Kaferia (Tau Ceti III)
Kaferia was a good place for an intelligence operative to retire. The Kaferians may have resembled humanoid ants, but they were anything but a hive culture, prizing individual freedom and privacy rights. Anyone who wished to elude attention and drop out from interstellar life could easily do so here.
Luckily, Conrad Reppert had not sought to disappear completely—merely to find a quiet, welcoming place to live out his days. Admiral Cartwright had been able to provide Spock with his contact information, and the Enterprise captain and Uhura had received an affirmative answer to their request to beam down to Reppert’s dwelling.
Getting this far, however, had been the easy part.
Reppert’s nurse, a gold-carapaced Kaferian male whose name translated as Morning Nectar, led Spock and Uhura to the rear deck of the commodore’s home. It was a small but well-appointed abode surrounded by wide lawns and well-kept gardens, with a substantial grove of Kaferian apple trees beyond the low rear fence of the backyard. Reppert sat in the center of an outdoor loveseat, the space to either side occupied by cushions and book slates, suggesting that it habitually hosted only one occupant. He gazed out at the apple grove, seemingly oblivious to the new arrivals.
“Commodore?” The nurse leaned over him and laid a foreclaw gently on his shoulder. A rapid, clicking stridulation came from the nurse’s mouthparts, interpreted into English by the voder he wore. “It’s me, Nurse Morning Nectar. There are some people here from Starfleet. They’d like to talk to you, if you feel up to it.”
“Starfleet?” Reppert murmured. “Of course they’re from Starfleet. Tell them I’m not ready to beam back up. Still have two days’ leave.”
“Commodore, you’re at your home, here on Kaferia. You have guests.”
“Guests?” He seemed to snap out of his haze, turning to take in the visitors. Grinning, he rose to his feet and strode over to Spock and Uhura with unexpected vigor. “Welcome, welcome! Conrad Reppert, pleased to meet you. I get so few visitors from Starfleet anymore.” He frowned at their red-jacketed uniforms and turtleneck collars. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize your division. Damn quartermasters never could make up their minds.”
“Commodore, I am Captain Spock of the U.S.S. Enterprise. This is Commander Nyota Uhura.”
“Spock, Spock. I’ve heard of a Spock. But no, he’s a lieutenant on Chris Pike’s ship. Discovery, wasn’t it? No, it’ll come to me.”
Uhura stared at the commodore, recognizing a kindred spirit. Several months before her encounter with Nomad, right at the start of the brief Federation-Klingon War of 2267, Reppert had been captured on an intelligence mission in Klingon space and subjected to the experimental memory probe that they called the “mind-sifter.” Uhura knew that Spock had endured the same probe on Organia, protected from its effects by his Vulcan mental discipline. Starfleet Intelligence trained its members to resist mental probes as well, but Reppert had been in Klingon hands for over a week and had endured repeated sessions under the mind-sifter at its highest setting, far beyond what Spock had experienced. The device had stripped his memories from his mind and left little behind. It had been much like what Nomad had done to her, but what Nomad had excised with cool, surgical thoroughness, the mind-sifter had ripped out with bare claws, leaving stray fragments behind but doing too much damage to the underlying substrate to allow Reppert to recover as Uhura had.
She felt ashamed of feeling so sorry for herself. She had lost memory but not function, allowing her to rebuild and resume her career with minimal difficulty. Reppert had been left a shell of his former self, damaged beyond repair and forced to retire decades early. For the first time, she felt that she had been the fortunate one.
Except that Reppert was their only lead to her past, and his memory was in ruins. What hope was there of recovering anything?
Uhura cut short that line of thought. She’d believed her own memories were just as irretrievable, until her family had proven her wrong.
She took the commodore’s hands, drawing his attention. “Commodore Reppert… do you recognize me? We may have met when we were younger. I was a cadet at Starfleet Academy, early in my fourth year. I wore my hair long and straight then.”
“Academy?” Reppert shook his head, giving a gallant smile. “If I’d had a classmate as pretty as you, dear, I’d remember.”
