by Greg Cox
Twenty-Six
Lieutenant Mark Duncan wanted to be somewhere else.
The Enterprise was on red alert, bombs were going off throughout the ship, and the scuttlebutt was that there was an alien saboteur aboard and that the Pavakians had launched a sneak attack on Oyolu, violating the cease-fire. More than anything, Duncan wanted to join his fellow security officers in tracking down the saboteur and dealing with the crisis, but instead he found himself posted outside Lenore Karidian’s quarters, keeping watch over the suspect who remained confined to the premises. Duncan knew that the actress, who was allegedly an old flame of the captain’s, was possibly the killer of two visiting delegates, but even still it seemed a waste of resources to have him on guard duty here while there was a more immediate emergency going on.
Couldn’t we just lock her in for the duration?
A loud crash, coming from inside the guest quarters, snapped him out of his musings. Phaser drawn, he unlocked the door and cautiously entered the foyer, on guard for some sort of trick. Karidian had supposedly killed at least seven people in her time, so he wasn’t taking anything for granted. She had seemed harmless enough, but . . .
“Oh, crap!”
The suspect was convulsing atop the bed, her arms and legs flailing wildly. Her eyes were rolled up so that only the whites were visible. A bloody froth bubbled at the corners of her mouth. Broken ceramic shards littered the floor in front of the bed stand, where her thrashing had apparently knocked over a vase. A discarded hypospray rested upon the bed, just beyond her fingertips. Duncan took in the scene and instantly put the pieces together.
Suicide.
“No, no, no, no.” He rushed toward the bed, desperate to keep the prisoner from dying on his watch. More foam bubbled past her lips. An alarming gurgling came from her throat. Holstering his weapon, he reached to clear her airway. “No way! You are not doing this, you hear me!”
She bit down hard on his fingers. Her right hand snatched up the hypospray and pressed it against his carotid artery. He heard the hiss of the device against his neck . . . and then he didn’t hear anything else.
• • •
A full dose of the sedative, prescribed by Doctor McCoy to settle her nerves, was enough to instantly knock out the guard. He collapsed across Lenore, whose spasms ended abruptly. She shoved the limp security officer aside and scrambled out from beneath him. Getting off the bed and onto the floor, she glanced down at her unconscious victim.
I’m sorry, she thought. I had no choice.
The play had gone off just as planned. No real surprise there; this had hardly been her first death scene . . . or ambush. She spit a mouthful of blood and soap bubbles onto the floor. The blood had come from biting the inside of her cheek—an old actor’s trick—while the soap had come from the lavatory. Attention to detail was key to a convincing performance after all. She took a moment to check the guard’s pulse to ensure that he was only unconscious. He was lucky, she reflected. The old Lenore would not have hesitated to kill him in cold blood.
But I’m not that person anymore, she thought. Am I?
She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. She thought she knew whom the distraught woman in the mirror was, but how could she be sure? Not for the first time since coming aboard this new Enterprise, she doubted her own sanity and perceptions. Was it possible that she was the assassin, that she had lost her grip on reality again, that her father’s murderous blood had infected her fevered brain once more? She didn’t believe so, but perhaps that didn’t matter anymore. Her mere presence was threatening the fragile peace between Oyolo and Pavak—and putting Kirk and Doctor Tamris and the others in jeopardy.
I’m sorry, she thought again. This is all my fault.
Just her being aboard the Enterprise, and accused of the murders, put Kirk in a dreadful position, and she felt horrible for adding to his trials during this crisis, which now seemed to include some manner of disaster or emergency aboard the ship itself. The mysterious explosions rocking the ship were what had finally convinced her to take action. Jim had enough on his hands, such as protecting his ship and trying to end a war, without having to worry about her as well, let alone be distracted by past lies and betrayals and regrets . . .
It was funny. There had been times, back at the hospital on Gilead, when she had hated Kirk and had wanted him dead. She’d blamed him for her undoing and had fantasized about killing him a thousand times, in a thousand grisly ways. And there had been other times when she’d wanted so much to apologize to him for what she’d done, and had wondered what might have been had her crimes and delusions not come between them. And now here she was again, back on his ship, making more trouble for him . . . and the entire peace process.
She couldn’t bear it any longer. She had to make this right.
