by Greg Cox
“Probably not,” Kirk agreed. “But, frankly, I’m somewhat surprised that you’re not in a hurry to offer Lenore up to them as a peace offering of sorts.”
Riley chuckled mordantly. “I wish it were that easy. But even if I wanted to hand her over, there’s the issue of who gets dibs on her first. Politically, we’re in a bind here. We can’t deliver her to either planet without provoking the other, but the longer we hang on to her, the more we appear to be harboring a known assassin.”
“That’s a problem,” Kirk conceded. “Sounds like a diplomatic Kobayashi Maru.”
“A no-win scenario?” He turned toward Kirk. “So what do you advise, Captain?”
Kirk thought it over. “I think we need to talk to our prime suspect again, Mister Ambassador.”
• • •
Lenore’s quarters were smaller or more modest than the VIP staterooms, comparable to those enjoyed by the Enterprise’s junior officers. A combined living area and bedroom abutted a compact bath and shower compartment. The accommodations were intended for the aides and staff members of more high-ranking visitors. Kirk had chosen to interview Lenore here rather than have her paraded through the corridors before gawking eyes. That would have been uncomfortable for everyone.
“Who else knew about your past?” Kirk asked, concerned with identifying the source of the leak. “Is there anybody on Oyolo—or Pavak—who could have tipped off the press to your true identity?”
“Not that I know of.” She sat with her back to a built-in dresser and wall mirror, facing Kirk and Riley, who stood before her. She wrung her hands in agitation. “I didn’t tell anyone, not even Doctor Tamris. I wanted to put that all behind me.” Her voice quavered. “I thought I was done with this . . .”
“Yet you admit you have zetaproprion in your possession,” Riley said.
“Of course. I never go anywhere without it.” She extracted a hypospray from a dresser drawer and showed it to the two men. “A week’s supply, just in case I was delayed. But you can see that it’s still mostly loaded. There’s not enough missing to kill someone.”
Kirk accepted the device, but realized it hardly proved anything. They had no way of knowing how much of the drug she had originally brought aboard with her.
Riley didn’t even inspect the hypospray. “So you still maintain that you had nothing to do with either murder?”
“Maybe. I don’t know anymore.” She turned and stared at herself in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, hinting at another sleepless night. Her haunted, haggard expression reminded Kirk of her father. “I don’t think I hurt anyone . . . this time . . . but who knows? My memory has tricked me before and my mind is an insubstantial pageant faded, full of sound and fury but signifying . . . what? I can’t even be certain who I am anymore, or what role I am meant to be playing.”
She spun around to face them again. Moist eyes sought out answers.
“Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if you simply let me stand trial for the murders. Better that I take the blame than for peace to be sacrificed on my behalf. I’m not certain my battered conscience could endure that. . . .”
“No,” Kirk said. He wasn’t about to sacrifice due process for the sake of expediency. “The only one responsible for endangering the peace is the actual killer. We find out who that is, then we can talk trials and extradition.” He glanced sideways at Riley. “Are we on the same page here, Mister Ambassador?”
Riley frowned, but he did not contest the point. “We all want the truth, and not just the most convenient one. But I’m not sure how long the Pavakians and Oyolu will wait for us to provide them with answers.” He stared coldly at Lenore. “And that we’re not looking at the ‘actual killer’ this very minute.”
Lenore flinched.
“You see, everyone thinks I’m guilty anyway . . . and they always will. Why not just get it over with and let me throw myself on this sword? I’m already guilty of more than enough murders. What’s two more deaths laid at my feet if it will preserve the peace and save countless lives?”
The needs of the many, Kirk thought, outweigh the needs of the one. There was a cruel logic to Lenore’s proposal, but it was deceptive as well. Letting Lenore assume the role of martyr might be politically convenient in the short term, and help assuage her guilty conscience, but it would possibly leave the real killer free to strike again.
“This isn’t just about peace,” he said. “It’s about justice. And I doubt that the former can be achieved without a healthy respect for the latter. Just putting out the fire isn’t enough, not if we don’t know what really started it.”
“And how many innocent souls will burn while you protect me?” Tearful eyes entreated him. “Please, Jim, let me do this . . . for your sake as well as everyone else’s.”
The intercom whistled for his attention. Kirk strode over to the wall unit, grateful for the interruption. “Kirk here.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of more bad news, Captain,” Uhura reported, “but I think you and Ambassador Riley are needed on the bridge. There’s a crisis on Oyolo . . . and hostages have been taken.”
Kirk put two and two together.
“The relief workers. Tamris and the others.”
“That’s correct, Captain. Angry locals have seized control of the refugee camp and captured the GRC workers. They’re demanding that we turn over Lenore Karidian in exchange for the hostages.”
Lenore gasped. She looked at Kirk with anguished eyes.
“It seems the fire is spreading, Jim. What will you do now?”
Kirk wished he knew.
Seventeen
“Lenore Karidian,” Scott said, wonderingly. “Now there’s a name I’ve not thought of in many a year.”
“Indeed,” Spock replied. “I’ve had no occasion to think of her as well, until the present occasion.”