“No, sir, you were working for Starfleet Intelligence. I was a student. I believe you came to speak with me about some research I was doing. Something involving subspace communications and the quantum vacuum.”
“I studied communications at the Academy. Yes. Signal intercepts… decryption… They wanted to know our decryption codes… I wouldn’t tell them. They put me in the chair…”
He was growing agitated now, and the nurse stepped in. “Conrad, it’s all right. You’re safe with us. You’re here on Kaferia. Do you smell the trees? Do you hear the fruit drakes chirping?” The nurse laid both pairs of foreclaws on the commodore’s arms and shoulders, gently massaging them and turning him outward to look at the apple grove.
Reppert’s anxiety subsided, and soon he was nodding and smiling. “Yes… such a pretty song they have. Have you heard it?” He turned. “Oh! Morning Nectar, we have guests. I’d better make some iced tea.”
He moved inside, and Uhura looked after him with concern. “Will he be all right?”
The nurse turned his antlike head toward her. “Making tea? He’s fine with a well-practiced activity like that. He might not remember why he made it, though.”
Spock folded his hands before him, seeming hesitant to speak. Uhura could predict what he was about to say. “Nurse Morning Nectar… normally I would not make this suggestion, but our need for information is urgent, a matter of Federation security. Are you familiar with the Vulcan mind-meld?”
The nurse’s bright mandibles blurred. “The commodore’s doctors did consult with Vulcan healers years ago. They advised against telepathic intervention, due to the risk to the practitioner. To enter a mind so badly damaged and confused… you might not find your way out again. Or you might experience the same horrors the Klingons inflicted on him.”
“In fact, Nurse, I already have. I was subjected to the Klingon mind-sifter during the same conflict as the commodore, though not as extensively. My mental disciplines allowed me to protect myself. As I am already familiar with the impact of the process upon the mind, I believe I could evade any harmful effects. I may even be able to ameliorate some of the damage the commodore suffered.”
Morning Nectar spread all four arms. “Well, if you’re sure, then I can’t object. It’s the commodore’s decision, of course.” Uhura reminded herself of the Kaferians’ strong belief in individual freedom.
Spock stepped closer to Uhura. “Commander, assuming the commodore is amenable, he and I will require solitude. Aside from the extremely… intimate nature of the meld, there is the risk that he may inadvertently vocalize some fragment of classified information.”
“I understand, Captain.” She touched his arm, ever so briefly. “Sir… how likely is it that you can retrieve what we need to know? Is it worth the risk to you?”
Spock held her gaze evenly. “The likelihood that he retains a specific memory of his single meeting with you more than two decades ago is slim. However, we have no better options at this time.” His features eased, the mask of command falling for a moment. “At the very least, I may be able to bring some comfort and aid to a fellow subject of the Klingon mind-sifter. For that alone, it would be worth the attempt.”
She smiled up at him with deep fondness. “I should’ve expected nothing less, sir.”
* * *
Uhura passed the time in Morning Nectar’s company, drinking iced tea (which was really very good, sweetened with crystallized fruit drake honey) and discussing Kaferian linguistics. Even to her ear, the swift clicks the Kaferians’ bright-hued mandibles produced, blurring together into a cicada-like drone, went by too quickly to discern much in the way of me
aningful patterns. After a while, she gave up, with apologies to her host. It was starting to remind her too much of her research into the vacuum flare patterns, and of the fruitlessness of this investigation into her past.
When Spock emerged with the commodore, Morning Nectar moved to check on his patient. “Were you able to assist him, Captain?”
“Only to a limited extent, I fear. Perhaps his lucid periods will be slightly longer now. But most of what I could do to circumvent the damage has already been done by his brain’s natural healing processes, and presumably by prior treatment. The point of diminishing returns has already been crossed.
“However, I have done what I could to seal away his memories of the trauma he endured in captivity. It may prevent further panic attacks, or at least ease them.”
“Thank you, Captain Spock.” The Kaferian understood that anything else Spock had uncovered was none of his business. He invited the commodore to the kitchen to help him prepare lunch.
