“She brought an unauthorized person aboard.” There was a meaningful pause. “If anyone finds out”
Stanger’s face grew hot. “Even if Lisa met someone interesting down there, she’d have the good sense not to take him up to her quarters. I think Kyle better calibrate his sensors.”
“Let’s hope so,” Vigelshevsky said, but he sounded unconvinced. “In the meantime, Kyle would really like to hear from her. He doesn’t want to have to put her on report he’s hoping it was some kind of mix-up.”
“I’m sure it is,” Stanger replied firmly, to let Vigelshevsky know the subject was closed. He eyed the Andorian, slumped against the tree, head resting on her knees. He’d have to deal with Lisa’s problem later. His priority was to get Lamia to sickbay and get her treated for alcohol poisoning. You’re just as bad for her as she is for you. Why don’t you break things off before it gets any worse?
He would have to do it. It was time to stop indulging himself, time to stop pretending he didn’t realize what was happening to him just as it had with Rosa. In the bar, it was clear that Lamia was becoming attracted to him.
It was time to stop things before anyone had a chance to hurt anyone else.
(You mean before she has a chance to hurt you, don’t you, Stanger?)
Yes, dammit, that’s exactly what I mean.
He’d have to firm with himself—and with her. He’d have to let her know exactly the way things were going to be. Later, of course, when she was feeling better.
(Coward)
To Vigelshevsky, he said, “I guess we’re ready to call it a night, then.”
“I’ll tell Kyle.”
Nguyen and her abductor beamed into the quarters she shared with Lamia. The lights were dimmed, so that they stood in twilight.
“The lights,” the man said, loosening his grip and pushing her forward, toward the panel on the wall. The painting fell from her arms; she barely avoided stumbling over it. “Turn them off.”
She turned her head just enough to see who stood behind her: an anonymous figure in a scarlet cloak, waving a phaser at her. Little Red Riding Hood, she thought crazily. The wolf can’t be far behind.…She moved toward the wall slowly. There was a connection her mind was trying to make out of all of this.
Adams. This man was Dr. Adams. Stanger had told her about the bodies on Tanis with their throats cut, just like the woman on Star Base Nine. Somehow, Adams must have gotten away and back onto the Enterprise. Stanger had told her how the man screamed at the sensation of light on his bare skin.
"Now,” Adams snarled. Even the dim light must have made him uncomfortable.
She pressed the wrong code deliberately. The room was flooded with bright light.
He screeched, covering his eyes, and ran at the wall, as if to turn off the lights himself. She stepped aside, and when he pushed on the panel, darkening the room, she tugged at his phaser. She wasn’t able to wrest it from him, but forced him to drop it. She could hear it slide across the floor. Adams scrambled after it.
Lisa didn’t follow. She wouldn’t have been able to see it in the dark, as he could. Her only hope was to turn on the light and blind him again before he could fire.
She did so, and was almost successful. She pulled away from the direction of the blast as it came, but the edge of it struck her, knocking her to the floor.
She was conscious, but temporarily paralyzed. She watched as Adams turned off the light, listened as he walked toward her, felt his thin, strong arms lift her and place her on the bed. It was impossible in the blackness to see his face, but she could sense him near her.
And then she heard a very strange sound the sound of polished metal being slid along a soft surface. It took her a moment to identify it as the sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath.
Adams made a sound of pure, sensual pleasure. She could feel the cold, sharp edge of the blade rest against the warm skin of her neck, just under the left ear.
Fear would have been the normal response. But she felt frustration to the point of anger: she could have missed all this. She could have left yesterday, for Colorado, where she belonged. Right now, she should be with Rajiv and Zia and Rakel, but instead she was on the Enterprise, having her throat cut. All because she thought she wanted a career. And now she would miss out on ever having a family.
The pressure against her neck increased gradually “ Why doesn’t he just get it over with? What does he think he is, a surgeon?” until she felt the blade break through the skin.
With all her mental strength, Lisa summoned back the image of horses in the snow. She closed her eyes to the pain and darkness, and tried not to feel what was happening to her.
