Assassination Game

by Alan Gratz

  McCoy really had meant to prepare for this. It was that damned Daagen, getting him all worked up. He took a deep breath. He and Nadja hadn’t gotten around to the last two decades of his life or to the part about his ex-wife. His recent ex-wife. Damn it—Why the hell hadn’t he prepared for any of this? He looked up at the dorm room windows, as if he could see the future through them.

  “Listen, Nadja, I … I appreciate the offer. Believe me. I had a terrific time, and I’d like to see you again. Soon. But I think for now, I need to just leave it at ‘good night.’”

  “Ooh! Now you are playing hard to get.” She laughed, but it was a good laugh. “A man who can go against instinct. I’m impressed.”

  Nadja kissed him good night and scooped up Mrs. Penelope.

  “Until next time,” she said, and she went inside.

  “Until next time,” McCoy said.

  CH.05.30

  Special Relationships

  Nyota Uhura paced the small confines of the Academy observation deck. The lights in the room were dim at night, so visitors could see the lights of Sausalito across the water from the Academy grounds. Uhura thought the lighting was appropriate. She was both literally and figuratively in the dark, and while she wasn’t eager for the lights to be turned on in the observation deck, she was certainly hoping some light would be shed on a different, and very puzzling, part of her life.

  The turbolift at the other end of the room dinged and opened, and Spock stepped out.

  “Commander Spock!” she said, practically running across the room to him.

  “Please. Just Spock,” he reminded her. They had recently agreed to call each other by their first names when not in uniform. Or in Spock’s case, the only part of his name Uhura knew. He had assured her that his full name was unpronounceable for most humans, even a linguist of Uhura’s ability.

  “Spock, what’s this all about?” Uhura asked.

  “Were you followed on the way here?” Spock asked her. “Did you tell anyone where you were going or with whom you were meeting?”

  “What? No. I wasn’t followed. At least I don’t think so. And no, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Spock, what’s going on? Who were those jokers in the robes, and why were you with them?”

  Spock moved to the observation window, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Uhura could see the reflection of his face in the glass as he stared at Fort Baker and the bay in the distance.

  “Those ‘jokers,’ as you put it, are a very real, and very powerful, organization within the Academy and Starfleet, and the Federation at large. There is evidence that the group is as old as the Federation itself.”

  “The Graviton Society. Ready to do what the Federation can’t or won’t do for itself.”

  “Yes. No doubt you understand the derivation of their name—gravitons are the key component of deflector shields. That is how the society sees itself. They are the individual particles that make up a larger shield, which protects the Federation from outside threats.”

  “Because Starfleet isn’t strong enough already,” Uhura said sarcastically.

  “They believe not. Or rather, they believe that Starfleet could be made stronger.”

  “And you believe this?”

  “I believe there is always room for improvement in any endeavor, but that is not why I sought an invitation.” Spock turned. “I am on a special assignment for Captain Pike. He has tasked me to infiltrate the Graviton Society, and, if it proves dangerous, to expose it.”

  “Aha!” said Uhura, relieved at last. “That explains it. You’re undercover!”

  “Yes. But I must confess that having spent some time now as a member of the society, I have yet to discover anything so damning, they must be stopped.”

  “A secret organization that works outside the rules of Starfleet, Spock? How can that not be dangerous? It runs counter to everything Starfleet stands for.”

  Spock frowned. “I agree there is the potential for danger if the society goes too far. But it is true the Federation often makes decisions based on emotional stimuli—intangibles, like loyalty, trust, and honor—when an application of logic would be more beneficial. How many times has the Federation made a treaty or pact with a nonaligned race, only to have the non-aligned world go back on the agreement the moment it suits their purposes? And even if we do not invite conflict with our more belligerent neighbors, the reality is that such conflicts still arise and sometimes prove to be beyond the effects of diplomacy. Is it not prudent to defer such eventualities in any way possible, even if those methods are somewhat … disingenuous?”

  “Methods, like, say, assassination?”

