by Diane Carey
“It’s not the ship. It’s the captain and crew,” he said. “There are twelve ships of the line in Starfleet, dozens of support strips, and thousands of specific-duty craft. In the private sector, there are millions more. Freighters, tankers, tugs, merchants, frigates—and they’re all important. If the captain of a lightship makes a mistake, the crew of a starship might pay with their lives. If a starship’s grounded, a whole sector could be crippled. Right down to a barge crewman on sensor watch, everybody’s important in space.” He released me from the glare, and looked at Chekov, grumbling, “We should have a field trip about that. Seems to be the hardest thing to learn.”
Chekov grinned. “I’ll tell Command you’re volunteering to teach it, sir.”
“You’ll be carrying my gear.”
“Captain,” Frank Malan interrupted, “there’s something going on with the Klingons, isn’t there? More than we’re being told by Starfleet News. The Klingons have never fully abided by the Organian Peace Treaty. Why don’t we put an end to them once and for all?”
“Nice and simple,” Kirk agreed. “Well if you’re looking for simple solutions, cadet, you’re in the wrong place. And I think we’d take it personally if the Klingons thought the same way about us.”
Malan held out a hand and balled it into a fist. “What’s it really like out there?”
Kirk surveyed him wisely. “It isn’t like anything, cadet.” He put the Chesapeake Bay chart down on the others and pointed up, out, toward the ceiling, the sky. Space.
“Out there,” he said, “out there, whether we like it or not, we have enemies. And you’re the ones who will have to deal with them. I’ve heard some cadets say the Klingons are unthinking animals. Well, I’m here to tell you it’s not true. Animals don’t run star empires. The Klingons may appear brutal, but they also have a deeply rooted code of honor. Study it. Understand it. Know your enemy.”
Enemy. He’d come right out and said it. Did he mean what we thought he meant? What we saw boiling in Frank Malan’s delighted face right now?
“Sir,” I began, “can I ask…”
Kirk turned toward me, and when I paused he prodded, “Ask what?”
“Do you … believe in always following regulations to the letter, or in violating them when the situation needs it?”
From across the table Malan stared at me, apparently not believing that I‘d actually dared to ask that question. Couldn’t believe it myself, really. But I had to know.
Would a man like James Kirk even tell me? He’d gotten his knowledge the hard way, paid with his own blood and the blood of his crewmen. Would he share it just because I asked?
Suddenly I felt like a coward to want the shortcut.
Kirk eyed Chekov and they shared a silent communication. They knew Kirk’s methods, and so did every cadet here. Without meaning to, I’d put Kirk on the hot seat.
After a pointed moment, Kirk looked at me. “Are there some regulations you’re planning on violating, cadet?”
Oh, now what?
“Uh … no, sir! Not at all, sir.”
He held me in that mischievous glare of his and said, “Too bad.”
Oh, now, what did that mean!
Letting me off the hook with a hint of a smile, Kirk said, “Regulations are for perfect situations. It’s up to you to make them fit imperfect ones. That’s why we don’t send computers out into space to make decisions. We go with them. We temper them with instinct and improvisation. That’s what we do best. The Academy can teach you how to apply the regulations to regular moments, but life in space is made up of thousands of hours of boredom offset by moments of abject terror. When that time hits, it’ll be you, and not regulations dealing with it.”
A brief silence chased his words, and once the realization sank in that he was done talking, the cadets spontaneously erupted into applause.
Standing there like a mannequin, I couldn’t clap. I was exhausted from those words. I just stared and stared. He’d given us a whole career in one paragraph!
“Forester,” Kirk said, and I held my breath, “take these charts down to lab Delta India and have Mr. Sturek help you feed them into the holodeck simulators in the Sanford Building. Tomorrow we’ll have a navigational seminar that none of you will ever forget. Next semester,” he added, pointing out the tall windows at the open waters of San Francisco Bay, “you get the real thing. Cadets, dismissed.”
“David! David!”