* * *
“You could at least have come by sickbay if you knew you were going to drink.” Dr. M’Benga’s South African lilt had taken on a disapproving tone. He frowned down at Lamia, who was sitting up on one of the diagnostic beds. “Andorians have no business drinking alcohol anyway. You absorb it into the bloodstream too quickly. Do you realize all it takes to reach toxic levels?”
Lamia hung her head, which was just beginning not to hurt so badly after the injection M’Benga gave her. The room had finally stopped rotating, too. “Lisa was right. I shouldn’t have swished it around my gums.”
M’Benga stared, confused, and opened his mouth to say something else, but Lamia interrupted hastily: “I know. I should have come by for something. But I really hadn’t planned on drinking anything until I got down”
“Just a minute.” M’Benga got up, went into the pharmacy, and reappeared with a small bottle of pills. “Here. If you ever go on leave again, take these with you. One of these taken before you start drinking will slow down the rate of alcohol absorption into your blood.”
“I don’t ever intend to drink again,” Lamia said in a small voice. She was truly embarrassed in front of M’Benga and Stanger, who stood nearby. She slid off the bed onto her feet. “Thank you for your trouble, Doctor. Can I go to my quarters now?”
“Yes.” The disapproval on M’Benga’s dark face did not ease. “But you’re taking the pills. Another ounce of alcohol without the proper precautions and you could have died, young lady.”
“I’ll take them,” Lamia said, aware that she was flushing bright blue, “but I’ll never do anything stupid like that again.” At least, she thought morosely, not for a while. It was never long before she caught herself doing something irresponsible again.
“It’s really all my fault,” Stanger blurted, his voice strangely bitter. M’Benga and Lamia both frowned at him. “It really is. I encouraged her to drink. I was stupid. I didn’t realize how little alcohol she could handle.”
“That’s not true,” Lamia protested angrily. She didn’t need Stanger to take her blame, though she appreciated his offering.
M’Benga sighed. “Regardless of who’s at fault, I just want both of you to promise me it won’t happen again.”
She and Stanger exchanged guilty glances. “It won’t,” Lamia said. She meekly took the pills M’Benga proffered.
Outside sickbay, she and Stanger walked the same way for a while, since their quarters were both on D deck. As Lamia began to feel almost herself again, she sensed that something was definitely wrong with Stanger. Nothing that she could put her finger on, but he walked silently next to her, his expression troubled and withdrawn.
Could it really be that he felt that upset about what happened? That he was really so worried about me? The thought brought with it a warm flood of gratitude. They stepped onto the lift, and she looked over at him and smiled.
“I really am feeling better.”
He glanced at her and then dropped his gaze, his voice still sounding strained. “M’Benga said you could have died.”
She was flattered by his apparent anguish over what she felt was a minor incident. “M’Benga was being dramatic,” she said. It was partly true; she knew she hadn’t had a fatal amount. She had gotten terribly ill back in her Academy days from too much beer a
t a party, and she knew this time she wasn’t nearly as drunk. “I was just a little sick. I can be trusted not to kill myself.”
“Well, I knew you were upset about your family situation. I didn’t know if that had clouded your judgment a little.”
“Actually, I’m not that upset anymore. You and Lisa have been very nice to me. You’ve been a real friend.” She reached out and stroked his hand.
Startled, he pulled it away as if her touch had burned him.
“Jon!” she cried, half angry, half cajoling, unable to fathom his reaction. He seemed almost frightened. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”
The lift door opened and he stepped out quickly and started walking, so that she had to hurry to catch up to him. It’s not that you did anything, Lamia,” he said darkly. “It’s not you at all. It’s me.” He took a deep breath, tried to meet her eyes, and failed. “It’s just that I don’t think we should see each other socially. My life has enough complications as it is right now.”
“Complications?” In the rush of adrenaline, she entirely forgot about any lingering discomfort caused by the alcohol. She stopped in her tracks and stood seething, her fists clenched so tightly the knuckles seemed on the verge of popping through the skin. “Is that how you see me? As a complication?”
