Star Trek - TOS - Death Count

by L. A. Graf

"What were they searching for?" Sulu asked, crouching back on his heels

  beside the older man.

  "Beats the hell out of me." The shopkeeper sat up, wincing. "They said

  it was for Orion deserters, but that doesn't make any sense. No Orion

  in his right mind would head for a station this deep in Andorian space.

  Not after that Haslev incident."

  Chekov glanced over his shoulder. "Haslev incident?"

  "One of Andor's genius physicists skipped out on its space research

  program a few months ago, taking some kind of top-secret technology with

  him. The Andorians seem to think the Orions had something to do with

  it. If you ask me, they're both just spoiling for a fight." The

  shopkeeper struggled to his feet, using Sulu's shoulder as a prop. "Come

  on into my back room. I want to give you something for chasing that

  Orion out of here."

  "You don't have to," Chekov assured him, tucking the Orion phaser

  discreetly into the pocket of his dark leather jacket. "It's our job to

  enforce Starfleet regulations."

  The burly man shook his head stubbornly. "I insist." He tugged at

  Sulu's shoulder, and the helmsman allowed himself to be led into the

  cluttered storeroom, noticing that Chekov paused in the door to keep one

  wary eye on the front of the store. The burly shopkeeper reached into

  one corner, pulling a dust-sheet

  off a bulky object there. Black marble glittered in the refracted

  light. "There--what do you think?"

  "Uh--" Sulu blinked at the curving oval pond, a smaller cousin to the

  one out in the shop. "You want to give that to me?"

  The store owner nodded. "A little thank-you present for saving my

  shop."

  Sulu glanced over his shoulder at Chekov, silhouetted in the doorway.

  "But I'm not the one who saved it."

  "No, but you're the one who brought your friends here." The burly man's

  smile was surprisingly warm. "If I'm not mistaken, son, this is the

  third time you. came in today to look at those water chameleons. I

  figure you must want some, and you're going to need something to keep

  them in."

  "I was just going to put them in an old fish tank I have." Despite

  himself, Sulu stepped forward to run a hand over the marble pond's sleek

  surface. Metallic flakes glittered inside the jet-black surface, giving

  it a shimmer like fine mica. He stepped back with a wistful sigh. "It's

  beautiful--but I'm afraid Starfleet regulations won't let us accept

  gifts this expensive."

  The store owner grunted and began to pull the container out of its

  corner. "Don't worry, this thing's not worth a Tellurian nickel. I

  make these ponds myself, out of marble-epoxy, and this one's a dud." He

  tipped the container back .to show Sulu its supporting column. "See

  that streak across the base? Too much silver flake leaked into the mold

  there, and ruined the whole thing."

  "Are you sure?" The small imperfection didn't seem like much of a flaw

  to Sulu.

  "Why do you think I have it back here, instead of out .in the shop?" The

  shopkeeper tossed an honest

  grin at Sulu. "And I'm only giving you the pond. I figured I'd let you

  buy the lizards and the lilies."

  Sulu chuckled appreciatively. "Well, in that case--" He helped the

  storekeeper carry the pond back into the main room, finding it less

  heavy than it looked. Chekov stepped back to let them past, eyes

  narrowed dubiously.

  "Are you sure you have enough room in your jungle for a swimming pool?"

  he demanded, following them back out to the larger lily pond.

  "I'll make room." Sulu raised an eyebrow as Uhura pushed through the

  curtain of lianas to join them. "What took you so long?"

  "Station security kept putting me on hold." Her lips tightened. "I

  finally pulled rank on the communications officer and made him put me

  through. The security chief said she'd be down as soon as possible. I

  get the impression she's gotten a lot of calls about Orions recently."

  The communications officer glanced over at the small marble container.

  "What a nice pond!"

  "Thanks. Chekov got it for me." Sulu grinned when the Russian scowled

  at him, then turned to watch the shopkeeper lift a potted lily out of

  the water with a long-handled scoop. A dozen invisible chameleons came

  with it, chirping anxiously, and the man expertly shook them into two

  small plastic bags.

  "I'm still not sure this is a good idea." Chekov came to stand beside

  them, frowning. "What happens if your lizards get loose? The last

  thing we need is a bunch of invisible reptiles running around on the

  Enterprise."

  The burly man grunted, knotting the bags so a bulge of air remained in

  each. Muffled chirps came through

  the plastic as the chameleons tried and failed to blend with the

  transparent walls. "Don't worry, son, Halkan chameleons never go very

  far from their home ponds. And they don't need anything special to eat,

  just standard fish food. That'll be twenty credits."

  Chekov grunted. "That's a lot to spend for one plant and a bunch of

  singing lizards who'll keep you up all night."

