“Dr. Adams,” Khaefv remarked dryly, “does not look very much to me like a man who has been cured.”
“It’s true,” Adams croaked haggardly. “He’s withholding it so I’ll talk.”
Khaefv glanced from Adams to Kirk with an expression very like admiration for a worthy opponent.
“I’m sure you realize by now that Adams is a criminal. The Federation hasn’t broken its own laws on biowarfare. The R-virus was developed illegally, and I’m trying to repair the damage.” Kirk gazed intently at him with what he hoped was his sincerest expression; if there were only some way to reach inside Khaefv’s skull and show that he was telling the truth “Believe me, Subcommander, we both have the same aim: to destroy the threat posed by the R-virus.”
“How very interesting,” Khaefv murmured, trying to seem disinterested, but Kirk caught the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.
“Suppose we compromise and meet someplace neutral to destroy the R-virus?”
“We can just as easily destroy it aboard our ship,” Khaefv countered.
Kirk half smiled and shrugged apologetically. “Subcommander, you can appreciate the Federation’s concern about a virus that affects Vulcanoids.” Surely he was giving nothing away; the Romulans no doubt were planning to test whether Vulcans were affected by the virus. And Vulcan was the backbone of the Federation. “A neutral area would be best.”
“I suppose you consider your ship a neutral area,” Khaefv said acerbically.
“I was thinking of Tanis base.”
Khaefv considered for a moment. “Frankly, Captain Kirk, we have absolutely no way of knowing whether the sample you bring us contains the R-virus. And certainly no way to be sure that it is the only sample left in existence. There could be hundreds of vials of it on your ship or anywhere else in Federation space.” He smiled humorlessly. “I would be very foolish to accept your offer.”
“Dr. Adams and I would be willing to submit to a verifier scan,” Kirk said, desperate, but he knew from the cold in Khaefv’s eyes that the matter was closed.
“I am sure you are a man of honor"” there was not a trace of sarcasm in Khaefv’s tone—but as you mentioned, Dr. Adams is a criminal, and may have misled you. And verifier scans are not one hundred percent conclusive, especially with certain personality types.” He paused, and a subtle hardness crept into his expression. “No, Captain, I cannot agree to your proposal. The prisoners will be questioned, then executed. I regret that we could not come to an agreement.” He signaled again to his communications officer, and this time, Kirk’s protests did not prevent the screen from going black.
Chapter Sixteen
SPOCK LAY STRETCHED out on the cold floor. The cell was apparently designed for sensory deprivation: no furniture, bare walls and floor an unbroken gray. Intended to cause boredom and anxiousness, perhaps, but Spock found it restful.
He was concentrating on one of the two burly Rihannsu guards just beyond the force field that held him captive. Their brains were structured almost exactly the same as his own, although Rihannsu minds were undisciplined by Vulcan standards. Still, it was more of a challenge for Spock to implant a suggestion in the guard’s mind than in a human’s.
Spock chose to concentrate on the less intelligent of the two; it would increase the chances of his plan’s working. Certain Vulcans would say that what he was doing to the guard was immoral, yet Spock was firmly convinced that, in light of the threat posed by the R-virus, what he was doing was justified. Better to use what methods he could, if it would help to save lives. Besides, he was not technically violating the guard’s mind. He took nothing from it, only planted an image.
A vivid one, at that: Spock, dying on the gray floor of the cell. He concentrated on the image until it became so real in his own mind that he did not doubt it and then he directed it to the mind of the guard.
Outside, the guard began to squint through the force field at his prisoner. Spock’s eyes were closed, but he knew it just as surely as if he had seen it. He concentrated harder on the image of death; the muscles in his face sagged.
After a few minutes, the guard could resist no more. He called to his companion to say he was going to examine the prisoner. Spock listened to all this without losing the image or the anxiety he projected. It was easy enough to understand, since the language was derived from Old Vulcan.