  Spock blinked. “There is no evidence that the Graviton Society has ever engaged in such extreme measures. Do you have reason to suspect—”

  “No, Spock. It’s just an example. But assassination, sabotage, political destabilization—they’re just a small slide down that slippery slope. We’re supposed to be the bright, shining example for the rest of the galaxy. We’re Starfleet.”

  “But I will remind you,” said Spock, “that our enemies have no such standards.”

  “Trust me on this one, Spock. This little game the Graviton Society is playing? People are going to get hurt. Maybe not now, but soon. Innocent people, Spock. In Africa they have a saying: When elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.”

  Spock looked like he was mulling over the expression, no doubt trying to remember what an Earth elephant looked like. “An apt metaphor,” he said at last. “But there is also an appropriate Vulcan adage: The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, or the few.”

  “So if one or two people lose their liberty—or worse, their lives—it’s a fair trade for the safety of billions?”

  “It is only logical.”

  Uhura’s heart sank. She and Spock had been growing so close lately. She would never have thought she’d be attracted to a Vulcan. They were usually so haughty, so disdainful of other races. But Spock had been different. Spock had been … well, more human than the rest, despite his best efforts. Or perhaps he had secretly embraced the parts of him that were human, and Uhura had been able to see them because she was looking where others didn’t—and more carefully. She stared at Spock now with an ache down deep in her chest, in that place that has no name and appears on no medical chart, that place that cannot be sated except by an equal and opposite ache in another. She hurt because she knew then that she was in love with Spock—and understood, at the same moment, that she could never love anyone who could sacrifice innocent lives for the greater good.

  Uhura turned away. “You sound like you’ve already made up your mind, then.”

  She felt Spock’s hand on her shoulder, and that place in her chest fluttered. “I know,” he said. “Which is why I suggested they invite you to join the society. I need you, Nyota.”

  She turned. They were close now. Close enough for her to feel the rise and fall of his chest, to reach out and lay her palm there and feel the beating of his half-human, half-Vulcan heart. But there was still too wide a gulf of duty and propriety and fear between them for her to do that. They stood as close as two people could without touching and held each other with their eyes instead.

  “You need me?” Uhura asked.

  “I believe the society may be shielding me from the truth of their more illicit activities, either because I am a Vulcan or because they know me to be loyal to Starfleet. Captain Pike worried that might be the case and authorized me to select any … ‘agents’ I deemed necessary. It is my hope that, should you accept their invitation, you will eventually become more involved in the Graviton Society’s inner workings and thus help me better fulfill my mission.”

  “Oh,” Uhura said. So the way Spock needed her was not the way she needed him. The place in her chest ached even more. She needed to get away. To be alone. Now.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.” She turned and walked as fast as she could toward the turbolift without lookin
g like she was running away. Mercifully, the turbolift doors opened when she pushed the button. She hurried inside.

  “Nyota, for this operation to be as successful as possible, we should do everything we can to keep our … special relationship … as secret as possible,” Spock told her.

  Uhura nodded without turning around. As the turbolift doors closed behind her, she wondered exactly what sort of special relationship Spock thought they had and what sort of special relationship they might have shared had the galaxy been a very different place.

  Jim Kirk pulled back into the shadows of the hedgerow as a trio of girls walked by, heading back to Nimitz Hall for the night. He recognized one of them, Cadet Rixtar, from Dr. Gill’s Federation history class. Staring at the back of her was the reason he’d gotten an A minus instead of an A last semester. Kirk caught something in their conversation about a yak and a rubber hose, but lost the rest of it as they passed by, laughing. He felt a bit of a voyeur, watching people who didn’t know they were being watched. If anyone had discovered him in the bushes right then, it would have taken a lot of explaining to get out of this one.

  Kirk turned the gold Academy badge with Ard Jarikar’s name on it over and over again in his hand. He had a lot of other things he needed to be doing right now, but after a surreptitious interview with Jarikar’s roommate—and a small donation of twenty credits—he had learned that tonight was the night Jarikar had a late Parrises Square practice. None of the rest of Jarikar’s teammates lived in Nimitz Hall with him, so Kirk had positioned himself in the one place he could hide where Jarikar would pass him alone.

