She stepped into infrared darkness. Dear God, don’t let him be dead. Don’t let me have killed him.…
The bed was empty.
“Adams?”
There was a noise behind her. She turned to look around, and for one brief second before she lost consciousness, she was surprised by the strength of the blow he delivered to her head.
Chapter Four
ADAMS’ BREATH WAS coming fast as he bent over the blond woman. Sometimes the euphoria came over him powerfully, stealing air from his lungs and making his heart hammer against his chest, but it also made him strong. Still, as he studied her limp form, he was glad she seemed to be unconscious—she looked too capable of putting up a fight. He preferred to be sure, however; he searched for the control on her belt unit. The field tingled uncomfortably against his fingers, rather like a mild electric shock, but he forced himself to push hard against it and switched off the control.
No matter that it would cause her to be exposed to the microbe. There were far more important concerns on Adams’ mind now. Like not wanting to die. And if he let them take him to a star base, death would come sooner than even he had anticipated. No, he wouldn’t let them take him there. He was better off fighting the microbe.
It occurred to him, then, that he was not exactly sure how to know someone was unconscious without using a tricorder. On instinct, he lifted the woman’s head in one hand and peeled back an eyelid with the other. The eye was rolled back, so that all he could see was the white and the merest edge of a blue iris. Of course she’s unconscious, a tiny remnant of rational mind told him. If it were a trick, she would have attacked you already. And his new mind answered shrilly: I have to know, I have to know… .
His fingers touched something warm and sticky. He pulled them away, startled, letting the woman’s head drop back, and lifted his hand to his face.
Blood. The scent of it was heady, metallic, sensual. He touched a finger to his tongue and closed his eyes in ecstasy at the taste of iron, recalling with an odd nostalgia how it had been with Lara, and Yoshi.… For a moment, his head swam so he thought he might faint. And then he managed to collect himself. It was tempting, too tempting, to drop to his knees and lap up every drop that oozed from the small nick on the back of her head. Her head must have struck the table with such force that the field suit was an inadequate cushion.
Reluctantly, he stood up, leaving the woman on the floor. As painful as it was to pull himself away, he had to move fast. The lights outside the chamber in sickbay dazzled him, so that he could not see anything beyond the barrier. For all he knew, someone could be watching him right now, and he had no way of knowing. No, he had to leave her, and quickly, but he comforted himself with the thought that there would be others. After all, a ship the size of the Enterprise carried four hundred crewpersons. Adams smiled to himself. Yes, there would definitely be others.
He went over to the exit. When the doctor was leaving the chamber after preparing his patient for the computer verification test, Adams had been careful to memorize the code the doctor had punched into the panel to open the door. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to the doctor that his patient’s eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness to make out the numbers.
Now Adams entered the code with trembling fingers and was rewarded when the door began to slowly rise.
The euphoria flooded him anew. He would make it. He wouldn’t die. Mendez wouldn’t have the pleasure of killing him. No, Adams would find a way to survive on the Enterprise until he could escape.… Suddenly, he felt better, stronger. Incredibly strong.
Yet as the door rose higher, he cried out at the pain. The passageway was filled with intense ultraviolet light that cut through him like a thousand sharp knives. He raised his arms, shielding his eyes as best he could, but the agony engulfed his entire body. It was like being stabbed and burned at the same time.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, soaked the sleeves of his shirt; still, Adams managed to stumble forward blindly. He staggered on, unseeing, until he bumped into another door. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping, and groped for the code panel. It took him several seconds to enter what he prayed was the correct code.
“Invalid entry,” the computer said in a polite but unsympathetic tone. “Please reenter.”
Adams made small, desperate noises in the back of his throat. He put his face right next to the panel and forced one eye open, gritting his teeth. Carefully, as slowly as he could bear, he punched in the same three digits as before, the ones that had opened the first panel.
At first, nothing happened. Adams fell shrieking and clawing against the panel. “Open, damn you! Open! I don’t want to die”
And then he could hear a muffled buzz outside, in sickbay, and the voice of the computer saying, in perfectly simulated alarm, “Unauthorized exit from isolation! Unauthorized exit!”