The hum of the force field stopped. Footsteps. Spock knew the other guard would be standing watch by the door. He held a phaser, and Spock split his concentration for a precarious moment, long enough to plant the suggestion that both guards put their weapons on stun. Then, quickly, he returned his full attention to the guard bending over him.
He had already put the image in the first guard’s mind: bending down over the prisoner, just so, to check the pulse in the Vulcan’s neck
And very conveniently exposing the sensitive area at the juncture of the neck and collarbone. Spock reached out and pressed, hard. The Rihannsu toppled over on him, conveniently falling so that Spock had only to pluck the phaser from his hand, and use the unconscious man as a shield so that the other guard hesitated before firing. Spock did not. The second guard slid to the floor. Spock carefully propped the first guard against the wall, then relieved the second of his phaser.
Up to this point, it had all been quite simple, but Spock knew that the difficult part was just beginning.
“How can we get to them?” Kirk spoke quickly; there wasn’t much time. How long does it take to turn someone’s mind inside out? Instinct said: Relax. Khaefv’s playing a waiting game. He dare not go home without the virus. But the stakes made it impossible to relax. He sat in the conference room nearest the bridge, drumming his fingers lightly against the polished tabletop. The situation made him feel Spock and McCoy’s absence all the more keenly; they were precisely the two people he would have turned to for advice at a critical time like this. He glanced at the faces across the table from him: Uhura, Scotty, Sulu.
“We can’t beam them,” Engineer Scott said in clipped tones, having picked up on the captain’s sense of urgency. He rested his arms on the table and folded his hands. “The Romulans have their deflector shields up, and as long as that’s so, there’s no beaming anyone off their ship.”
Uhura’s voice was composed and even. “Even with the deflectors down, you couldn’t beam them aboard.” She tilted her dark face gracefully from Scott toward the captain. “Wouldn’t the holding cells be equipped with a jamming device to prevent that means of escape?”
“Aye.” Scott shot her a critical glance, as if to say he was just getting to that. “If we tried, all we’d get would be bits and pieces.”
Kirk immediately stifled the image conjured by Scott’s words and said, “One thing at a time. First, let’s worry about getting their deflectors down.”
Scott looked pessimistic. “Well, the only way to do that would be to give them an occasion to use their transporter.”
“But, sir,” Sulu protested, “if Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock are still in their cells”
“Don’t forget Admiral Mendez,” Uhura said gloomily.
“Then we convince the Romulans to use the transporter and remove all three of them from their cells.” It sounded impossible, but the captain’s tone was matter-of-fact. It had to be done, and therefore would be.
“A pity we have to bring the admiral back,” Scott said bitterly.
Kirk sighed; he’d been over this with himself a hundred times since talking to Khaefv. “I know, Scotty. But Mendez is head of weaponry design. He has too much valuable information that the Romulans would love to get their hands on.”
“Aye.” Scott shook his head. “A damn shame, too. I’d just as soon leave him and Adams with ‘em, and good riddance.”
Sulu leaned forward excitedly. “Captain, there is a way to get them to use the transporter and remove the prisoners from their cells.”
Kirk understood before the helmsman had a chance to finish. “Give in to their demands.”
Uhu
ra frowned. “Tell them we’ll cooperate, turn over Adams and the virus if they give us our people back? You mean, have everyone beam down to Tanis?”
“Close.” Kirk looked at Scott. “They’d have to lower their shields right before they transport down. Could you get a fix on two humans and a Vulcan and beam them onto the Enterprise while they’re still in the Romulans’ transporter room?”
The crease in Scott’s forehead deepened. “It would be very dangerous, Captain. I’d have to time it to the nearest millisecond, because if they were caught in two beams at once” His voice trailed off ominously.
Glum silence.
“Does anyone have a better idea?” Kirk snapped.
No one did.
McCoy lay with his stomach against the cold floor and waited. His backside was still throbbing enough to keep his mind occupied—at least, from time to time. He had spent most of his time in the cell not thinking about what he was waiting for. When he did let himself think about it, he figured his prospects were limited to:
(a) the Romulans releasing him because Jim had struck a deal; or (b) the Romulans killing him because Jim had not struck a deal. Either way, the thing that bothered him most was (c), the Romulans questioning him. Very little was known about their methods, except the fact that no one had lived to tell about them. That in itself sparked McCoy’s imagination.