“Lamia, please.” He kept his voice low and glanced uneasily around as if embarrassed. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Come on.”
He reached for her arm, but she pulled it away angrily and started walking very fast. “You treated me like your friend, once, but when I try to be nice to you in return, you freeze up.” She threw her arms up in total exasperation. “What is wrong with you?”
His mustache twitched, but he said nothing.
“Come on, did I violate some sort of Terran taboo?”
“No.” He stopped abruptly as the corridor forked in two directions. “Look, I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? It’s late. I’m going to head for my cabin and try to get some sleep.”
“You’re going to leave it at this? After helping me about Tijra, you’re just suddenly going to tell me you’d rather not be my friend?” She didn’t, of course, believe it for an instant. He was acting strangely because she must have said or done something that so totally violated Terran custom that he couldn’t even bring himself to tell her about it. Certainly it couldn’t be the simple, cruel fact that he didn’t want to be friends.
“Yes,” he answered uncomfortably. “Look, be sure to buzz before you walk in on Lisa.”
She stiffened. Was this yet another insult? “What do you mean by that?”
“Just be sure to buzz,” he repeated, and disappeared in the direction of his quarters.
Humans! she wanted to scream in frustration, but she stood, stunned, and watched him go. No, it couldn’t be as he’d said, it simply couldn’t be. She’d had the strength to deal with the disowning because she’d found a new family of sorts in Stanger and Nguyen and now for him to suddenly say she meant no more than a stranger to him was as painful as reading Tijra’s message for the first time.
You are no longer ours.
Don’t think about it, don’t At least you’ve still got Lisa. She’s your friend. There’s always Lisa
She held on to the thought. She could always talk to Lisa and maybe this was for the best. Lamia had become so caught up, first with Tijra’s message and then with Stanger, that she’d been ignoring how quiet Lisa had been for the past day or so. She would show her friendship by trying to get Lisa to talk about what was bothering her. And in that way, Lamia could forget her own pain. She headed in the direction of their cabin.
The corridor lights were muted in deference to the concept of night. Lamia stopped at the door to her cabin and buzzed first, to permit Nguyen a second of privacy, then punched in the code that unlocked the door.
It slid open. At the same time, a cloaked figure pushed past her, causing her to stumble in the doorway.
“Hey!” she yelled, more from indignation than surprise. Humans on starships had impeccable manners; she had not been pushed so rudely in years. She recovered her balance and wheeled around, intending to pursue the unknown offender. Perhaps it was a thief—but then, why would anyone steal anything aboard the Enterprise? And why was the room behind her pitch black?
A low, soft moan caused her to peer back into the room and fumble for the light.
It revealed Nguyen, lying sprawled across the bed with blood on her throat.
Chapter Eight
KIRK WOKE IN the middle of the night, feeling unrefreshed after an uneasy sleep. Mendez and Adams had been foremost in his thoughts. While he still instinctively disliked Mendez for being a bully, at least now he understood the admiral’s desire for revenge. For all intents and purposes, Mendez was in the clear, and Adams had quite obviously demonstrated himself to be a cold-blooded murderer.
So why couldn’t Jim dismiss Adams’ accusations against the admiral?
It was still hours before he was scheduled to go on duty, but he rose from the bed and took a uniform from the closet. He stepped into the pants and pulled them up. Two of Mendez’s people, dead. Two researchers, dead. And how many more during the night on Star Base Nine?
Why are you still worried about anything that murderer said?
He was glad to have left Star Base Nine and Adams behind. He would like his involvement with the Tanis affair to be finished.
The intercom whistled. Kirk pulled the tunic over his head and punched the control. Vigelshevsky appeared on the screen, looking haggard.
“Still on duty, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked.