  Unless he walked back to Nimitz with someone else. Or there was someone else on the sidewalk nearby to see them and prevent Kirk from “assassinating” Jarikar. Or unless Jarikar decided to head to the cafeteria for a late-night snack or to the library or to the science lab or—

  Someone came walking down the path, and Kirk crouched low in the shadows again. Big thudding footsteps, the clack of plastic on plastic, a hummed Orion space shanty, and the lumbering hulk of Ard Jarikar stepped into the circle of the streetlight a few meters away from where Kirk lay in wait. Jarikar was one of the biggest cadets on campus, easily two meters tall and weighing in at 130 kilograms, nearly all of which was muscle. His Orion skin was as green as a watermelon, clashing with his red Parrises Square uniform. The padding in the outfit made him look even bigger.

  But he was alone, and that was all that mattered.

  Kirk waited until Jarikar stepped out of the light, just in case anyone was watching, and leaped out in front of the Orion.

  “Ha-HA!” Kirk said, feeling a bit like a swashbuckler. He waved his spork like a fencing foil and waggled Jarikar’s badge for him to see. “Tag, Jarikar. You’re it.”

  To the big Orion’s credit, he didn’t jump or start or cry out in surprise. Maybe there wasn’t much that scared you if you went through life two meters tall and weighing 130 kilograms, Kirk figured.

  “Hand over whosever badge you’ve got, Jarikar. You’re dead.”

  Jarikar slid the plastic carrying case for his ion mallet off his shoulders and tossed it in the grass. Then, to Kirk’s growing dismay, the big Orion smiled.

  “I’d like to point out—merely as a technicality, of course, Kirk—that you have yet to actually touch me with the spork.”

  Kirk looked at the little spork in his hand, then up at the big Orion. The big 130-kilogram Orion wearing Parrises Square pads. Ard Jarikar cracked his knuckles and lowered himself into an Andorian martial-arts fighting position.

  “Aw, man. This isn’t how things were supposed to go down at all.” Kirk moaned. “I was supposed to be spending the night with Cadet Areia.”

  Ard Jarikar nodded. “Deltans. The only thing better than Orion girls.”

  Kirk sighed, gave a crazed yell, and charged.

  CH.06.30

  Public Indecency

  Kirk reported early the next morning for his first day of babysitting the Varkolak doctor, Lartal. His encounter with Ard Jarikar the night before had been a painful experience. His left knee ached, his cheeks were puffed and bruised, and he was pretty sure one of his ribs was cracked. But it had all been worth it. In his pocket was Jarikar’s next target in the Assassination Game—now his next target.

  Kirk’s good mood was snuffed out when he saw his least favorite chief waiting for him outside the Varkolak compound.

  “Kirk, you look like hell,” the boorish officer told him. “What happened?”

  “I walked into an Orion,” Kirk said.

  “You should see a doctor.”

  “I did,” Kirk told him. Well, he’d seen Bones, at least. McCoy had insisted on giving him a once-over with his medical tricorder, to make sure there hadn’t been any damage to his internal organs, and he’d fixed Kirk’s sprained wrist at the same time. Sometimes it really did pay to have a doctor as a roommate.

  “You should see a better one, then,” Hard-Ass told him. “But not now. You’re expected inside the kennel. Here. Me and the boys got you a little something.”

  The chief pressed a studded dog collar into Kirk’s hands, and the two security officers by the door laughed.

  The door to the Varkolak compound slid open, and there stood a ferocious-looking wolf-man with a white ring of fur around his neck. Lartal.

  The security officers stopped laughing, and Kirk hastily stuffed the collar into his pocket.

  “Kirk,” Lartal said, growling his Rs. “You are on time. Good.” Lartal sniffed disdainfully at the chief, baring his teeth. “Leave us!”