  "Oh, Chekov, stop being so grumpy." Uhura took the bags the shopkeeper

  handed her, cradling them against her robe as Sulu paid the bill. The

  chameleons promptly turned a dozen sunset colors. "I think this is the

  best hobby Sulu's ever had."

  "That's easy for you to say," observed the Russian dourly. "You're not

  the one who's going to have to carry this swimming pool back to the

  ship."

  "Hey, you're the one who lifts weights, not me." Sulu picked up the

  water lily, careful not to touch the pollen-dusted petals, then thanked

  the burly man with a nod. The shopkeeper nodded back at them, smiling

  as he watched them go.

  "That's what you always say when we have to carry something heavy."

  Despite his protest, Chekov lifted the marble pool easily enough,

  balancing it against his shoulder. Sulu exchanged smiles with Uhura as

  they followed him out the door. "Remind me never to take shore leave--"

  The Russian's voice broke off when he stepped out into the station

  gallery, but with the glare of the mercury lights in his eyes, Sulu

  didn't see the reason why until he and Uhura had emerged in turn. A

  stark black wall of Sigma One security guards ringed the shop door,

  phasers aimed straight at them.

  "Don't anyone move," said a clipped female voice.

  "This is station security--" She leveled a damning finger at Chekov.

  "--and you, sir, are under arrest."

  Kirk couldn't help thinking that Maxwell Petemen didn't look--or

  sound--particularly sympathetic to his situation.

  "I'm sorry, Jim," the commodore sighed, tossing his hands up in the

  universal gesture of surrender. "There isn't anything I can do." He

  waved Kirk into the chair across from his own. "You know I would, if I

  were able."

  Kirk glanced at the offered chair from habit, then found he couldn't

  quite make himself give up on his pacing and sit down. "You can keep

  them on the station," he suggested. Then, anticipating Petemen's

  objection, "You'
re the officer in charge of this sector, Max--you can do

  anything you want, and we both know it. That includes detaining four

  Federation auditors long enough to let me get out of port."

  Petersen laughed. "Jim, for Starfleet's brightest captain, you can be

  awfully dense at times."

  Kirk stopped at the edge of the commodore's desk, but swallowed the

  first unkind thing he thought to say. Being sarcastic with a

  commodore--even one he'd helped promote to that position--wouldn't do

  much toward saving his crew from six weeks of annoyance. "I'm glad you

  think this is funny."

  "I don't think it's funny; I think you're overreacting." Petersen leaned

  forward in his chair, reaching out to poke at the perpetual motion

  sculpture on the table in front of him. The new infusion of energy

  hurried the sculpture's movements, flashing little splinters of

  reflected light all around the commodore's office. "It's politics, Jim.

  Somebody in the

  Auditor General's office is up for reelectiontyours is just the ship

  lucky enough to be in port when it happened." He grinned up at Kirk and

  folded his hands. "Recognize that it's bigger than both of us," he

  half-teased, dark eyes still a bit serious for his words. "Accept it.

  Move on."

  Kirk drummed his fingers on Petemen's desk. Two-bit philosophy rarely

  did much for his moods. "Does the Auditor General know his people are

  going into the Artdorian sector?"

  Petersen shrugged. "I assume so."

  "And that doesn't bother you?"

  When the commodore only rolled his eyes, Kirk. strode forward to

  confront him. "That's about as close to leaving Federation space as you

  can get without actually doing it, Max! On top of that, political

  relations there aren't exactly friendly right now. I'm not sure we

  should send a starship into that kind of powder keg to begin with, much

  less a starship full of civilians." He threw himself into the chair

  after all, glaring at Petersen across the dancing sculpture. "You know

  the Andorians are almost ready to declare war over this Muav Haslev

  thing?"

  "Which the Orions," Petersen countered, "swear they had nothing to do

  with."

  Kirk snorted. "And why would the Orions lie?"

  "Look, Jimt" Petersen pushed the sculpture to one side, leaning his

  elbows on his knees to peer across at Kirk as though they were

  discussing a deep and comm on goal. The captain stayed seated just as he

  was, loath to lie with his body language any more than he would with his

  words. "The Andorians are exactly why we're sending you in there," the

  commodore explained. "The Orions on Rigel VIII may be

  neutral, but Andor isn't. We can't have the Andorians running around

  threatening wars that could involve the entire Federation. We're hoping

  a little Starfleet presence will remind everyone not to start anything

  we'll all regret."

  Kirk knew halfway through the commodore's speech that what to do with

  four Federation auditors was too far outside Petersen's present concerns

  to get. much of a hearing. "If the Andorians are dose enough to war

  that you need a starship to dissuade them," he tried anyway, "I think

  that's all the more reason not to send civilians into the area."

  "Starfleet is confident the Enterprise's presence is exactly what will

  keep things safe for civilian traffic."