There was a whoosh as the panel behind him descended, cutting him off from the safety and darkness of the isolation chamber. He was trapped.
Adams sank to the floor, buried his head in his knees, and sobbed.
“Will she be all right?” Kirk asked gently. There were a hundred other questions he wanted answered as well, but now was not the time. He waited patiently as McCoy paced in front of the isolation unit across from Adams. This one was lit, and Christine Chapel lay unconscious inside.
The doctor’s arms were folded tightly to his chest, and his blue eyes were shooting sparks. He was pacing back and forth so fast in front of the captain that Kirk was beginning to get dizzy from watching him.
“What, you mean the head wound?” McCoy responded irritably. “She’ll be fine. A very mild concussion, a tiny laceration of the scalp. She ought to come to in a minute.”
Kirk nodded silently. No point in pushing the doctor when he got like this.
“So don’t you want to know what happened?” McCoy stopped pacing abruptly and glared at him. “Aren’t you even going to ask?”
Kirk raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “I was waiting for you to wind down a little.”
“Wind down?”
“You seemed a little upset.”
“Upset?” McCoy snarled. "Upset? You’re damn right I’m upset! When they string Adams up, I’ll volunteer to supply the rope. He didn’t have to expose her. He could have restrained her without turning off the suit, the son of a bitch.” He kicked the computer console for emphasis.
“Any chance she won’t come down with it?”
“Sure.” McCoy forced himself to calm down a little. “There’s always a chance. We ought to know something soon.” He slumped into a chair next to the captain. “Sorry, Jim.”
“It’s okay. I might even help with that rope myself.”
McCoy gave an unconvincing imitation of a smile that faded quickly.
“Now suppose you tell me what happened, Doctor.”
McCoy sighed deeply. “I’ll try to make a long story short. The alarm sounded in my quarters and Security. By the time I got here, Esswein had already turned off the alarm. The computer indicated that Adams was trapped in the exit.” He ran a hand over his face. “How he could have gotten hold of the exit code is beyond me”
“I thought you were going to make this short,” Kirk said.
“Sorry. We suited up, Esswein took care of Adams, I took care of Chris. I reprogrammed the matrix to seal up the nick in her suit and got her to this other chamber. That’s it. Adams was no trouble—the light had him in too much pain for him to put up a fight. Chris was out, so I couldn’t ask her what happened, but it’s pretty obvious. Adams tricked her inside somehow, then struck her so she hit her head.”
“Did Adams have anything to say for himself?”
McCoy shrugged. “Not much that made sense. He was incoherent—and not just from the pain. The disease has affected his mind. He was manic, raving. I gave him a mild sedative.”
“Is he still awake?”
“Yeah, if you want to question him. He’s calmer now, but he still might be a little s
haken up. Question at your own risk.”
McCoy led him over to Adams’ chamber and handed Kirk an infrared visor from the nearby console. “Here, take this. I’m gonna keep an eye on Chris, if you don’t mind. I’d like to be there when she wakes up.” The doctor went back to the other side of the room.
Kirk put on the visor and snapped on the intercom. Behind the barrier, Adams sat on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking himself gently. The pendant around his neck swung slowly back and forth. He was quite oblivious to the tubing attached to his arm.
“If you’re an innocent man, Dr. Adams,” the captain asked quietly, “then why were you running away?”
Startled, Adams stopped rocking and squinted toward Kirk. Something about his gaunt, shadowed face gave the impression he had been weeping and for a moment, Kirk half expected him to burst into tears.
But Adams controlled himself. “You must believe what I tell you,” he said with dignity. “Because if you don’t help me, I’ll die.”
“The lab is working round the clock on a cure, Dr. Adams” Kirk began.
“I didn’t mean the disease.” Adams hugged himself tighter and shuddered.
“What did you mean? I have no patience anymore”
“Mendez,” Adams answered abruptly.
“Mendez? Admiral Mendez? You know him?”
Adams nodded and looked away. “How soon will we reach the star base?”
