“Now that I can see you better, you look sick. You don’t have anything catching, do you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He started walking faster, dragging her toward a copse of trees.
“Hey, slow down.” She pulled her arm away and stood, swaying. “Look, let’s just forget it, okay?”
He kept walking.
“Hey, I’m not going with you. And I want my robe back.”
He stopped and faced her; he would have kept on walking if he hadn’t feared she would draw her phaser and shoot him in the back.
“I need it just for tonight. I can return it to your ship tomorrow.”
“We’re warping out tonight. Besides, I’m not sure I trust you. How do I know you’re really from the Enterprise?”
Her hand hovered over her knife. Adams was amused that she seemed to prefer it to the phaser on her belt.
“You don’t.” Beneath the cloak, he drew his own weapon. He barely had time to set it on stun before she had the knife in her hand. She would have thrown it at him if he hadn’t fired first, and he had no doubts it would have killed him.
Red collapsed into a lanky heap on the soft grass.
Adams berated himself silently. Setting the phaser on stun was foolish; the second had nearly cost him his life. But he had his reasons for wanting her body intact. After all, there was the scrambler, and what looked like a small subspace transmitter attached to her belt. Perhaps the transmitter was strong enough to broadcast into the heart of the Romulan Empire itself.
And he could certainly use the knife.
Chapter Seven
LISA SAT ON the fountain’s edge with the painting in her lap and watched the iridescent blue water leap against the night sky. The moon was false—too perfect a match for Earth’s—but the rest of the surroundings were authentic, which soothed her. The grass was native and imperfect, growing in irregular clumps, and the night air was a little too chilly to be comfortable. She closed her eyes and felt the cool spray against her face. Probably the best thing about it all was being alone.
She had wanted to be alone ever since she’d heard from Rajiv. Seeing him again, even in a taped message, had brought on a sweet sense of melancholy. She wanted to sit for hours thinking of what he had said. Thinking of him, of his serene dark eyes, of the way he looked when he smiled. Yet at the same time, the decision he had asked her to make brought a sense of pressure and panic.
It was a decision she did not want to make. She felt both touched and resentful that he had asked her.
The memory of him brought with it thoughts of Paolo, Zia, and Rakel. The month in the Colorado mountains was one of the happiest memories Lisa had of her life. Of trees, and riding horses in the new snow. They had seemed like a family then.
Lisa had never had a family. Her parents had separated after their two-year contract expired. Lisa lived with her father and never heard from her mother, a researcher who volunteered for a deep-space mission. When he died a few years later, Lisa was shuttled from relative to distant relative. If her mother had ever asked to see her in that time, Lisa was not told. Even now, she did not know if her mother was still living.
She had loved Colorado. She would have done anything to go back to it. Or so she thought, until Rajiv’s letter.
He was leaving the Fleet, he said, to join the group, and he was asking Lisa to do the same. The others had consented to welcome her. Group marriage, a built-in family. Zia was expecting her first child in September.
Lisa was thrilled at the invitation—until she realized exactly what he was asking. He was asking her to come to Colorado, to the ranch, to live. Everyone had decided that the family would consist of permanent members, for the sake of future children. Surely Lisa of all people would understand that.
He was asking her to give up Starfleet.
He might as well have asked for an arm, or a leg. Starfleet had been more than a natural choice for those without families, or those who sought to be rid of what families they had. For Nguyen it was an opportunity to gain a sense of pride in herself. A chance to accomplish, to bolster self-esteem. And it had occurred to her that traveling across the galaxy might increase her chances of hearing news of her mother.
Lisa shivered. The combination of cold spray from the fountain and the night air chilled her. A walk would warm her up; perhaps she would walk through the sparse bit of forest, and pretend she was walking through tall mountain pine.
She stood up and sighed, putting the painting under one arm. There seemed to be no way of making a choice. She couldn’t give up the family, and she certainly couldn’t give up Starfleet. Any attempts to plead with Rajiv to consider letting her be an occasional member would be met with those quietly disapproving eyes. He was willing to leave the Fleet. He could ask no less of her. And surely she understood how unfair it would be to the others.
