by Dayton Ward
“ ‘Once more unto the breach’ . . . ?” the general asked softly. “And yet you still wage war like a child, Reyes, resorting to trickery and subterfuge in order to escape confrontation.”
“I’m here now,” Reyes pointed out. “And I’m not the one hiding in a hole.”
“No, you’re simply the one covered in its dust, like a targ rooting through ash,” said Gorkon. “How does it feel to know you could get this far only by taking the coward’s way—beaming biosign decoys into the mines to trick my warriors into believing Dauntless had deployed assault teams?”
Reyes smirked. “That really pissed you off, didn’t it?”
“I always suspected you had no true stomach for battle.” Gorkon’s eyes moved to consider the rest of the landing party. “Doctor Fisher, is it not? And you must be Commander Gannon. May you die as well as your predecessor.”
That was when Reyes lost it, raising his captured disruptor with surprising speed and pointing it at Gorkon’s face. The general’s guards quickly raised their weapons toward Reyes, even as Fisher and Gannon took aim at the guards. Standoff.
There was dark amusement in Gorkon’s eyes.
Fisher knew Diego wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger on the man he held personally responsible for last year’s deaths aboard Dauntless, especially that of Rajiv Mehta. The pain of those losses had not abated, and Fisher worried it might yet blind Reyes to the consequences of indulging his need to avenge his fallen friends.
The moment passed. Reyes slowly lowered his disruptor and surrendered it butt-first to Gorkon. One by one, the other weapons all went down.
Reyes’s eyes never left the Klingon’s. “I demand to speak with Doctor Duvadi.”
“You’re in no position to demand anything, Captain. This asteroid is no longer Federation territory, and its inhabitants have chosen freely to join the Klingon Empire.”
“You mean they were coerced.”
Gorkon shrugged. “Semantics. They made a choice. Had they chosen instead to wait for Dauntless to answer their distress call, they would be dead now. They chose life.” The derisive smile returned. “Is that not what the Federation advocates?”
Reyes nodded toward the d’k tahg hanging from Gorkon’s belt and said in a quiet voice, “You allow me to speak to Doctor Duvadi now, or I’m going to take that dagger you’re so fond of and feed it to you. How’s that for a choice?”
“That’s enough!”
Fisher looked past the Klingons, startled. Even Gorkon seemed surprised. An Arkenite woman, possessing the elongated, backswept, and hairless head that made her species so easily recognizable, strode toward them from the inner laboratory complex. Shouldering her way past the general’s guards, she interposed herself between the two ship captains. Looking up at Gorkon, she said, “General, I would like a few minutes to converse privately with these officers.”
Gorkon stared at her. “Of course, Doctor Duvadi,” he said after an awkward moment, and with that blessing, the administrator of Azha-R7a led Latour and the landing party down the corridor, away from the Klingons.
“Let me get right to the point, Captain,” Duvadi began, her eyes becoming highly reflective in the subdued light. “I know what you’re doing here, but it needs to stop. I’m honoring my pact with Gorkon, and I don’t want you interfering.”
“Forgive me, Doctor,” Reyes said, “but how can you possibly believe I’ll allow this to continue?”
Duvadi looked at her human deputy. “Did you explain it to him?”
Latour nodded. “I did. But there’s a cultural divide here, Doctor. And frankly, this is a difficult thing for any human to grasp.”
“But you honor your debts,” Duvadi insisted, turning back to Reyes. “I know that you do.”
“Yes, of course,” Reyes agreed. “But under conditions when the parties involved are both acting in good faith.”
“This is good faith.”
“The Klingons took advantage of your people during a crisis, and exploited your vulnerability! How is that good faith?”
“The Klingons were being true to their nature, and we are being true to ours.”
Reyes shook his head as if unable to process what he had just heard. “Look, Doctor, even if I were to let this go—something I have no intention of doing—do you really think the Federation will honor a deal you made while the Klingons held a gun to your head?”