“Yes, sir,” Vigelshevsky answered listlessly. His pale beige eyes were bloodshot. “But Lieutenant Uhura’s scheduled to replace me in another half-hour.” He cleared his throat and made a bleak effort to sound military. “Message for you from Fleet HQ. On a scrambled channel. I was going to apologize again for waking you, but I can see there’s no need”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Vigelshevsky’s pale image faded away, replaced by the tanned, hearty one of Quince Waverleigh.
“Quince.” Kirk couldn’t help returning Waverleigh’s smile. Talking to Quince cleared his head like a gulp of fresh air. “What news have you got for me?”
“Hot stuff, Jimmy. Hot stuff.” Waverleigh’s gray eyes sparkled. It was impossible to tell if he really had news or if he was just pulling Kirk’s leg for the hell of it. “But if you’re looking to lynch Rod Mendez, you may consider it disappointing.”
Kirk sighed. “Don’t count on it. I’m beginning to reconsider my opinion of him. He told me one of the researchers killed on Tanis was his son.”
“Dang it all!” Quince feigned exasperation. “You’ve gone and stole my thunder. I was supposed to say that.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, at least you can understand now why Mendez was hot to bring Adams to justice. Rod had no living family, outside his son. He took advantage of his rank and came to bring Adams back. None of the brass raised a stink about his going to Star Base Nine, since he’s considered pretty responsible. They knew he wouldn’t try anything stupid like getting even with Adams on his own terms.”
“Adams has escaped on Star Base Nine,” Kirk said shortly. “I take it you haven’t heard yet. He killed two of Mendez’s men.”
Quince’s gray eyes dulled and became serious. He considered what Kirk had said for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was no longer breezy. “They never tell me anything here.” He paused. “That’s a lot of people to expose to Adams’ illness. They’d better get a vaccination program together ASAP.”
“There is no vaccine. But our people are working on it.”
Quince shook his head. “I wish them luck, then. But there’s more news, Jimmy. I do have a few tidbits, mostly about Adams.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“First off, Adams has a criminal record. Fraud, embezzlement, that sort of thing. Nothing violent like murder, though. He operated under
a couple of aliases. He was on the lam from the Denebians when he disappeared, apparently to go to Tanis. The Ph.D. in microbiology is no joke. Most of his scams involved convincing prospective investors that he’d just made some kind of biological breakthrough—some new cure or bioproduct—and he happens to be a whiz at computers to boot. Your basic criminal genius.”
“So maybe he was working with honest researchers on Tanis,” Kirk said, “and something went wrong.” He paused. “Can you think of any reason why Adams would want to develop a virus harmful against either Vulcans or Romulans?”
A curious expression passed over Waverleigh’s face. “Funny you should say that. One fact I uncovered about his past is that he was on a ship that made the mistake of stopping for repairs on a planet too close to the Neutral Zone. The Romulans disputed ownership of the planet, and said so by way of attack. As a result, Adams has artificial intestines. I suppose he wouldn’t be kindly disposed to Romulans.”
“Quince. I don’t know how to thank you. Could you relay that information about Adams to whoever handles his case?”
“Will do.” Waverleigh shrugged. “No problem, Jimmy. I’m just disappointed that I didn’t dig up anything more exciting. I was hoping for some intrigue. There is that Starfleet file on Tanis, but it’s probably just some intelligence on Adams’ latest scam. Admiral Tsebili has clearance to look at the file, so I’ve turned it over to him.”
Kirk’s stomach knotted. “Are you sure that’s wise? I don’t think this should go any further than the two of us.”
“Relax.” Quince snickered at the implication. “Adams really got you paranoid, didn’t he? You know you can’t trust anything he’s told you. Besides, I’ve known Bili for years. We can trust him to be discreet.”
“I hope so.” There was no more time to worry about it; Kirk’s eyes were drawn to the message flashing at the bottom of the screen. “Is that everything, Quince? I’ve got to go. My sickbay’s trying to get through to me with an urgent message.”
“That’s everything. Bili should have something for me by the end of today, maybe tomorrow. Translated into your time—between six and twenty-four hours. You’ll hear from me as soon as I know something. Old Yeller says hello. Waverleigh out.”
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