Of course, he was hoping against hope that before (c) occurred, (d) Jim would find some way of tricking the Romulans and rescuing them.
Oh, hell, quit being so damn logical about your situation. Do you want to spend the end of your life sounding like Spock? Admit it. You’re scared to death, and thinking isn’t going to make it any better.
He was fairly certain that Spock and Mendez were in cells on either side of him, and he wondered if the Vulcan were scared. Ought to be, if he has any sense at all
McCoy concentrated on not thinking about what sort of torture the Romulans would employ when they questioned him (let’s face it, they would probably get to it before much longer) and closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate on the pain in his back, on each dying nerve ending to distract himself, but it backfired. Enjoy minor pain while you can. This will seem like a pleasant memory when they question you.
The sound of footsteps in front of his cell made his heart beat faster. Relax. The guard’s just pacing. He’s not coming for you.
He kept his eyes closed and took deep breaths. Don’t think about anything. Concentrate on your breathing. After a few seconds, his pulse began to slow. The footsteps ceased, and McCoy sighed, relieved.
And then someone turned off the force field to his cell. McCoy’s heart thumped wildly against his chest. He felt paralyzed; it took all his strength to force an eye open.
It took him one terrified instant to realize that the Romulan guard coming toward him was actually wearing Starfleet blue.
“Spock!” McCoy opened the other eye and grinned so hard it hurt. “How in God’s name ?”
Unmoved, Spock motioned for quiet. “Contain yourself, Doctor,” he said, in a barely audible voice. “We need to move swiftly if our attempt is to be successful.” He placed a strong hand on McCoy’s arm and effortlessly pulled the doctor to his feet. “Are you able to run?” He glanced uncertainly at McCoy’s back.
“No problem,” McCoy whispered enthusiastically. “It’s more aggravation than anything else.”
In response, Spock handed him a Romulan phaser. The doctor grasped the weapon awkwardly. Starfleet medical personnel were not required to learn to handle weaponry. McCoy had fired a phaser a couple of times in his life, and then only out of necessity. He looked down at it with distaste. He didn’t like it, to be sure, but at the moment it seemed a very bad idea to refuse it.
“Where’re we headed?” he asked quietly, but Spock was already moving to the next cell.
Mendez’s cell. He was going to let the admiral out. “Hey, wait a minute!” McCoy hissed indignantly. The very notion made him furious. “How the hell are we supposed to escape and keep an eye on Mendez at the same time? Have you forgotten that he just tried to kill us?”
They were standing in front of the cell now; behind the glowing field, Mendez sat in the corner, his arms tucked around his knees. He looked up at them. If McCoy had been surprised to see his rescuer, then Mendez seemed doubly so. Other emotions flitted across his face: distrust, relief.
Spock reached out to press the control. “If we leave him, Doctor, then the Romulans will have access to every bit of intelligence on Starfleet weaponry. They will still possess the ability to bargain.” His tone made it clear that the argument was closed.
“He’s a criminal,” McCoy said angrily. He knew that Spock was no longer listening, so he said it loud enough for Mendez to hear. “He was going to kill us and destroy the Enterprise, remember? He deserves to be left behind.” Mendez’s expression of relief began to change to one of outrage.
Spock touched the control; the field collapsed into nothingness, and Mendez rose quickly to his feet and joined them. He and McCoy glared at each other.
“You disgust me,” Mendez said, in his deep, authoritative voice. “You and Kirk. You think you know everything about the situation. So quick to judge.” He shoved his face in McCoy’s until they were toe to toe.
McCoy did not back down. “I have this funny belief,” he said, with as much coldness as he could muster, “that there can be very little justification for murder.”
“I’ve killed no one.”
“Ordering it is just the same as doing it yourself.”