Duvadi fixed him with a harsh gaze. “We did not agree to stop being Arkenites when we joined the Federation, Captain. Or am I to understand that only your human value system is relevant here?”
“Of course not. But—”
“If the Klingons can be persuaded to release my people from our agreement, we’ll have no objection, Captain,” Duvadi assured him. “But let me be clear that there is no military alternative to this course that any Arkenite would support. We will not compromise who we are simply because you cannot comprehend our moral choices.”
“You’re putting me in a very difficult position, Doctor,” Reyes said.
“I realize that,” said Duvadi. “That’s why you need to leave, Captain.”
Reyes nodded toward Latour. “What about the people here who aren’t Arkenites?”
“My deputy is the only one.”
“I’ll have to insist that he be allowed to depart with me.”
“I would not object to that. Philippe is bound by a different set of ethics. He doesn’t share our obligation. Besides, he would likely face a harsh punishment from the Klingons for his role in your recent mischief, and I have no desire to see that happen.” Duvadi turned and walked back toward the lab complex.
Reyes exchanged a look with Gannon. “Recommendation?”
Gannon shook her head, at a loss. Reyes glanced at Fisher, and the utter frustration behind the captain’s eyes looked as if it was about to explode.
Finally Reyes turned back to face the Klingons. “We’re going,” he told Gorkon. “All four of us. You have a problem with that?”
Gorkon looked at Duvadi, his eyes narrowing, and it was becoming clear to Fisher that however the general might have wanted to respond, he wished to avoid antagonizing the Arkenite administrator more.
“ ‘Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once,’ “ he told Reyes, who then flipped open his communicator and called Dauntless for beam-out.
“This isn’t over,” he promised Gorkon, just before the transporter beam took them.
5
2268
Turbulence shook the Guo Shoujing as the shuttlecraft arrowed through the dense clouds that shrouded Kadru. Working the helm, Desai fought to compensate, but whatever she tried seemed only to make things worse. “Fish, where’s that beacon?”
Fisher looked as if he was trying very hard not to be sick as he struggled to read the navigation console. “I had it a moment ago. . . . Hang on. . . .”
A rough jolt nearly bounced Desai out of her seat. “I need it now!”
“I can’t— Wait, there it is! Eighteen degrees to starboard! Can you get a lock?”
“Trying . . .” Desai applied thrust, angling the shuttle to the right and dipping its nose in slow increments as the wind crashed against the hull. On her board, directional targeting icons started to intersect, and as they finally became one, Desai keyed the autopilot.
The Guo Shoujing shook again, and for one terrifying instant Desai thought the shuttle would go into a roll and drop from the sky like the brick it really was. But then the turbulence abated and the ship leveled off, letting its occupants catch their breath as the shuttle eased into a much gentler descent.
“That was some chop,” Fisher said. “Is that normal?”
“Did you even try reading the mission file?” Desai scolded.
“I’m a doctor, not a lawyer.”
Desai shook her head. “The upper atmosphere’s highly active and heavily ionized. Plays hell with sensors, too. I knew it would be a rough entry, but that was even worse than I expected.”
�
��How about if, next time, we ask for a pilot? No offense.”
“None taken,” Desai assured him.
The air on Kadru was soup. Fog rolled everywhere, just dense enough to reduce the one- and two-story buildings of the New Anglesey settlement to gray silhouettes, a kilometer west of where the Guo Shoujing had set down. Beads of moisture started collecting on Desai’s skin as soon as she stepped out of the shuttlecraft.
“This landing field doesn’t get much use,” Fisher said. Desai followed his gaze and saw immediately what had prompted the comment: coarse green shoots broke through the tarmac all around them.
From somewhere far away came a trumpeting sound, like an elephant in agony. A startled flock of cranelike avians took to the air from a line of trees south of the landing field, and for the first time Desai noticed the densely forested ridge rising above the tree line. Then she remembered: New Anglesey had been built at the foot of that ridge in order to take advantage of the immense river that flowed on the other side of it. The river led down to the ocean, fifteen kilometers east.
“Company,” Fisher said.