She started walking toward the trees, careful not to stumble over the uneven clumps of grass. Even though she was glad no one else was out enjoying the evening sky, she thought it odd that the park was deserted. Everyone else probably preferred the warmer bars. Since she wasn’t going to come to a decision tonight, she might as well look for Stanger and Lamia. Maybe she should confide in the Andorian about it. Lamia seemed hotheaded and irresponsible sometimes, but that was just Andorian biochemistry and culture. She had a sensible head on her shoulders. But Lisa hadn’t wanted to bother her, in her less cynical moments figuring that Lamia was just putting on a good show about getting over that business with her family.
The grass grew sparser near the stand of trees, and the light of the city filtered through, throwing long shadows. Lisa stopped and put her hand on the first tree she came to. The bark was rough and fibrous, and she leaned forward to smell it. A clean pungent scent, but nothing like Terran pine. She began to pick her way slowly toward the city. The patch of forest grew thicker, until she could not see her feet. The ground was still uneven, and she shuffled her boots so that she would not stumble.
Halfway through, her right boot struck something large and yielding. She threw an arm out to steady herself against a tree and winced at the thud as the painting hit the ground. Slowly, she prodded the object again with her foot. It moved a little, then fell back heavily against the soft ground.
It was a body. She almost panicked, but scolded herself back to rationality. Just a drunk, from one of the bars, passed out. She would have liked to ignore it and keep on walking, but the only right thing to do was to be sure that the drunk was all right. For all she knew, it could be Lamia or Stanger. She squatted down next to the body.
“Are you okay?” She would have felt better if she could have heard snoring, but there was no sound at all. She fumbled for a wrist. From the feel, she judged it to be human and female. But she could not get a pulse.
That did not frighten her particularly; she knew it was sometimes difficult to get a wrist pulse on a female. She crouched down closer and felt for the neck.
Her hand found the head and very gently followed down the side of the face, past the ear, under the jaw. When she got lower, she felt something warm and wet. She pressed down, feeling for the artery, and her hand slipped and touched something hard. A sensation of extreme cold traveled down her spine as Lisa realized she was feeling the woman’s exposed trachea.
She drew her hand away, sickened. It was not the blood or even the gaping wound in the woman’s neck that made her shudder, Nguyen was resolutely stoic about such things. It was the fact that someone had been able to do such a thing to another living being. In the feeble moonlight, she couldn’t see what covered her hand, but she knew nevertheless. Calm. Calm. Be calm. She wiped it on the grass, stood up, and reached for her communicator.
A steely arm encircled her neck before she could flip the communicator grid open. She was too surprised to feel panic. She threw her arms up and tried to pry the arm away until something cold and hard was pressed to her temple: a phaser. Nguyen dropped one hand to her belt and realized the weapon against her head was
her own. She stopped struggling.
The voice speaking directly behind her head was male, calm, not unpleasant.
“You’re from a starship.”
Nguyen moved her head up and down a fraction of a millimeter; the arm around her throat was too tight for her to speak. She slid one leg backward, cautiously. If she could just find one of his legs, pull him off balance But they were hidden in heavy folds of velvet.
“Your communicator,” he said. “Call your ship. Tell them you have a package you need beamed directly to your quarters.”
“What package?” she asked, trying desperately to think of a way to stall him. “They can’t be fooled into thinking we’re inanimate”
“The picture you dropped,” the man said, pulling her backward so that she tottered. “Tell them you’re tired of carrying it. You want it beamed to your quarters.” He nudged it with his foot, and she could hear it scraping across the ground until it lay at her feet.
If you hurt it, you son of a The thought was interrupted by an eerier one: How in the worlds did he know it was there? How could he see it?
“Here.” He loosened his grip just enough for her to raise the communicator to her face. “Call them.”
