McCoy interrupted, frowning. “What are you doing, giving him ideas? Whose side are you on, Spock?”
Spock paused. Mendez’s expression was becoming increasingly desperate, but he did not tell the Vulcan to be quiet. Spock continued. “Your attempt to avoid arrest and prosecution is rather hopeless at this point. Even if you find a way of destroying the Enterprise, there is no way you can be certain that the captain has not already informed Starfleet of the current situation. With this last desperate action, you are only proving your guilt and aggravating the situation.”
Mendez was considering all this; as he did, McCoy could tell out of the corner of his eye that Spock was almost imperceptibly moving toward the admiral. It took Mendez a full minute to realize what the Vulcan was up to.
“Go to hell.” Mendez clutched the phaser more tightly. “I don’t need you to tell me what the situation is.”
They all turned their head as the door opened, though Mendez refixed his gaze on his prisoners quickly, before Spock could make a grab for the phaser. Just outside the transporter room stood a row of red security uniforms, headed by a tall, pale figure in red: Tomson.
“Keep them out!” Mendez barked.
The door closed over them as Kirk entered, flanked by a man outlined by the near-invisible glow of a field suit. Adams, McCoy marveled while he had regained some color, he was still unhealthy looking (probably his normal state), but walking without assistance. The doctor felt a surge of wild hope: That means Chris must be all right. “What” he began, then bit his tongue. Is he doing in a field suit? he had almost asked. With the exception of Mendez, they were all immune, and Adams was probably no longer contagious. But he knew the captain well enough to suspect that Jim was up to something. Besides, there was something strange about Adams’ attitude. He didn’t seem at all frightened, like a man who is about to be traded as a hostage should. He seemed almost smug.
Kirk and Adams stood in front of Kyle’s console. The captain was no longer making no effort to hide the contempt in his eyes and voice. “All right, Admiral. Here he is. But before we let the two of you off the ship, there’s something you should know.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t give a damn.” Mendez gestured, a little crazily, with the phaser. “Send him over here and beam us down to Tanis.”
But Adams remained where he was. “I think you will give a damn, Admiral,” Kirk said. “You’re right, Adams knows where the R-virus is. That’s why you want him, isn’t it? But you’re making the wrong assumption. It’s not down on Tanis base. It’s here, on the Enterprise.”
“I don’t believe you,” Mendez said, but he was beginning to look agitated. “Send him over.”
Kirk nodded to Adams, who took a careful step toward the transporter pad. Jim kept talking. “Even if there’s no evidence to connect you to Waverleigh’s death, Admiral, even if you somehow manage to convince Starfleet that you had nothing to do with the creation of the R-virus, I and my crew will testify against you.
“Of course, it occurred to me that you’re resourceful and you could find a way to get rid of an entire starship. After all, you’re head of weapons development. So just as a precaution, I’m having the computer logs of what is happening here now transmitted directly to Starfleet Headquarters. Even if the Enterprise is destroyed a short time from now, Starfleet will still see exactly what happened here.”
“ Now?” Mendez shuddered.
Adams moved closer, until he stood in front of Mendez.
“Where will you go to hide, Admiral?” Kirk asked. “Klingon space? Certainly, you wouldn’t be too welcome in Romulan territory.”
“What a fool you are!” Adams grinned maniacally. “Don’t you realize that once you take me with you, all I have to do is this?” He pressed the control unit at his waist; the field faded away. “I won’t be your scapegoat, Mendez. We’re going down together.”
“ No!” Mendez cried. “Get him away from me! He’s infected,”
He cringed, using the doctor as a shield. As Adams neared, Mendez pushed McCoy forward. Adams laughed and stepped to one side as the doctor went sprawling off the edge of the platform.
The admiral sobbed as Adams reached forward and touched his arm; the phaser clattered to the transporter pad, and Spock scooped it up.