  The chief swallowed a comeback. “Good luck, Kirk,” the chief told him. He glanced at where Kirk had hidden away the collar. “Be sure to use that if they go chasing after hovercars.”

  The chief left, and Kirk stepped inside. Lartal and two Varkolak—the same two who had been with Lartal in the conference room? It was hard to tell—were in a small common room shared by four bedrooms. The room smelled like wet dog, and there was hair all over the furniture.

  Lartal gestured to the table. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  Kirk saw the plates of raw meat, and his stomach turned. “No, thanks. I just ate,” he lied.

  The other two Varkolak laughed, like hyenas, but they quieted when Lartal shot them a look.

  “Your chief. His comment about hovercars and the leather strap he gave you. It is a reference of some kind to the domesticated canines of your world?”

  Quick decision, thought Kirk. Lie or tell the truth?

  “Yes,” Kirk said. He took the collar out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table. “It’s a dog collar. On Earth, dogs are notorious for chasing anything that moves. Especially cars.”

  The other two Varkolak sneered and growled, but Lartal silenced them. He nodded. “Good. Let there be no lies between us, Kirk. You dislike us, and we dislike you. I asked for you because you do not hide behind words, like your chief. And unlike all the other humans, you do not reek of fear.”

  “What can I say? They were all out when I went into the perfume store.”

  Dr. Lartal picked up something that looked like a tricorder from a table at the back of the room, hooking it onto his belt. Kirk wondered if it was one of the incredibly accurate sensing devices the Varkolak were famous for. The only thing the Federation knew about how they worked was that they used kemocite for a power source. The rest was a mystery—one Federation scientists salivated over.

  “I am ready to leave,” Lartal said.

  Kirk wasn’t looking forward to this—not because he would be escorting a Varkolak around all day, but because it was going to be boring. The medical conference didn’t start until tomorrow, thankfully, but Starfleet had arranged for tours of the Academy’s medical research facilities today for all the attendees. Kirk was in for a day of medical discussions and biobed demonstrations. Why couldn’t Bones have been the one Lartal wanted?

  “All right,” Kirk said. “The first tour of the morning is the obstetrics facility. After tha
t, we’ve got the psychiatric facility, then the—”

  “No,” Lartal said. “I would like a tour of the campus.”

  “You … don’t want to go on the medical tours?”

  Lartal frowned. At least, Kirk took his expression to be a frown. “No. Come.”

  The two other Varkolak stood to go with them, but Lartal told them to remain behind. They whimpered objections, but he barked something in Varkolak, and they sat back down at the table.

  All right, then, Kirk thought as Lartal marched past him out of the room. Maybe I’m going to need that leash after all.

  Hikaru Sulu’s helm console lit up like Shibuya at night. Red-alert klaxons wailed and the bridge shook as the inertial dampeners tried to compensate for the phaser blasts raining down on the Yorktown.

  “Heading one-one-three, mark eight!” Viktor Tikhonov shouted from the captain’s chair. “Evasive maneuvers! Pattern gamma four!”

  “Heading one-one-three, mark eight, evasive maneuvers, pattern gamma four, aye!” Sulu confirmed, putting the coordinates into the helm.

  “Four more Varkolak ships approaching from starboard, bearing zero-nine-three, mark ten!” Pavel Chekov announced from his position at ops, just to the right of Sulu. Chekov pronounced his Vs like Ws—“Warkolak” instead of “Varkolak”—something Sulu had long since gotten used to after dozens of missions at the Russian’s side.

  “They’re surrounding us!” Tikhonov cried.

  Of course they’re surrounding us, you idiot, Sulu thought. That’s what the Varkolak do. The Constitution-class Yorktown was bigger and stronger than any single Varkolak ship, but the way the Varkolak brought down bigger prey was to circle it and harry it until it went down under the fire of a dozen smaller ships.

  “Shields at seventy percent,” Chekov said.

  “Return fire! Target the lead ship!” Tikhonov ordered.

  “But which one is the lead ship?” Chekov asked.