Desai squinted into the distance. From the direction of town, two skimmers sped toward them. One of them towed a cargo sled, its oblong burden draped in a plastic tarp and held down by thick elastic cords. As the vehicles hovered to a stop, three humans got out, all wearing the two-toned civilian jumpsuits that were ubiquitous on frontier worlds. From the first skimmer emerged two middle-aged women, one with long black hair tied back, the other with a blond buzz cut. The second skimmer, the one towing the sled, let out a thin-faced, bearded man shouldering a Starfleet duffel bag and carrying a data slate. Desai recognized all three of them from the mission file . . . and all three, she noted, wore sidearms.
“Welcome to the independent colony of New Anglesey,” said the woman with the black hair. “I’m Ying Mei-Hua, governor of this settlement. This is Helena Sgouros, head of security, and Anatoly Dolnikov, our senior physician.”
“Captain Rana Desai, Judge Advocate General’s office, Starbase 47,” Desai said, extending her hand to Ying as she stepped down off the shuttle’s ramp. “This is Doctor Ezekiel Fisher, our chief medical officer. Thank you for coming out to meet us, Governor, and for granting us permission to visit your planet.”
“It seemed the decent thing to do,” Ying said. “I can appreciate your admiral’s desire to have Commander Miller’s remains handled according to Starfleet custom. And on behalf of my people, I want you to know that we share your grief. Aole was an exceptional individual.”
“Thank you,” Desai said. “I’ll be sure to convey your sentiments to his friends and family.”
“I know you must be eager to return to your base, and we have no wish to delay you,” Ying continued. She nodded at Doctor Dolnikov, who stepped forward and offered his slate to Desai.
“My autopsy report,” the doctor explained, “as well as the release transferring custody of the body and Miller’s personal effects. If you’ll sign it, we can assist you in loading his stasis chamber onto your shuttlecraft.”
Desai made no move to take the slate. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We won’t be leaving until Doctor Fisher has conducted his own autopsy and confirmed the cause of death to his satisfaction, and my own.”
Dolnikov tensed. “That’s hardly necessary. A tricorder scan will confirm my findings.”
“I have no doubt they will,” Fisher said diplomatically. “This isn’t intended to impugn your forensic skills, Doctor. It’s a matter of regulations. Autopsies on Starfleet personnel have to be carried out by authorized Starfleet medical officers.”
“Surely you can do that back at your base,” Sgouros said.
“We’d prefer to remain within easy access of the place Miller died,” Desai said. She turned back to Ying. “If any questions arose, I’m sure you’d prefer we addressed them sooner rather than later, especially if it meant we’d have to return here to get the answers.”
“That isn’t what we agreed to—” Sgouros began.
“That seems entirely reasonable, Captain,” Ying said, speaking over her head of security. “Anatoly, why don’t you take Doctor Fisher and the body back to your lab so he can carry out his duty. Please extend to him every courtesy.”
“You’re welcome to leave Commander Miller’s duffel bag here in the shuttle,” Desai offered.
“Thanks,” Dolnikov said, tossing the bag through the open hatch before leading Fisher back to his skimmer.
“I imagine they’re going to be a while,” Ying told Desai. “Can I interest you in a late lunch, Captain?”
“That’s very gracious of you, Governor,” Desai said. “I’d welcome an opportunity to speak with you.”
Until Fisher had stepped off the Guo Shoujing, he had managed to avoid thinking too much about his role in the Kadru assignment. It was easier to focus on worrying about Rana, or trying to cheer her up, or doing damage control with the senior officers of the Endeavour. Not that he didn’t take this saddest of his duties seriously; of all his responsibilities during his fifty years as a Starfleet physician, performing an autopsy paradoxically required the greatest level of sensitivity as well as the highest degree of detachment.
But it was different when the one on the slab was somebody he knew.
Dolnikov wasn’t one for small talk, despite Fisher’s attempts to engage him on the ride into town. At first Fisher thought he was just irritated about another doctor waltzing in to redo a procedure he’d already performed. But it was more than that, Fisher realized. Dolnikov didn’t seem resentful so much as worried.