Adams’ smile faded. “A damn shame"” he shook his head with real regret—that I’m no longer infectious. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Epilogue
LISA STOOD IN her quarters, looking at her two friends. Her long black hair was down on her shoulders, and she was dressed in civilian clothes, a powder-blue jumpsuit that was almost a perfect match for Lamia’s complexion. She held a lightweight beige suitcase in front of her with both hands.
“They said your replacement would be here tomorrow,” Lamia said, after an awkward silence. She was staring at Nguyen’s stripped bunk and at the painting on the wall above it. Lisa suddenly realized that the Andorian would be spending the night alone, and was overwhelmed by pity. She set the suitcase down and hugged Lamia fiercely.
“I’m going to miss you.” She drew back and looked at her friend fondly.
“Maybe you’ll be back.” Lamia’s blue lips were stretched in a shaky smile.
“Maybe I will,” Nguyen said. Tomson had convinced her to try six months’ personal leave instead of resigning altogether. It made sense; she could have Colorado for a time, and know that if it didn’t work out, the Fleet would still be there for her. Besides, she owed Tomson a favor.
“Take care of yourself,” Stanger said, and reached out to give her a quick hug.
“You too,” she answered, smiling up at him. “Thanks.”
“For what?” He raised his eyebrows slightly, as if he were surprised.
“For what you did on the observation deck.”
“Oh, that.” He shifted his weight as if the memory made him uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”
“Oh, that,” she mimicked teasingly. “You just saved my life, that’s all.”
“You would have done the same for me.”
I’ve gone one better, she thought smugly, but she said nothing. He would find out soon enough this morning, when he reported for duty. She had half expected Tomson to ignore her suggestion, to make some comment about not wanting to make a character judgment based on the ravings of a sick man. But to her surprise, the lieutenant had listened. The fact that Stanger had just saved Lisa’s life and the fact that Tomson was willing to bargain to keep Lisa in the Fleet probably had something to do with it.
They had both agreed that little would be served by questioning Rosa. If Stanger wanted to protect her, then that was his business. But at least they could do something to help him out.
“Well.” Lisa made an effort to sound cheerful. She had already decided that she was not going to cry; at least, not here, in front of them. “I guess I’d better get down to the hangar deck before they decide to leave without me.”
“I’ll write.” Lamia’s antennae were starting to droop.
“I will too,” Lisa answered. She looked at them both and then picked up her suitcase.
Stanger’s brown eyes were moist; he cleared his throat. “Guess we’d better report for duty.”
A halfhearted attempt at a smile flickered across Lamia’s face. “That’s true. You certainly can’t afford to be late, can you?”
“No, you can’t,” Nguyen answered. Not today, of all days. She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk out of the room without glancing behind her.
She was very sorry she wouldn’t get to see the look on Stanger’s face when he found out.
“Well.” Stanger was consciously trying not to fidget. “I guess we ought to be leaving.” He kept wanting to say, but, and couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“Yes.” Lamia avoided looking at him with those bright green eyes. She made a sharp move toward the door.
“Wait” He stepped in front of her. “I was wrong, what I said to you before. About
friends being a complication.”
“Maybe you were right,” she answered. He tensed defensively at that, but she had a point: she had trusted him, and he had hurt her. But there was no hostility, only sadness, in her voice. She tilted her chin up at him and looked him square in the eye, her cap of silvery hair swinging gently. She was not the slightest bit aware of her beauty, and that made her all the more attractive.
He hesitated. “I’m sorry, Lamia. I was hurt by someone I cared for very deeply, once. I admit I was bitter. It’s taken me awhile to get over it.”
"Are you over it now?” Her manner was serious.
“Yes.” And he noted with quiet amazement that it was true. However badly Rosa may have hurt him, he had survived; and there was nothing she could take away from who he was now.
“I didn’t want to be anything more than your friend, Jon. It’s normal on Andor for people of the opposite sex to be friends and I thought it was normal here. But I kept thinking you misunderstood—or that I’d somehow inadvertently given the wrong signal.”
