost absent, faded away, enduring her state until someone came and changed it for her. Such patient resignation made Ro uneasy: she liked movement and purpose, people who made active efforts to change their situation. How could a child of the Occupation be any different? But Corazame, it seemed, was something else entirely: the kind of person who waited for things to be done to her. She pondered again what Alden had told her about Corazame’s past: that she had been practically some kind of slave on Ab-Tzenketh, born and bred to wait on others. Was that someone who could act as a double agent? Or was this all performance? It was a good show if it was.

  Blackmer entered the room, a frown
upon his face. “That was a waste of an hour.”

  Ro shifted in her chair. “What does she have to say for herself?”

  Blackmer flopped into his chair with a sigh. “That’s exactly the problem—she’s not saying much. She says that she didn’t want to travel on the Athene Donald, but she won’t say why. When I asked her about her association with the People, she says that she met them when she took one of their children back to them.” Blackmer frowned. “Those damn children!”

  “It’s not their fault, Jeff. So what does she say happened next between her and the People?”

  “She says that they got into a conversation, she explained that she was of two minds about going on the Athene Donald, and they offered her some peace and privacy to do some thinking.”

  “And the break-ins?” Ro said. “Crusher’s files?”

  Blackmer shrugged. “She denies all knowledge. She looked shocked when I said she might be responsible—actually the first reaction from her about anything.”

  “Or certainly the first reaction she wanted you to notice.”

  “I don’t know.” Blackmer glared at the monitor. “She’s so damn—”

  “Passive?” Ro nodded. “I know what you mean. So how have the People been hiding her all this time?”

  “Pretty much what we’d guessed. They have some cloaking technology that we didn’t know about. I’d like to know what else they have tucked away. I knew we couldn’t trust them—”

  “To be fair,” said Ro, “they’re within their rights to use whatever they have in their possession. And it’s not the kind of capability they have to declare. Not a weapon.”

  “No, but—”

  “I don’t think there’s any ‘but’ about it, Jeff. What exactly have they done wrong? Any of them? That we can prove?”

  “Give me a moment and I’ll think of something,” Blackmer said.

  Ro held out her hands. “Be my guest.”

  “How about this? Corazame gave false information about her departure from the station. That bears investigation, particularly if the People helped her in any way.”

  “That’s a minor felony, even if she did anything wrong.” Ro said. “Perhaps she checked in, and then changed her mind before boarding. And, anyway, it’s not evidence to link her to the break-in. Do we have any evidence there, or is everything circumstantial?”

  Blackmer shook his head. “There’s nothing I can find. Someone got into the room and then left as quietly as he or she arrived. O’Brien and his people still can’t find any trace that a transporter was used.”

  “So we’re no farther than we were.” Ro sighed, and once again studied the Tzenkethi sitting quietly in the holding cell. Corazame’s eyes were now closed. She appeared almost to have powered down. “Have you spoken to any of the People yet?”

  “No, but Oioli’s here if you wanted a word.”

  Ro nodded and pushed herself up from her chair. “Yes, I’ll come in on this one. We had a good rapport—or, at least, I thought we had a good rapport. I’d like to hear what Oioli has to say.”

  They made their way down the corridor to the interview room. “I got a message from Alden,” Ro said. “He’s eager to speak to Corazame as soon as he can.”

  “He’ll have a long wait,” said Blackmer. “She said she didn’t want to speak to him.”

  Ro was surprised by that. What could it mean? If Corazame was working for Alden, then surely she would want instructions now that her cover was in danger of being blown? Ro frowned. Corazame’s refusal to speak to him lent weight to her suspicions that she was a double agent: Alden would be the last person she wanted to speak to in that case. Or perhaps she was still working for him, and this was all a feint, to make it seem that they were estranged . . . Ro shook her head. Spy games hurt her brain.

  “You know,” said Blackmer slowly, “even if the People believed they were simply giving Corazame time to reflect on her next move, that doesn’t mean she told them the truth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She could have been buying time before her pickup from Ab-Tzenketh.” Blackmer sighed. “I hate this spy stuff. Life’s complicated enough as it is.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ro muttered.

  Oioli stood up when they entered the interview room. Their visitor was plainly upset. Not angry—that wasn’t Oioli’s style, Ro imagined—but certainly not happy. Ailoi was there too, also looking displeased. The marks on their skin had gone very bright, almost lime green.

  “Well now, Captain Ro!” Oioli said, gesturing around the room, clearly understanding the nature of the place. “This is a disappointment! The People came with open hearts—we thought this was a haven!”