Now I have him, she thought. Give Vigelshevsky a Code Yellow and Tomson will have people waiting in the transporter room. If I can just make it sound casual enough.
He ground the phaser hard into her temple as if he read her thoughts. “Say anything else, and you’re dead. No codes, no dropping hints. Believe me, you are expendable. Just as the woman on the ground was.”
Nguyen couldn’t stop herself from looking down in the darkness, though she was grateful she could not make out the body.
He squeezed her neck so tightly she began to gag, then relaxed the pressure. “Call.”
She flipped open the grid. “Nguyen to Enterprise.”
“Vigelshevsky here. Tired of liberty so soon, Lisa?”
“Not at all. Actually, I was just wondering if Kyle would beam a package up for me.” She sounded stiff, unnatural, and wondered if her captor noticed. But the pressure around her neck did not increase.
“I’ll notify Kyle. Vigelshevsky out”
“Wait!” she almost shouted, then forced her voice to be calm. Certainly Vigelshevsky must have heard something odd in her tone. The communications officer did not terminate the link, but silently waited for explanation. “I—I have a special favor to ask. Could you ask him to beam it directly to my quarters?”
“That’s a little unusual,” Vigelshevsky answered quietly. He had noticed.
“It would save me a trip. Could you check with him?” Nguyen asked with forced joviality. Please figure it out, Vigelshevsky, for God’s sake, please read my mind.
“Okay.” The communications officer’s tone was dubious. “Hold on.”
She held her breath and waited. Good God, what if Kyle wouldn’t do it? What then? Would this crazy scatter her molecules all over the park? She held her breath and waited. With each passing second, she imagined the pressure against her throat increased until at last she could bear it no longer.
“He’ll do it,” Vigelshevsky said at last. “Apparently there’s no regulation against beaming objects intraship. But he said not to get mad at him if he loses it inside a bulkhead.”
“Tell him I promise.” She felt both relieved and disappointed by his answer. The arm tightened around her neck; time for the conversation to end.
“Thanks, Vigelshevsky. Nguyen out.”
She shut her communicator and replaced it carefully on her belt. Within seconds, she heard the hum of the transporter near her feet.
“Pick it up.” The man pushed her to her knees. She groped for the painting, found it, and wrapped both arms around it as he knelt behind her and circled his arms firmly around her waist. Together they were caught up in the beam.
A chill breeze sighed through the branches, carrying on it the smell of blood.
Kirk had finally drifted off to sleep when the intercom whistle wakened him.
“Sorry to bother, Captain, but Admiral Mendez is calling from star base. He says it’s urgent.”
Kirk sat up, made instantly alert by Vigelshevsky’s tone of voice. Mendez’s agitated face appeared on the screen.
“Admiral. Is there some problem?” Kirk’s tone was far more civil than the last time; while he still disliked the admiral, he found it difficult to maintain his hostility toward him after learning of his son.
But Mendez seemed barely able to contain his rage. His huge shoulders hunched forward; his fists were clenched tightly. “More than a problem,” he said through gritted teeth. “Adams has escaped.”
“Escaped? But Dr. McCoy told me the containment methods”
“Were foolproof, I know.” Mendez waved Kirk’s comment away impatiently. “He got away while my people were transporting him to my vessel. The area was closed off and darkened, so no one was there to stop him before he transported out of the medical facility.” He stopped abruptly and lowered his voice. “ Two people, Kirk. Two of my people were killed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Jim said. He knew what it was like to lose a crewperson: the feeling of ultimate blame, of helplessness He found his dislike of the man easing.
Mendez did not seem to hear him. “I knew Jacobi’s father. I have to call him and tell him.” He stopped for a moment to gather himself, then continued quietly. “Are you still so willing to believe in Adams’ innocence?”
“I’m truly sorry about your people, Admiral. But it wasn’t so much that I believed in Adams’ innocence, but in his right”
“I know.” Mendez half turned away in frustration.