Halfway to the lab, I stopped at the call of Robin Brady’s voice, and turned to see him running toward me up the long, breezy sidewalk that led down to the athletic grounds.
“Robin! Calm down! What’s wrong?”
He skidded to a stop. “I went to one of the Vanguard meetings!”
“What?” I almost dropped the laminated charts, and he caught them and stuffed them back into my arms. “Why would you do that?”
“I thought … it was Faith’s idea. She said maybe I should get involved with a group on campus.”
“Robin, not them.” I wailed.
“I know, I know, just another bonehead mistake. I won’t go back. But, David,” he said, grasping my arm, “I saw M’Giia there.”
Trouble on trouble. I stepped back to get a good square look at him. “Are you sure? It wasn’t another Andorian?”
“She didn’t see me, but it was her. And she fit in real well with those guys. She was hanging around with Frank Malan and a couple of his command crew. She was the only non-human there, but they still accepted her. Why would they accept an Andorian?”
“With their attitude, I don’t know. So the real question is, what do they want from her?”
He shrugged. “She was telling them how she thought the Klingons should pay for the massacres along the Neutral Zone.”
I shook my head. “And having an Andorian daughter of an ambassador on their side could give them credibility.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, Robin, I’ll keep my eyes open. But from now on, stay away from the Vanguard, okay?”
“I will! I will … they wouldn’t let me back in anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“Well … I didn’t last very long before they figured me out. They’ve got a telepath to determine who’s a true Vanguard supporter. Once she looked into my mind, they started being careful what they said around me.”
“All right. I’ll handle it. Just don’t go back there.”
“I won’t.”
A new twist, and it was pinching. M’Giia and the Vanguard. And Robin going to a meeting like that just because Faith Gage told him to. I was losing my grip on my crew before I even got a grip on them.
My mind was in six places as I hurried across the campus to the labs. The Academy research and class facilities were laid out according to old-style ocean signal flags. Building Delta was a science lab facility. Each of its labs was a different signal flag. Delta Alfa, Delta Bravo and so on. Same with the other buildings—the phys ed facility had gym Bravo Alfa, Bravo Charlie, and on like that. The planetarium’s annex classrooms and holodecks were papa Alfa, and on down. The Sanford Flight Simulation Complex was shorted to Sierra Alfa, Sierra Bravo, Sierra Charlie. The only signal flag missing would be the redundant one—there was no gym Bravo Bravo or flight sim deck Lima Lima.
Generally the system worked very well and gave us all a sense of organization and security. It also taught us all the signal codes, which were also used in subspace flight communications training. The simple alphabetical code was still Earth’s primary method of flight identification, and the consistency had served long and well, allowing pilots both young and old to understand each other.
It gave me a little anchor to cling to in this whirlwind of problems with Robin and M’Giia and everything else facing us down right now. I was very uneasy with Faith Cage’s influence on Robin—imagine making someone that shy, that reclusive, go to a meeting of people like Frank Malan. What kind of power did she have over him?
Lab Delta India was one of the
smaller labs, and that was probably the reason Captain Kirk had arranged for Sturek to use it. Privacy. In spite of the security of Sturek’s project, the door opened right up as I walked toward it. No lock. Was that for the sake of appearance?
I hoped so as I strode in, wrestling two dozen rolled laminated ocean nav charts.
And there wasn’t anybody in here.
“Sturek? Are you here?”
From a room around a partition and through a doorway, he called, “Yes, David, in chemical electro-spectral analysis. One moment, please.”
I didn’t go in there. Electro-spectral analysis could be touchy. Even the movement of a person walking past could disrupt—
A loud noise blew my thoughts right out of my head and the laminated charts out of my arms. The charts flew upward, rattling in the air, and scattered to the floor, and I went down among them, driven back and down by a firm hand of repercussion.
Explosion!
Chapter 10
As I struggled to my feet, skidding on the laminated charts, a gout of toxic green smoke boiled from the electroscopic analysis chamber, and a sign over the door flashed Danger! Contamination! Do Not Enter!