  "Dammit, Max--"

  "We're short a ship, Jim." Something in the commodore's voice silenced

  Kirk, something grim and rough, like the tearing of overstressed metal

  "The Kongo suffered a containment field breach," Petersen said into the

  tight silence between them. "Two days ago, a half-day from here at warp

  four. She lost nearly one hundred crew in her secondary hull, has at

  least another fifty who might follow due to radiation exposure."

  A sharp, burning image suddenly slashed across Kirk's mind--a

  combination of memori6s, knowledge, and fears. It was easy to paint in

  mental details of the accident, only this time it was Kirk's ship with

  her engines blown wide, Kirk's people reduced to radiation shadows on

  the corridor walls. "My God--"

  "This Andor expedition was the Kongo's assignment. Now, her captain

  isn't even sure he can get her into port without assistance. I've sent

  a brace of tugs

  to locate her, but we can't say if she'll ever be spaceworthy again."

  Petersen sighed, and the honesty of it prickled Kirk with guilt for

  having badgered the man.

  "Is there anything the Enterprise can do to help?"

  "Yes." Petersen looked at him, no longer smiling. "You can take this

  Andor run and try to prevent a local war between the Andorians and Rigel

  VIII. You can quit griping about four efficiency auditors as if they

  were the worst thing that could happen to a starship crew. Understand

  me?"

  Surprisingly enough, Kirk found his earlier irritation more than willing

  to resurface. "Yes, sir. I understand." He understood he'd be stuck

  with four number-conscious pencil-pushers for six agonizing weeks, and

  it wouldn't do either the Kongo or the

  Enterprise any good.

  Damn.

  The intercom on PeterseWs desk shrilled, and a strident female voice cut

  across their conversation. "Station Security to Commodore Petersen."

  Petersen leaned far to his left to punch the answer button, still

  watching Kirk as though not trusting the captain to just sit there and

  behave. "Petersen here."

  "Chief Brahmson here, sir. We've had an altercation in the Galleria on

  Deck Five, something about weapons being stolen from Orion PD. As near

  as we can tell, no shots were fired, but the Orions are insisting we

  prosecute."

  "Oh, hell." Petersen surged to his feet. "Five'11 get you ten the

  Andorians are involved. Tell the Orions I'm on my way. We'll work

  something out."

  "Aye, sir."

  Petersen snatched up his jacket from the back of his chair, glaring at

  Kirk when the captain stood as well. "Andorians and Orions, Captain," he

  sighed. "It's like mixing antimatter with matter." He shook his head

  and started into the hall. "Let's hope this is as bad as it gets."

  Chapter Three

  THE PRIVACY WINDOW in the door to Chekov's cell shuttered open, and an

  unfamiliar face bobbed into view. "You've still got one call you can

  make," the Sigma One guard offered, "if you want."

  Chekov looked up without lifting his chin out of his

  hands. "Can I call my captain on the Enterprise?"

  "No. You can only call someplace on station." Shrugging, he turned his

  attention back to the opposite wall. Their answer hadn't changed since

  the first time they'd asked him this question, so neither had his.

  Chekov assumed that sooner or later they'd catch on and quit asking him.

  After a moment, the privacy window flickered dark again, and Chekov was

  left alone.

  Whoever had designed the Sigma One holding cells obviously hadn't

  intended them to be occupied for very long. Chekov assumed they housed

  drunks and vagrants, mostly--the occasional rowdy spacer on

  leave, just to fill out the bill. Th
ere was a toilet, an all-purpose

  bench-bed wall arrangement, and four distressingly similar corners on

  which to pass your time. There wasn't even enough room to pace, really,

  since the bed took up a quarter of the cell in one direction, and pacing

  too close to the door in the other invariably brought guards running to

  make sure he wasn't trying to escape. Since his only other option

  seemed to be spinning in random circles, Chekov simply waited on the

  edge of his bed, alternately drumming his feet and drumming his fingers

  for lack of anything better to do.

  When they'd first brought him into Sigma One's security station, the

  guards had been ethical enough, if rude.

  "Look at this, John! Another civilian superhero, taking guns away from

  Orions."

  "Why don't you try and take my gun, son? If you can get it, you can

  go."

  Chekov almost took him up on that one, fairly certain that if anyone

  ended up shot in that exchange, it wouldn't be him. He'd already sent

  Sulu and Uhura to contact Commodore Petersen's office, though, and it

  probably wouldn't encourage the commodore to look kindly on this whole

  incident if Chekov ended up holding his entire security division at

  gunpoint. So he'd just kept his mouth shut while they paraded him in

  front of various screens of paperwork and confiscated the Orion phaser.

  Then they'd run the retina scan and obtained a positive ID.