Kirk was at a loss. “Is there anything I can do, Admiral? The Enterprise can help in the search.”
The admiral shook his huge head, his anger turned to resignation. “No.” He looked up at Kirk. “There’s no reason for the Enterprise to be involved in this matter any further. Your people have already been placed at risk once, at my order.”
“I appreciate that, Admiral,” Kirk said, quite sincerely. “But we stand ready to help if you need us.”
“Do you have anyone down on the surface now?” Mendez asked.
“A handful on leave.”
“Get them aboard now. Adams is down there somewhere. If I were you, I’d get my people off star base before there’s any chance of the disease spreading.”
“I’ll do that, sir,” Kirk answered. “We’ll warp out as soon as I can get all my people up.”
He had no way of knowing that he was already too late.
“Are you feeling any better?” Stanger asked solicitously. He was feeling quite a bit of guilt by this time. He had not realized the effect such a tiny bit of alcohol would have on an Andorian’s system, else he would not have encouraged Lamia back in the bar.
The attempt to find a dance hall had given way to a need to find Lamia some fresh air. She would not admit to feeling ill, but when Stanger suggested they take a stroll instead and try to find Lisa, she had jumped at the chance. They’d barely made it to the ring of trees when Lamia had made it clear she wanted some privacy.
Stanger rubbed his arms and steadfastly ignored the sounds of gagging that came from a few yards away. The night was colder than it was on most star bases, but perhaps that would help to clear Lamia’s head. He felt dreadfully guilty that he didn’t have an antihangover pill, not even an aspirin, to offer her. Not that it would stay down, anyway.
When she emerged from the shadows again, he could see even in the thin light that her face was a paler shade than usual, and that she was shaky. “Come on. Let’s get you up to sickbay, or tomorrow you’ll be even sorrier. Dr. McCoy can give you something to keep you from getting any sicker.”
“No,” she said, her voice thin but resolute. “Let’s call Lisa first and tell her we’re leaving. Otherwise, she might worry about us.”
Stanger raised his eyebrows. “What could possibly happen to the two of us down here?”
“I don’t know.” Lamia closed her eyes and swayed where she stood; he went over to her and took an elbow.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll call her. But first, you sit.”
He lowered her next to a tree before taking out his communicator and setting it to Lisa’s frequency. “Stanger to Nguyen Lisa, this is Jon. Come in, please.”
A hailing override whistled shrilly in his face; he nearly dropped the communicator. “What the”
“Vigelshevsky here. Sorry to interrupt your conversation, Mr. Stanger, but it’s imperative that everyone get up to the ship right away.”
Stanger frowned. “We’ve still got three hours of leave left. What’s the rush?”
“The captain didn’t tell me, but from the way he’s acting, it must be pretty serious.”
Stanger sighed. It was just as well; if Vigelshevsky hadn’t called when he did, Stanger would have called and requested a beam-up himself. The next three hours weren’t going to be much fun, regardless of where he spent them. “Could you contact Ensign Nguyen for us? She’s supposed to be with our group, but we got separated. Ensign Lamia here isn’t feeling well and I’d like to get her up to sickbay ASAP”
“Nguyen’s already on board,” Vigelshevsky answered, with such an odd note in his voice that Stanger immediately asked:
“Is she okay?” When no answer came, he added, “Lisa and I are good friends. If something’s wrong, she’d want me to know.”
“Well,” Vigelshevsky answered reluctantly, “if you’re her friend, you’d better talk to her. She’s in trouble.”
“ Lisa? You’re kidding. What for?”
“She tricked Kyle into beaming her directly to her quarters. They could both get a demerit for that.”
Stanger shook his head in disbelief. “It’s got to be some kind of mistake. That doesn’t sound like Lisa at all.”
“And—swear you won’t repeat this, ever”
“I swear,” Stanger said indignantly. “Look, I said I was her friend. I’m not the type to talk behind someone’s back.”
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