“Sturek!” I coughed his name and scrambled toward the electro chamber, just as behind me the main door opened and Kirk and Sulu walked in.
No time for formalities—I ignored them.
I heard Kirk’s voice— “Toxic! Keep back!”
He might’ve been shouting at me, or at Sulu. It didn’t matter—I was already inside them green cloud, holding my breath and keeping my eyes clamped shut.
“Sturek! Can you hear me?”
The desire to open my eyes was overwhelming, the need to take a breath even worse. I knew neither would do me any good and forced myself to move by feel, faltering with every step, holding my breath until my lungs screamed.
Just when my lungs turned to scrambled eggs, my hands bumped a recognizable form on the deck. I shoved my fingers into the fabric and flesh, closed them like claws, and hauled away.
Sturek was limp at first, then stirred enough to get one leg under him and together we shoved ourselves our feet.
A forced cough bolted out of my chest—I couldn’t help it—and acrid chemical smoke surged back into my lungs. My head instantly swam, and I gagged. My guts turned inside out.
Dragging Sturek, I scraped back the way I’d come, hoping luck would bring me to the invisible doorway.
“This way, Forester!”
I angled toward the sound. Good thing—I’d have run headlong into a wall if he hadn’t called out. A surge of heat scored my left cheek—fire!
Flames nipped at my elbow and shoulder. I pivoted Sturek away from them and tried to straighten up.
The wall skimmed the top of my head, and flames licked at my left elbow and hip as I turned and dragged Sturek, both of us choking, out into the main lab. My eyes burned and watered, and at my side Sturek grew heavier and slipped to the floor, pulling me to my knees.
“David—” he choked. “Proof—inside!”
“What proof?” I gagged back.
“The attacking ship—Bicea—” He tried to speak, and was thrown into a fit of coughing.
Thick hands grabbed me and pulled me farther from the green smoke, then all the way out into the corridor, while alert klaxons bellowed around us. I twisted hard, trying in a fit of incoherence to get back in there to pull Sturek out, but captain Sulu appeared in my way with Sturek firmly in tow.
Sulu put Sturek down beside me, leaning against the far corridor wall, and Captain Kirk knelt at my side while I hacked out the bad air.
Seconds later, the corridor rumbled with footsteps and a hazardous materials team thundered past us and into the lab, dressed in full-body protective suits and fire control gear. They’d lock it down….
“What happened?” Kirk demanded.
“Explosion, sir,” I rasped as sparks floated past us from the lab.
Sturek grasped my arm. “Proof—”
I looked at Kirk and blinked the hot sting out of my eyes. “Sir, he found something … about Bicea … that ship … the proof’s burning up…”
“Let it burn. We’ll find other proof,” Captain Kirk assured. “It’s not worth your lives.”
“Forester,” Sulu said sharply. “You broke procedure by going into a toxic environment. You should’ve let the haz-mat team go in after Mr. Sturek. Risking two lives is unacceptable judgment, Cadet.” He looked at Captain Kirk. “Tell him, Captain.”
Kirk adjusted me against the wall so I could breathe, and glanced at Sulu. “You broke every rule we’ve got, Forester,” he said. “Good job.”
“It had to be bomb,” Sulu said, blinking into the smoke. “Nothing in there would explode on its own. We’ll have to investigate this. And you, Mr. Sturek.”
Sturek shoved himself into a better position and gaped at Sulu as if he didn’t understand at first.
I sat up straight. “Are you suggesting he blew himself up, sir?”
Sulu tipped his head in doubt. “There are kamikazes in every war.”
“I challenge that, sir!”
“So would I,” Kirk said.
Dismayed, Sulu looked at him, then at me, and seemed to realize what he was up against. “All right. I’ll confine him to quarters pending investigation.”
Straightening up a little more, I gulped, “I protest, sir!”
“Noted. He’ll have permission to work with the team. But no other contact.”
“No contact, sir?”
Sulu skewered me with one of those looks. “I thought I was speaking English. Would you like hear it in Klingon?”