“About ten hours. But what did you mean about Mendez?”
For a moment, Adams was silent.
“I can leave,” Kirk said shortly. “You’re the one who needs help.” He took a few purposely loud steps away from the barrier.
“Wait!” Adams sat forward on the edge of the bed. “I need your protection.”
“Protection? From what—or whom?”
“Mendez,” Adams said.
“Why?”
“I work for him.”
“You were working for Starfleet?” Kirk felt his body tense. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, even if the computer and McCoy both verified it.
“I didn’t say that. I said I worked for Mendez. And others.”
“What others?”
“Even I don’t know. I’m just paid to do my job. Mendez is my only contact. He’s trying to set me up, don’t you understand? Now that something has gone wrong with the project, he wants me out of the way so that there’s no chance of my talking. If I’m turned over to Starfleet, I’ll be killed before there’s ever any trial.”
“Biowarfare is illegal,” Kirk said. “Why would a Starfleet admiral risk court-martial and criminal prosecution”
“Ask him. I don’t know.” Adams drew his knees back up to his chest and huddled miserably on the bed. “If you turn me in, I’m a dead man. It’s the same as killing me outright.” His wild, pleading eyes looked out blindly at the brightness. “You could tell them I died. That’s it; tell them I died, and I didn’t talk”
“I can’t tell them that. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—they’d never believe it.”
“You’ve got to”
“Why not get to the bottom of this?” Kirk asked. “Why not find out who else is involved? Testify against Mendez. Starfleet will see that you’re protected. I can verify your accusation.”
“No,” Adams almost sobbed. “Starfleet will see to it that I’m killed. Just say I died. Don’t you understand? There’s too many of them—and if you try to start an investigation, they’ll kill you, too.”
Too many? In Starfleet? “I don’t believe you.” Kirk turned away angrily.
It was not quite the truth. The truth was that he didn’t want to believe.
The rec lounge was dimly lit and deserted except for two. For most it was late, and those who had to report early the next morning had already cleared out. The night shifters were on duty.
McCoy stifled another yawn.
“Go to bed, Doctor.” Kirk took another sip of his brandy and set the glass on the table. “I’m keeping you up past your bedtime.”
“Nonsense,” McCoy lied, taking another sip of bourbon. He wasn’t talking about it, but it was clear he was worrying about Christine Chapel, although he was doing his best not to show it. “I’ll go when I’m ready, thanks.” He leaned over the table surreptitiously, as if worried nonexistent others in the room might overhear. “Did I tell you I heard my first Iowa joke the other day? As a native, I’m sure you can appreciate”
Kirk groaned and slumped lower in his chair, one hand firmly around his snifter of brandy, the other pulled wearily across his eyes. “You’ve had too much to drink, Bones.”
“Not nearly enough,” the doctor answered tartly. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“You’re still sober enough to be perceptive.” Jim smiled faintly. “Spare me, Doctor. I heard ‘em all when I was a kid.”
McCoy dropped the facade of good humor. “All right, Jim, I’m just trying to cheer you up. Now, you can stay up all night while I go get some sleep, or you can spill what’s eating you. I assume this has something to do with Adams?”
Kirk asked the question before looking up. “Do you think he’s capable of telling the truth?”
“About the murders? No way.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant. Let me rephrase it. Do you think Adams might tell the truth in order to save his own skin?”
“Well, now, that’s different but I’d be tempted to take anything he said with a grain of salt. Plus the disease is beginning to impair him mentally. His lucid periods are becoming shorter. I don’t think it’ll be long before he’s delirious.” McCoy frowned at him. “But you didn’t come here to talk to me about Adams’ mental health. Out with it.”
“I told Adams we were turning him in to the nearest star base.” Kirk watched McCoy intently for a reaction. “He begged me not to turn him in. He said that Mendez would kill him.”
McCoy snickered. “Come on. Paranoia must be a side effect of the disease.”
Kirk didn’t smile.
“Give me a break, Jim. Why would a Starfleet admiral like Mendez want to kill a small-time researcher like Adams?”