Along with nearly everyone else on Pavak, the two men had been closely following the global news reports concerning the true identity and background of “Lyla Kassidy” and her possible involvement with the murders of General Tem and Minister A’Barra. Public opinion on Pavak appeared to be tending very much in the direction of her guilt, with the only question being whether or not she had killed Tem on behalf of the Oyolu or on her own. The precise nature of Captain Kirk’s relationship with the accused was also a matter of intense speculation as far as the local media was concerned.
“Do ye think she did it, Mister Spock?”
“I cannot say,” Spock said. He remembered the Kodos affair vividly, but, in truth, he’d had very little personal contact with the younger Karidian at the time. He had been concerned with determining the true identity of her father; that Lenore herself was a killer had eluded his detection until the truth had ultimately been revealed. “That she once was capable of murder is a matter of record, but that was two decades ago. Who knows what changes rehabilitative treatment might have wrought on her character and behavior?”
It did not escape the Vulcan that attributing both murders to Lenore might well be advantageous to the peace process, provided it could be convincingly demonstrated that she had acted alone. Many of the loudest voices accusing her belonged to public figures on both planets who were strongly in favor of peace. Pinning the blame on a lone madwoman, who was neither Pavakian nor Oyolu, would resolve the political crisis, at least in the short term. But that, of course, would leave the real assassins at large and unaccounted for.
Not unlike a certain protomatter warhead.
“I confess I barely recall the lass,” Scott said, “just the commotion afterwards.” He contemplated the suspect’s image on the viewscreen. “Ye don’t suppose it’s true what they’re saying about her and the captain . . . ?”
“I sincerely doubt it,” Spock answered. While well aware of Kirk’s past romantic exploits, particularly in the captain’s younger days, Spock considered it highly un
likely that Jim Kirk would be quick to resume a relationship with a woman who had once attempted to kill him, particularly in the middle of a delicate diplomatic mission. “I suspect the captain has more important matters to occupy him.”
“Aye, that’s for sure,” Scotty agreed. “But this doesn’t look good.”
“No, Mister Scott, it does not.”
The door whisked open and Pogg returned. He glanced briefly at the viewscreen, which was still displaying coverage of the Karidian revelation. “I see you gentlemen are already familiar with recent developments.”
“Regrettably so,” Spock said. “But to spare you the effort of asking, neither Mister Scott nor I were aware of Miss Karidian’s presence in this solar system, let alone aboard the Enterprise. Neither of us has laid eyes on her for approximately twenty years.”
“But is it true what they’re saying about her?” Pogg inquired. “Could she be the assassin?”
“We were just asking ourselves that same question. Unfortunately, we did not arrive at a conclusive answer.”
“That is unfortunate,” Pogg said. “In any event, I regret to inform you that, in light of this new information, I have received word from my superiors that you and Mister Scott are to be detained on Pavak—for your own protection—until such time as the suspect, Lenore Karidian, is delivered to Pavak to be interrogated by the proper authorities.”
“The hell you say,” Scott blurted. “We’re hostages now, is that it?”
“So it appears,” Spock said, none too surprised. He had been anticipating this response, which, in fact, merely made official a preexisting state of affairs. They had been potential hostages ever since news of General Tem’s assassination had first reached Pavak. The proverbial other shoe had finally dropped.
“My apologies, gentlemen. You’ll recall I urged you to leave earlier.”
“So you did,” Spock said, “but our reason for remaining has not changed.” If they were truly trapped on Pavak for the duration, he intended to make fruitful use of their time there. “Regardless of whether or not Lenore Karidian committed the murders aboard the Enterprise, she was most certainly not responsible for the theft of the missing warhead. May I ask if you have made any progress in locating the elusive Major Takk?”
“I have,” Pogg said grimly. “It wasn’t easy, and I had to call in more than a few old favors, but it seems that Takk has been assigned to pilot a supply ship, Outward Six, making deliveries to a remote science outpost on Sumno. He left approximately seventy-two hours ago.”
Sumno was one of the system’s outer planets: a lifeless ball of rock and ice that remained largely uninhabited. It struck Spock as a curious place to send a military officer suspected to specialize in covert operations. “And what is your take on this discovery, Brigadier-General?”
“It sounds damn fishy,” Pogg admitted. “Why would an advanced weapons specialist, which is what Takk is officially listed as, be dispatched on a routine supply run . . . and during the middle of a major disarmament operation no less.” He snarled angrily. “It stinks to high heaven if you ask me!”
“I concur,” Spock said. “I believe we should operate on the assumption that Major Pakk is currently in possession of the warhead.”
“But why haul it out to the edge of the system?” Scott asked.
A logical question, Spock thought. “Perhaps to hide it until the peacekeeping operations are concluded and the Enterprise has departed from the buffer zone? But, in that case, is the intent merely to preserve it for possible future use . . . or do the conspirators have a more specific and immediate purpose in mind?”
The latter possibility was ominous in the extreme. Even a single protomatter warhead could inflict untold damage on Oyolo and terminate any hope of peace between the two worlds.
“We can’t take any chances,” Scott concluded. “We need to go after that supply ship before it’s too late!”