“ Gentlemen,” Spock said, with an uncustomary lack of patience, “now is not the time. The Romulans will discover our absence in a very short while.”
McCoy and Mendez parted grudgingly, and turned to face the Vulcan.
“Our communicators should be nearby, in the security office. We’ll need them. Afterward, I will need your help in getting to their engineering room, to the manual override.”
“What for?” McCoy asked.
“If the Romulans’ deflector shields are up, and we must assume they are, they will have to be lowered before we can beam onto the Enterprise. I intend to signal the ship as soon as I lower the shields. Hopefully, they will be able to lower their shields and beam us aboard before the Romulans catch up to us.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Mendez said, in a tone suspiciously like that of a command.
Spock paused. McCoy fancied he saw a hastily erased flicker of stubbornness in the Vulcan’s eyes. “And just so you understand, Admiral,” he said quietly, “you are now my prisoner. I am therefore in command here.”
“You tell ‘im, Spock.” McCoy nodded approvingly.
Mendez’s face darkened with rage. “On what grounds, Commander?”
“You have violated Federation Code 1-745.G2, engaging in illegal biowarfare research. However, any argument on your part now is moot. You have no weapon, and we do. I suggest you do not attempt to hinder our efforts at escape.” Spock leveled his phaser directly at Mendez’s chest. “And I suggest you keep an eye on him as well, Doctor. You’re quite correct in assuming that he would kill us, given the chance.”
McCoy cheerfully followed suit and aimed his phaser, waiting for the admiral to splutter something about coercing a superior officer, the penalty for kidnapping, Spock’s certain and imminent court-martial But Mendez did none of that. He swallowed his fury and, with an intense look at Spock, said, “We’ll take this up later.”
“Very well.” Spock motioned with his phaser. “To Security, gentlemen.”
Kirk had always taken a certain amount of pride in his skill at bluffing; in fact, it was difficult to get anyone to play poker with him more than once. But at the sight of Khaefv on the bridge’s main viewscreen, his confidence fled. Bluffing for credits was one thing; bargaining for his friends’ lives was quite another.
He’s got to know I’m lying.
“Subcommander Khaefv,” he said smoothly; or at least, he hoped it came out that way
. He was in no condition to judge.
“Yes, Captain?” Khaefv smiled; smugly, Kirk thought.
“I’ve been rethinking your offer.”
Khaefv waited.
Kirk shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m willing to make the trade.”
The young Romulan’s right eyebrow rose a few millimeters. “The R-virus and Dr. Adams in exchange for the three prisoners?” He was not altogether successful in keeping the surprise out of his voice. He had probably been agonizing over whether or not to bother returning to the Empire without the R-virus.
Kirk nodded. “My conditions: the exchange takes place on neutral territory, on Tanis base.”
“Of course,” Khaefv said. “A transporter exchange would too easily permit duplicity on either side.”
God, he sounded like Spock. Kirk sat forward hopefully. “Then you’re agreeing to the exchange?”
Offscreen, the voice of Khaefv’s communications officer. He spoke Romulan, but the screen’s built-in translator interpreted: “Subcommander, urgent news from the head of security. The prisoners have escaped.”
Khaefv turned away from the screen, toward the officer, but not before Kirk caught the anger in his eyes, not so much at the news, but at his officer, for letting the information slip into the enemy’s hands. He muted the screen so that Kirk could not hear his furious reprimand, and then turned to face the captain again.
“Captain Kirk.” He struggled to regain his composure. “Apparently you have heard. If your men survive this attempt, then perhaps we will talk again.” His image disappeared.
If your men survive … “Mr. Chekov,” Kirk barked.
“Yes, sir.” The Russian sat up straight in his chair at the navigation console. Next to him, Sulu started.
“Keep an eye on the Romulan ship’s deflector shields. The instant they’re down, I want you to try to locate our people—that includes Mendez—and notify the transporter room of their coordinates.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Kirk punched the intercom toggle with his fist. “Transporter room.”
Bloodthirst Page 25