It was too bad, really; stripped of his obvious unease, Dolnikov seemed like he might be a decent enough fellow . . . the heavy stun pistol strapped to his hip notwithstanding.
With a population still barely over three hundred, New Anglesey was too small to warrant its own medical examiner, much less dedicated facilities for one. It therefore came as no surprise to Fisher that the room Dolnikov used for autopsies was in the building that housed the colony’s infirmary as well as laboratories for the study of biological samples.
Just after the two doctors had finished changing into surgical scrubs, a striking young woman entered the lab from outside, carrying a small sample case. She couldn’t have been much over twenty, if Fisher was any judge—about Rana’s height, and with the same caramel complexion. There the similarities ended. The young woman’s hazel-eyed face had sharper angles than Rana’s, and her light brown hair was streaked with gold.
She froze upon seeing Fisher, and her initial surprise changed very quickly to suspicion.
“Who’s the Herbert?” she asked Dolnikov.
Fisher raised his eyebrows.
“Tavia, what are you doing here?” Dolnikov said. “I’m in the middle of something! Come back later!”
She glared at him. “Relax, Doc. I’m just dropping off some new samples. I didn’t know you’d be—” She broke off as she noticed the exam table, atop which lay the draped body of Aole Miller.
“What the hell is this?” she grated. “This was done, Anatoly!”
“Tavia, calm down!” Dolnikov urged.
“Why are you cutting him open again? Can’t you leave him in peace?”
“Maybe I should explain,” Fisher began.
Her eyes blazed with open hostility. “Maybe you should go to hell.”
“That’s enough!” Dolnikov shouted. He grabbed her by the arm and started ushering her forcefully toward a set of double doors leading to an inner room. “He’s Doctor Fisher, from Aole’s base. Mei signed off on this. So put your samples away and go cool off!” To Fisher’s surprise, the young woman didn’t resist. Her anger had already burned out, leaving only anguish.
“Were you Aole’s friend?” Fisher asked.
She looked back at him, suspicious again. “I dunno if I knew him long enough to say, but . . . yeah. Yeah, I was his friend.”
“Aole was my friend, too,” Fisher said, and he smiled at her. “And
the thing is, this is the last thing I’ll ever do for him. So you can believe me when I tell you I’m going to treat him with the utmost respect.”
Her expression softened, but only slightly. Still, it was enough.
“You’d better,” she warned him, and disappeared through the double doors, leaving the men to their grim work.
As Sgouros drove them through town, Desai absorbed as much as she could of New Anglesey. It had clearly started out like most Federation settlements, with a well-organized core grid of standard one- and two-story prefab structures, giving way to more individualistic buildings that combined imported construction elements with materials that had been obtained locally. Dull white prefab walls had been painted in dramatic colors, varying from building to building according to the user’s taste. An enormous geodesic dome—the colony’s greenhouse—dominated the southern end. In the center of the settlement was a paved town square surrounded by a handful of commercial establishments, including an open-air café. Governor Ying’s home was one of the more modest structures on the northern end of town, and doubled as her office.
Lunch was a salad of fresh greens, sliced tomatoes, chopped celery, and carrot shavings, tossed with a raspberry vinaigrette and prepared by Ying herself. Sgouros disappeared for a few minutes, returning with pitchers of real lemonade and freshly brewed iced tea she brought over from her own house down the road.
“I hope this isn’t too rustic for you, Captain,” Ying said as the three women sat down to their meal.
“On the contrary, Governor,” Desai said. “This is just what I needed.”
“Good. But I prefer ‘Doctor Ying,’ actually,” the colony leader corrected as Sgouros poured Desai some iced tea. “We’re a scientific community, and my role is administrative, not political. Titles like ‘governor’ only remind us what we’re trying to get away from.”
Desai saw the opening and wasted no time stepping through. “If you don’t mind my asking, Doctor . . . what are you trying to get away from?” she asked.