“I quite agree,” Spock said, “but we are not currently at liberty to do so, unless the brigadier-general is inclined to take action to alleviate our situation.”
Pogg stiffened at the suggestion. “My orders are clear. You are to remain in custody pending extradition of the Karidian woman. You cannot ask me to overlook that.”
“That is precisely what I am asking, sir,” Spock said sternly. He looked Pogg squarely in the face. “It has become increasingly evident that certain parties, including a faction in your own military, are out to disrupt the peace process by any means possible . . . and that they may even be planning to unleash a weapon of mass destruction on an unknown target, in clear violation of the cease-fire. Given those facts, you must ask yourself where your true duty lies.”
Pogg did not want to hear it. “I have my orders . . .”
“And you have a responsibility to avert a potential catastrophe and save two planets from the horrors of a never-ending war.” Spock regretted putting Pogg in this position, but he saw no other alternative. “We cannot do this without your assistance.”
“Listen to him, man,” Scott said. “You know what that warhead is capable of. Millions of lives may be at stake!”
“I—I do not have the authority to make such decisions. This is beyond my rank.”
“Fate has decreed otherwise, Brigadier-General. You must rely on your own judgment now, not the chain of command, which may well be corrupted.”
Pogg’s face twisted in indecision, his training and discipline obviously warring with a truth he could not readily dismiss. He spun about on his heels and headed for the exit, retreating from the dilemma. “You will remain in custody, as ordered, until further notice. I will . . . update . . . you after I have given this matter further examination.”
“Do not take too long,” Spock advised him. “Major Takk—and perhaps the warhead—already have a substantial head start on us. Every moment we remain here, that weapon may be getting farther away.”
Pogg looked back at Spock, acknowledging the other man’s warning, but left without another word. The door closed behind him, but not before Spock caught a glimpse of Pavakian soldiers posted outside their quarters. He did not bother trying the door, which was surely sealed from the outside.
“Do you think you got through to him, Mister Spock?”
Spock wanted to think so, but he was all too aware that sentient beings were known to be stubbornly unpredictable. They had just asked Pogg to go against his lifelong habits and code for the sake of a greater good. Calculating the energy signature of a disintegrating protomatter missile was easier than estimating the probability that Pogg would reach the correct decision in time.
“We can only hope, Mister Scott.”
Eighteen
“The leader of the protesters, a Mister W’Osoro, is hailing us, Captain. He’s demanding to speak to you directly.”
All concerned had convened on the bridge to deal with the hostage crisis on Oyolo. The rival delegates occupied opposite sides of the bridge, keeping their distance from each other, while additional security stood by to guarantee that everyone minded their manners. Riley and McCoy shared the command well with Kirk, who was seated in the captain’s chair. Lenore, flanked by two watchful security officers, stood over by the security station, out of sight of the forward viewscreen. Riley had initially protested bringing her to the bridge, but Kirk had wanted her on hand just in case the protesters demanded proof that she was still aboard the Enterprise.
Besides, this affected her, too.
“Thank you, Uhura,” Kirk said. “Put him through.”
A male Oyolu, who looked to be around the same age as Ifusi, appeared on the viewer. Rangy by Oyolu standards, W’Osoro had a lean, undernourished look. His pocked yellow skin was more sallow than citrusy, and a bald pate further distinguished him from the likes of Ifusi and A’Barra. Coarse, fraying civilian attire made him look more like a disgruntled refugee than an authorized representativ
e of the Oyolu government or military. Baleful, unforgiving eyes gazed out from behind a distinctly saturnine expression. Guards toting disruptor rifles stood at attention in the background, in front of a draped Oyolu flag, which featured a pair of stylized golden horns against an emerald background. W’Osoro’s own horns looked freshly sharpened.
“I am W’Osoro and I speak for all patriotic Oyolu,” he said gruffly. “We demand justice for A’Barra. Deliver his assassin, the foreign she-devil known as Lenore Karidian, and we will release the hostages.”
Preliminary reports indicated that Tamris and the others were being held in the very same amphitheater that had hosted Lenore’s production of The Tempest, which had since been taken over by the protesters and converted into a makeshift fort. The weatherproof force field kept anyone from beaming in or out of the theater, while armed guards were reportedly stationed in the tiered bleachers overlooking the stage. Kirk had to applaud the protesters’ choice of venue. The intact theater was probably the most defensible structure in the immediate vicinity of the refugee camp.
“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. Release the hostages first and then we can talk.”
“You expect us to trust you? After you stood by and let your bloodthirsty lover slay our Great Defender?” W’Osoro snorted in derision. “You will play by our rules. Give us the Karidian woman or suffer the consequences.”
Kirk took care not to ask what those consequences might entail; he didn’t want to provoke W’Osoro into making bloody threats he couldn’t back down from later. The last thing they needed was to draw any irrevocable lines in the sand, not with more than a dozen lives at stake.
“The identity of Minister A’Barra’s killer has yet to be determined,” Kirk attempted to point out, despite the fact that Lenore had been all but convicted by the planet’s media. “An investigation is under way, but—”