  Ro gestured to them both to sit down. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, and we won’t keep you long. This isn’t an arrest. I’m grateful for your time and your willingness to speak to us. But the simple fact is that we need to know about your dealings with Corazame. Perhaps you didn’t realize there was a stationwide search going on for her?”

  “She came to us and sat with us,” Oioli said. “She brought one of our children. We listened to her story then. We had no call to doubt her. She asked about our way of life and we were glad to tell her.”

  “And then she asked you to hide her?” Blackmer said. “Didn’t that seem at all suspicious to you?”

  “She struggles in her daily life to pass around unnoticed,” Ailoi said. “She said she needed time and space, away from eyes that watched her. We had the means to give her all the peace and quiet she needed.”

  Blackmer, Ro saw, wasn’t in the least convinced, and Oioli didn’t miss this reaction either. “This is the simple truth of it,” Oioli said. “She came, she asked, we helped her.”

  Ro, after a moment’s thought, said simply, “I believe you.” She ignored Blackmer’s growl of dismay. She wasn’t quite finished with Oioli and Ailoi yet, but she’d ask her remaining questions in her own time.

  Or, rather, she would make them ask. Standing up, she said, “Thanks for your time. I’m sorry if we’ve seemed suspicious. We had a bad breach of security on DS9 recently and now we’re hypersensitive.” She gestured to the door. “You’re free to go.”

  Oioli hesitated. “And all of our technology? Must this block continue?”

  Ro smiled to herself. Her suspicion was correct: Oioli was assuming that Starfleet was responsible for whatever the Chain had done to the People’s capabilities. This meant she still had her trump card to play. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that,” she said. “That’s not us.”

  She caught Oioli’s questioning look and spoke deliberately casually. “One of our science and exploration vessels has made contact with some more of your people. They were very excited to learn you were here and sprang into action straightaway. They’re the ones blocking your technologies. Impressive, isn’t it?” She looked straight into Oioli’s wide and fearful eyes. “You know, I have to wonder what it is about you that’s making them so hostile.”

  * * *

  Maurita Tanj was able to shed some light on this. “In effect, Aoi is accusing the People of kidnapping children.”

  “Kidnapping children?” Ro glanced over at Crusher, who shook her head and mouthed, I don’t believe that!

  “Aoi says that not all of the children traveling with the People are their own.”

  “We knew that,” said Crusher. “Most of the children aren’t even the same species as Oioli and the rest.”

  “I think Aoi means the children that are from the same species.”

  Ro and Crusher exchanged a glance. “Are there any?” said Ro.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Crusher. “Their family structure is necessarily very loose.”

  “Aoi also says that the People are irresponsible and not fit to be in charge of children. I understand that the children traveling with them are allowed to run wild, almost feral—”

  “Rubbish,” said Crusher promptly. “They’re lively, yes, but it’s only hig
h spirits. Playfulness, that’s all. That’s because they’re children. That’s what children do—play. If Aoi thinks that children shouldn’t be running around, then that’s Aoi’s problem.”

  Tanj gave a small, tight smile. “I’m only the messenger, Doctor Crusher. This is what Aoi is saying.”

  “My apologies,” Crusher said. “But I’m having a hard time squaring what this Aoi is saying with what I’ve seen of the People.”

  “Does Aoi have anything else to say?” asked Ro.

  “I’m afraid so. The claim is that the People’s way of life puts the children’s health at risk. Apparently they live according to some back-to-nature principle that means they refuse to use certain technologies?”

  “That’s simply not true,” Crusher said at once. “They fell upon the treatments that I offered.” She glanced over at her CO. “Laren, I really don’t think that any of those children are at risk—”

  “But you said yourself that they’ve continued traveling rather than take any of the children home for medical treatment,” Ro said. “So there’s clearly some principle at stake. Doctor Tanj, has Aoi made any demands?”

  Tanj sighed. “Aoi requests that the children be handed over to the Chain as quickly as can be arranged.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Crusher said briskly. “The People haven’t broken any laws.”

  “They did conceal Corazame,” Ro pointed out. “And the jury’s still out on whether they knew what they were doing there, not to mention whether they’re responsible for breaking into your office, or helping Corazame with that—”

  “I’m as eager as anyone to find out who was responsible for that,” said Crusher, “and if you and Blackmer have evidence to show that they were responsible, I’d be happy to see it. No,” she corrected herself, “I’d be disappointed, and I’d be surprised. But I think we should have proof before we start assuming guilt.”

  “I agree,” said Ro. “Doctor Tanj, I’m afraid I don’t see what I can do. The People haven’t done anything wrong. Everything that has happened can simply be construed as a misunderstanding. I can’t force them to give up their children against their will. Never mind the Prime Directive—that would be unjust and immoral.”