“N-no,” he said. The room seemed suddenly overheated. Oh, hell, what was the point in avoiding it? He hadn’t been completely truthful with her before, and where had it gotten him? “It—it wasn’t that I thought you were—well, felt that way “ Look at you, stuttering now. Smooth, Stanger. Very smooth. “I knew it wasn’t you, Lamia. It—it was me.”
“You?” She cocked her head quizzically for a moment, and then her complexion began to take on a deeper hue. "Oh,” she said. Her antennae rose and drew so far forward on her scalp that he came very near to giggling nervously. She beamed at him. “I don’t suppose we could just try being friends for a while, first?”
Stanger grinned. “I’d like that.”
They smiled awkwardly at each other all the way to the security office.
Tomson was waiting for him. Stanger arrived a full minute early, and she seemed to sense it; she got up from her desk and peered out into the security lounge. To her surprise, he and the Andorian ensign were simpering at each other like fools. Odd. Before Stanger’s illness, the two of them had seemed mortal enemies. But then, Tomson had always been confounded by the intricacies of personal relationships.
Maybe in his own way, Stanger was just as good at making friends as Lisa Nguyen; maybe it just took him longer. Tomson sighed. Nguyen better have been right about him. Of course, there was the indisputable fact that he had saved Nguyen’s life.
If it was all true, he would make an excellent second-in-command.
A shiver of resentment passed through her at the thought, but with time she would get over it. All right. Admit it and be done with it. You don’t like anyone taking al-B’s place. But he’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again. Stanger and Lamia were too occupied with each other to notice her. She leaned further out her door and cleared her throat. “Stanger.” She intentionally avoided using his rank. “Come into my office. Please.” The “please” was an afterthought, a conscious attempt to seem more approachable. It was good for morale, she supposed. Otherwise, she would not have bothered.
He and Lamia jumped up as if they had been electronically prodded. “Yes, sir,” Stanger answered swiftly. It was clear he expected a reprimand, and was trying to puzzle out exactly what he had done to deserve it. Is my expression that unpleasant? Tomson wondered. She had not meant it to be.
Stanger followed her inside. The door closed, blotting out the view of Lamia’s curious face. He waited stiffly at attention while Tomson walked behind her desk and sat down. She gestured at the chair next to him. “Sit.”
He lowered himself cautiously into it. “I was on time this morning, wasn’t I, sir?”
“Yes, yes. It’s nothing like that.” She fastened her gaze on him intently, so as not to miss his reaction to what she was about to say. “Good news, actually. Your promotion to lieutenant, junior grade, came through.”
She was slightly disappointed. Not a muscle twitched in his strong, dark face, but he stared at her hard for a full minute, and with each passing second, she could see more and more of the whites of his eyes as they grew rounder. “But I’m not up for a promotion,” he said blankly, like someone who has just confronted an impossible reality.
“I know that,” Tomson replied with contrived irritability. “But it wouldn’t be seemly to have an ensign as a second-in-command.”
That shattered his composure completely; Tomson fought the urge to rub her hands in triumph. “B-but” he began, and trailed off, confused. “But” And then he gave up and grinned like an idiot. It was all she could do to keep from smiling herself. Perhaps the corners of her mouth were turning up just a bit.
His smile faded as something occurred to him. “Was this the captain’s idea?” His eyes narrowed defensively. “Because if it is, I want nothing to do with it. I won’t be forced on a superior who doesn’t”
“Enough.” She waved him silent. He closed his mouth and studied her coldly. “It wasn’t the captain’s suggestion at all. Quite frankly, you have Lisa Nguyen to thank for this. She was the one who convinced me to do it.”
“Lisa!” he exclaimed, frowning.
“You saved her life, after all. And I need someone to replace her. You’ve got more security experience than anyone else on the Enterprise, probably more than anyone I could bring in from outside.
“But I should let you know that there are conditions: if Nguyen decides to return to duty at the end of her six-month leave of absence, she’ll be my new second-in-command. If you don’t like that, you can transfer out. Either way, the promotion to lieutenant is permanent.”
“You made a bargain, then,” he said disapprovingly. “I’m not sure if I want to accept this, if Lisa talked you into it.”