Once they were alone, Uhura turned to her friend. She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him for his compassion toward the old man, but she knew that even now, with his greater acceptance of emotion in the wake of V’Ger, Spock was still a very reserved individual who would find such a display uncomfortable. So she kept her tone professional. “Anything, sir?”
A small shake of his head. “No. While Commander Kor evidently exaggerated when he claimed the mind-sifter’s maximum setting would reduce the subject to a vegetative state, he was truthful enough when he said that it emptied the mind of the memories it read. What remains are only fragments of a life.
“When I focused on his memories pertaining to Starfleet Academy, I did receive some sensory flashes that may have been connected to you—the shimmer of dark hair, the perception of a pleasant voice. But they were too difficult to distinguish from other sensory impressions. I do not know the commodore’s mind well enough to organize and separate the impressions. Normally in a meld, the partner’s mind guides one’s own in interpreting their unique web of associations. But Commodore Reppert’s mind is too disorganized for that.”
Uhura sighed. “I understand, sir. We knew it was a long shot.”
Spock studied her. “Still, you experience the disappointment that comes when a slim hope of success gives way to certainty of failure.”
He really did understand emotion better now. “I just don’t know where we can turn next. We’re all out of leads.”
“We have believed ourselves to have no leads before. Further investigation has produced new ones.”
“Which have all gone nowhere.”
“That is not predictive of future outcomes.”
She laughed. “You know, Doctor McCoy is wrong. Your logic can be very comforting at times.”
“Logic is meant for utility, Commander. We seek answers, not comfort. To that end, I suggest we return to the Enterprise and plan our next move.”
“Yes, sir. Let me say goodbye to the commodore and Morning Nectar.”
“Certainly.”
She moved into the kitchen, where the commodore and the nurse were preparing something that resembled cucumber sandwiches. “Ah, there you are,” Reppert said. “Would you like to stay for lunch? I… I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name.”
She stared at him for a brief moment. “It’s Uhura, sir. And no, it looks lovely, but we don’t have the time.”
“Oh, too bad. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with your… the thing you wanted to know. I’m afraid it’s all classified, you see.” He tapped his forehead. “Couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Locked up so tight even I can’t find it. Sorry.” He chuckled in evident good humor.
“I understand, sir. We appreciate your willingness to make the attempt.”
“That’s all right, dear. You always were passionate about recovering lost knowledge.”
Uhura stared at him, shocked. “Sir? What do you mean by that?”
“Now, where did I leave the brown mustard?” The commodore turned away and toddled around the kitchen. None of Uhura’s further entreaties distracted him from his quest for condiments.
What could he have meant—assuming he had even been thinking of Nyota Uhura, not someone else she had momentarily reminded him of? The one time they had met was long before Nomad, so what lost knowledge could she have sought back then? Lost by whom, and when? Where had she been seeking it? And what could it possibly have to do with the vacuum flares?
“Ah, there it is!” Reppert held up the mustard jar triumphantly. Uhura was grateful that at least someone was able to find what they were looking for.
Starfleet Medical
Leonard McCoy leaned back in his office chair and stretched his limbs, letting out a yawn. He’d lost track of the time he’d spent coordinating with Starfleet and civilian emergency teams and cataloguing medical supplies as part of Admiral Cartwright’s vacuum flare preparation effort.
He would have preferred to spend the evening with Ashley Janith-Lau, as he had been spending the majority of his evenings and mornings lately. But she’d had to postpone their plans, for she’d finally convinced Commander Rakatheema to agree to another meeting to discuss her concerns about his goals for the Warborn. Since he’d resisted for so long, there was no room in his formal schedule, so they would be meeting after hours at his home.
The hell of it was, McCoy realized that he didn’t particularly mind having the opportunity to work overtime on flare readiness and other lingering responsibilities. “I’m turning into as much of a workaholic as Jim and Spock,” he muttered. Quirking a brow at himself, he added, “And now I really have ended up talking to myself.”