Backing off, I uttered, “No, sir.”
Sturek was dazed and now seemed shocked. He nodded, but made no more coherent response.
“Do you understand?” Sulu asked firmly.
With a troubled glance at me, his face pasty and pinched, Sturek nodded again.
“I understand….”
Limping, coughing, and sore, I made my way across the twilight grounds to the cadet lounge. My crew would be there—except Sturek. Resentment boiled in my chest—I knew why Kirk and Sulu had confined Sturek to quarters pending investigation. They wanted him to keep working on identifying that Bicea ship. They wanted him to replicate whatever “proof” he’d found about its origin, and he couldn’t do that in the brig, or even while attending classes. He’d have to sacrifice this whole semester if an answer wasn’t found soon.
Was that what it meant to be in Starfleet? Sacrifice?
Maybe, but I didn’t have to feel good about it, not when it came to one of my crew who’d been pinned to work on something he shouldn’t have to work on.
They said they’d take Sturek’s record into consideration. Sounded good, but that could mean anything.
Hopes for a peaceful evening among friends blew sky high when I limped into the lounge and heard what I heard.
“The latest outrage is this explosion at Starfleet Academy. This ‘mysterious’ laboratory explosion is the latest in a series of deceptions from Starfleet. Vital evidence about the ship that attacked Bicea is destroyed and we’re supposed to believe that’s a coincidence? It’s time we knew the truth!”
Well, its wasn’t Frank Malan talking, but it was his sentiment.
No—this person was on the main viewscreen, being interviewed.
Crowded cadets responded with murmuring whispers and disturbed comments as I sifted through them toward my crewmates.
“David,” Jana instantly said, “have you been hearing this? This is the spokesman for the Vanguard. Remember about them?”
“He has a right to his opinion,” M’Giia told her.
I glanced at M’Giia, but she kept watching the screen.
“The explosion destroyed evidence that we believe linked the Klingons to the savage attacks along the Neutral Zane,” the Vanguard speaker continued. “Why would Starfleet send vital information all the way to Earth to be analyzed at Starfleet Academy when any starship coul
d do the analysis? Why not a civilian scientist in a proper Federation laboratory? Because the public can believe a student might accidentally blow himself up, that’s why! What better way to hide the truth!”
“Who is this guy?” I mumbled as other cadets also mumbled around me.
“But Starfleet made a critical error!” the Vanguard person said. “The one who was at the lab was a Vulcan cadet! And we all know Vulcans are barely more than living machines. They’re incapable of making mistakes! It’s all part of a plot by alien members of the Federation to betray us to the Klingons and depose humanity from its proper place at the head of the Federation!”
“What?” I gasped. “Is he kidding?”
“I can’t believe they’re broadcasting this,” Jana seethed.
“They’re saying Sturek blew up the lab on purpose!” Corin blurted.
“And the evidence about those attacks,” Robin added quietly.
Jana pulled my arm. “Is Sturek all right?”
“He’s fair. How are the rest of you holding up?”
The best I got was a shrug from Robin.
M’Giia shouldered away from me and went closer to the viewscreen, much too attentive to the Vanguard speaker’s words.
Robin was watching her too, and glanced at me, but I shook my head. Not here, not now.
“I don’t know what she sees in that bonehead talk,” Corin grumbled. “I know she’s hurting, but this is rotten.”
“Even though Starfleet Academy has stonewalled our requests for information,” the Vanguard guy went on, waving his arms like a preacher, “we know he was working the Bicea incident and we demand disclosure! We demand the Vulcan cadet be dismissed from the Academy as a security risk!”
A. cheer surged up from the forest of cadets to my right, and in the middle of them—it figured—Frank Malan.
I was a little gratified that most of the other cadets looked disgusted, but only a little.
“Sturek almost got killed!” Corin wailed. “And they want to hang him out to dry!”
“We’ve got to help him,” Jana declared.
Motioning to keep our voices down, I pulled Jana away and Corin and Robin came along with us.