She felt heat on her face and knew her cheeks were turning red. “You forget yourself, Stanger.” She leaned over her desk at him, her face level with his. “No one talks me into anything. I only do it because I want to do it. I gave you the promotion because after listening to what Nguyen had to say, I decided you deserved it. Is that absolutely clear, Lieutenant?”
He drew in his breath at the sound of his new rank. “Understood, sir.”
“Good.” Tomson sat back, mollified by the respect in his tone. “Your new assignment is effective immediately. I’ll brief you outside, along with the others.” She nodded to let him know he was dismissed. Stanger rose, still looking dazed, and started out the door. “Oh and Lieutenant”
“Sir?” He turned his head to look back at her, his eyebrows raised in an inverted V.
“Nguyen asked me to give you a message.” She folded her hands on the desk and paused for effect. “Don’t ask me to explain it. She said to tell you that we’re not all like Rosa.” It was all she could do to pretend she did not understand.
For a moment he looked like he would keel over in front of her. His mouth opened and closed a few times.
In the end, when he had control of himself, he gave a small, rueful smile and said: “No, sir, I suppose not.”
“Come,” Kirk said, at the sound of the buzzer. The door opened, and McCoy stepped inside from the dim corridor.
“Feeling up for some company?” The doctor smiled and lingered in the entrance, sounding apologetic for the intrusion.
“Come in, Bones. I won’t bite." Though I would have if you’d tried this yesterday. Jim glanced down at the dust-covered bottle McCoy held down by his side. “What’s that? Is it what I think it is?”
McCoy wiped the label on his tunic and held the bottle of Saurian brandy up so Jim could read it.
He whistled. “My God. That’s older than the two of us put together.” He took the bottle from McCoy and cradled it in his hands, admiring it.
“Obviously, you’ve never read my personnel file,” McCoy joked. He went behind the desk and opened the cabinet where Jim stored his liquor. “What’s that?” He nodded at the package sitting out on the desk. “Another early bir
thday present?”
“Package from home,” Jim answered noncommittally.
“Let me guess. Your mom’s home-baked cookies. So how come you never share them with the rest of us?” McCoy took out two crystal glasses and set them down on the desk. “For your information, this brandy is almost as old as the two of us put together. I was saving it for your birthday. Pour.”
Kirk shook his head, aghast. “I can’t open this now. What’s the occasion?”
“Quince Waverleigh,” McCoy answered briskly, without an ounce of gloom or pity. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something else for your birthday. Now, will you pour, or do I have to?”
“I’ll pour.” A dull heaviness took hold of Jim at the mention of Quince’s name, but McCoy’s consideration touched him. He broke the seal on the bottle and, with considerable effort, pulled out the stopper. “I take it you’re going to suffer along with me? Didn’t bring along your own private stock?”
“I’ll risk it this time. I figure anything that old can’t be too bad—even if it is brandy.” McCoy waited expectantly while Jim filled the glasses and set the bottle down.
“To Quince Waverleigh.” McCoy raised his glass.
“To Quince.” They clinked glasses and drank.
“Not bad.” The doctor smacked his lips. “Tastes kinda like a well-aged bourbon, doesn’t it?”
Kirk didn’t answer. “Thanks, Bones.”
“What for?”
“Quince deserved a decent wake. And for trying to cheer me up.”
“Is it working?” McCoy took another sip and peered at Jim over the rim of his glass.
“It’s funny.” Jim sat down at the desk and rested his hand on the bottle. McCoy took the chair across from him. “I was angry as hell about it at first. Angry at Mendez, of course and at Quince, for not watching out for himself. Most of all, I was mad at myself.”
“As if you could have done any differently,” McCoy said impatiently. “When are you gonna learn to quit doing that to yourself? When will you stop taking all the blame?”
Kirk shook his head. “I’m not as bad as I was yesterday. I tried to figure out what else I could have done to trap Mendez without Quince’s help, but without that message, I wouldn’t have been convinced enough to return to Tanis. I would have followed Mendez’s orders, turned Adams in.”
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