Then again, he realized, Janith-Lau was no less committed to her own calling, as evidenced by this evening meeting with the commander. He supposed a light, casual romance was the best thing for both of them. It was certainly safer, given his disastrous track record with serious relationships.
“Yes, that’s for the best,” he murmured. “Keep things fun and breezy. No angst, no drama.”
The comm signaled, indicating an outside channel whose code he didn’t recognize, but which had a Starfleet signature. He hit the activation switch. “Starfleet Medical. Leonard McCoy here.”
“Len!” It was Janith-Lau’s voice, sounding highly distressed. He sat up abruptly. “You have to get over here, now. Please hurry!”
“Ashley? Calm down, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“At Rakatheema’s. Please, Len, come right away! I think he’s dead!”
Chapter Thirteen
Rakatheema residence
Presidio Heights, San Francisco
Captain Asakeph sh’Deslar peered intently at Ashley Janith-Lau, her antennae curling forward inquisitively. “All right, tell me again, from the beginning,” the tall Andorian instructed.
McCoy put a supportive hand on Janith-Lau’s shoulder as she sighed and gathered herself. It must have been hard on her, still being in the room where she had discovered Rakatheema’s body, but the Starfleet Security captain had insisted that she and McCoy remain on the scene while her team finished their inspection. McCoy had told Janith-Lau to call the local police once he’d gotten off comms with her, but Rakatheema had been with Starfleet Security, and apparently Admiral Cartwright had pulled some strings to ensure his people would investigate the murder of one of their own.
“I arrived for our meeting and found the door ajar,” Janith-Lau said. “I didn’t think that was suspicious; nobody really needs to lock their doors on Earth, and I knew he was expecting me.
“But when I reached the study, I spotted Rakatheema on the floor beside his desk. I rushed to his side and felt for a pulse. I couldn’t find one, but his body was still warm, and I’m not familiar enough with Arcturian anatomy to be sure I knew where to find a pulse. So I tried to administer CPR, but he was unresponsive.”
“It didn’t occur to you that handling the body might disturb the evidence?”
“I didn’t know it was a crime scen
e. For all I knew, he’d had an accident or a stroke or something.”
“So once you found him unresponsive, you called Doctor McCoy.” Sh’Deslar’s eyes and antennae shifted their scrutiny to him. “Rather than notify the police, you contacted your romantic partner.”
“He’s a Starfleet doctor with decades of space experience. I’m a pediatrician. I figured he’d be more qualified to help—if there was any chance the commander could be helped at all.”
“And what did Doctor McCoy say?”
McCoy held his tongue. Sh’Deslar had already gotten his account, and no doubt she wanted to hear Janith-Lau’s side to compare their stories. Still, there was something he didn’t like about the shen’s tone.
“He told me to calm down—which was good advice. My practice doesn’t bring me into contact with death very often, thankfully, so I was pretty shaken up. He said he’d be right here, and told me to call the police.
“About a minute later, he beamed in.” She threw him a grateful glance. She was aware of his hatred of being transported, and what it meant that he’d chosen to brave it anyway to reach her side as quickly as possible. “He examined the body and confirmed that Rakatheema was dead beyond revival. Apparently Arcturians cool down more slowly than humans after death, what with their thick, insulating skin. He’d died at least fifteen minutes before I arrived.”
“Before you say you arrived. So far, none of the commander’s neighbors can confirm they saw or heard you.”
“I’m small, and I prefer soft-soled shoes. I don’t make much noise when I walk.”
“And since you did walk rather than taking public transit or transporter, we can’t yet confirm your arrival time that way either.”
McCoy stared at her. “Captain, just what are you insinuating?”
“I’m doing my job, Commander. Doctor Janith-Lau claims to have discovered the body. Her DNA is all over it and vice versa, and our scans identify no other unambiguous DNA traces besides Commander Rakatheema’s.” Her antennae thrust forward aggressively. “There are multiple eyewitness accounts of an altercation between her and the commander three days ago.”
Living Memory Page 17