“So that word won’t get out that Starfleet is secretly financing a biowarfare facility.”
“Well that’s possible. I did see Fleet-issue stuff down there but now that I think about it, almost anybody can get their hands on surplus Fleet equipment.”
“I’ve been trying to dismiss it myself, but dammit, Bones, the man makes a convincing argument. Why do you think they told us not to answer the distress signal?”
McCoy’s smirk faded; he became silent.
“I don’t want to believe the man, Doctor. I’d like to believe that Starfleet would never get mixed up in something like this.” He paused. “But if they wouldn’t, then why would they order us not to go to Tanis? And why is Adams so terrified of Mendez?”
“Again, he’s not the trustworthy” McCoy began.
“Are you saying I should ignore this?” Kirk folded his arms. “Be a good soldier and not question?”
“Not at all. Don’t ignore it.” All trace of McCoy’s sarcasm was gone. “You’ve got friends in high places—how about calling one of your old drinking buddies at headquarters? What’s-his-name. Waverleigh. Call him and ask him to check it out.”
“And what,” Kirk said slowly, “do I do if Adams turns out to be right?”
“I don’t have an answer for you on that one, Jim.”
On the viewscreen, Quince Waverleigh looked a good twenty pounds heavier than he’d been during his Academy days, but he still looked every inch the ladies’ man, with a headful of shocking red-gold hair, gray eyes, and even, white teeth displayed against a perfect tan. Despite his reputation at the Academy as a hell-raiser, Quince’s grades were in the top percentile. He was three years ahead of Kirk, and decided it was his mission in life to teach his overly serious underclassman how to lighten up. To his frustration, Kirk staunchly resisted his efforts, but in spite of the
ir differences of opinion as to life-style, they became fast friends. Later, when Waverleigh captained the Arlington, he’d raised hell of a different sort, receiving the Palm Leaf with Cluster twice. He was the youngest man in the Fleet to hold the rank of rear admiral—so far, at least, Kirk promised himself. Kirk took every opportunity to take shore leave at the same time and place as the Arlington: Quince’s tall tales were not to be missed.
Quince’s desk was cluttered, not with work, but with mementos: his medals, of course, prominently displayed with typical egotism; cat’s-eye marbles; a nineteenth-century dueling pistol with inlaid ebony handle; a stuffed creature about the size of a large cat that looked to Jim like a cross between an opossum and a turtle; and a holo of Quince’s family. The holo was a beach scene of mother and children. The woman was an exotic beauty, a blonde with Oriental features, the little girl strawberry blond like her father, the boy with platinum hair. He was throwing a ball into the air. His mother smiled broadly and the sister’s mouth made an O as the three of them focused on the ascending ball. The perfect family, Kirk thought, and for only an instant, he felt a twinge of jealousy.
“Jimmy! What’s up?” Quince’s drawl was thick as taffy; he was a west Texas native who managed to resist losing his regional accent.
“Hi, Admiral. You look like life’s agreeing with you.”
“It is, it is.” Quince leaned forward and found a clean spot to settle an elbow on. “I take it from your use of rank this isn’t a social call.”
“I’m afraid not. I need a favor.”
“I hope it involves something adventurous.”
“Maybe,” Kirk answered. “It’s about Admiral Mendez.”
“Rod Mendez? Head of weapons research? Huh!” Quince snorted contemptuously. “Another paper-pusher par excellence. Pardon my French, but you couldn’t give me that ass-kissing job. He’s pandering all the time to Command, to political lobbyists.… But enough of my opinion. What do you want to know about him?”
Kirk told him Adams’ story. Somewhere in the middle of it, Waverleighs expression sobered and he started tracing the holo with his finger. When Kirk finished, Quince said, “That’s a mighty shaky charge, coming from a very questionable source. Adams’ current predicament isn’t going to help any charges stick. You have to admit, they’re pretty outrageous. To accuse an admiral, especially one with Mendez’s reputation” He shook his head. “But I get the funny feeling you believe this guy.”
Bloodthirst Page 7