Moving swiftly, she stripped the guard of his uniform and changed into the one-piece burgundy jumpsuit. She was grateful for the more unisex look of modern Starfleet uniforms; this disguise would have been much harder to pull off back in the old days when security officers wore bright red tunics and most female crew members wore skirts. The uniform was not exactly her size, but she was used to making do with whatever theatrical attire was available.
Just another quick costume change, she thought. For one last performance.
Inspecting herself in the mirror, she hastily fixed her hair to look suitably Starfleet and tugged the ill-fitting uniform into place. Confiscating the guard’s phaser, she stunned him to buy herself more time. He would not be raising an alarm anytime soon. She considered binding and gagging him as well but decided that would be overkill. Besides, she didn’t have time to go to such elaborate lengths.
She needed to get off the Enterprise before anyone else got hurt.
Leaving the unfortunate Lieutenant Duncan behind, she slipped out of her quarters and into the hallway. Red alert lights flashed incarnadine, yet there appeared to be little activity in this section of the ship, which held mostly crew quarters and guest accommodations. She assumed that any other visitors were staying safe in their quarters during the present crisis, while the Enterprise’s intrepid crew was dealing with more urgent matters elsewhere. In this respect, the red alert was working to her advantage.
“You! What are you up to?”
I spoke too soon, she thought. Spinning around, she saw Ifusi charging at her like an enraged bull, his head low as though he meant to gore her with his horns.
“Assassin! Were those explosions your doing?”
Protesting her innocence would be a waste of breath, she knew. Instead she fired the stolen phaser, dropping him in his tracks. He hit the floor with a heavy thud. His stunned form landed at her feet. He, too, was lucky that she wasn’t a killer anymore.
She ran down the corridor.
• • •
“Captain,” Uhura called out. “Doctor Tamris and the other GRC visitors are wondering what’s happening. They’re alarmed by the explosions.”
I’ll bet, Kirk thought. Tamris and her people probably feared that they’d gone from the frying pan to the fire, but he didn’t have time to reassure them now. “Tell them to remain in their quarters, and keep out of the way, until further notice.”
The last thing they needed at the moment was confused people roaming the ship. The other Gast had been apprehended, although the repair crews still had to be on the lookout for the vicious surprises she had hidden through the ship’s sabotaged power conduits and other hardware. Every moment brought reports of new complications and difficulties left behind by the saboteur, who had apparently been quite industrious over the last few days. Spock and Scotty couldn’t get back soon enough, even if there was no way they could possibly return before the warhead struck Oyolo. A digital countdown on the main viewer reminded Kirk that time was running out.
Twenty-six minutes to impact.
The portside turbolift o
pened and Chekov strode onto the bridge accompanied by Lieutenant Banks. Kirk noted a crude bandage wrapped around Chekov’s right shoulder. Red stains seeped through the white dressing, yet Chekov moved briskly and with purpose.
“Reporting for duty, Captain,” Chekov said. “The prisoner is secure.”
Kirk was glad to have him back on the bridge. “The brig?”
“Both Colonel Gasts are in sickbay, under Doctor McCoy’s care,” Chekov reported. “They do not look well, sir.”
Kirk indicated the security chief’s wounded shoulder. “And yourself, Commander?”
“Just a scratch, Captain. The second Gast did not surrender quietly.”
So it seems, Kirk gathered. “Good work, both of you.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Chekov relieved Dazim at the Tactical station. “So, what did I miss?”
• • •
Shuttlebay operations were managed from a control room overlooking the cavernous landing bay below. Lenore entered confidently as though she belonged there. Her hike through the ship had been a nerve-racking one, with her expecting to be recognized at any moment, but, in the heat of the red alert, nobody had paid any attention to yet another crew member going about her duties. Lenore expertly concealed any butterflies in her stomach as she inhabited the role of a busy enlisted woman with someplace to be.
It’s just another stage, she thought. Another part to play.
“Yes?” a harried lieutenant asked, looking up as she entered. “What is it?”
She let her stolen phaser answer for her. A sapphire beam swept the control room, stunning its personnel, who slumped unconscious over their instrumentation panels. She squeezed past them to reach the controls for the clamshell doors at the aft end of the landing bay. Large windows offered her a view of the Copernicus resting on the bay below, ready to go. As far as she knew, the Enterprise’s other shuttle, Galileo, was still on Pavak with the weapons inspectors.
Good, she thought. So far fortune was with her. Perhaps that was proof enough that she was doing the right thing. Or at least the lesser of two evils.
An emergency stairwell led down from the control room to the floor of the landing bay, where she stunned several more startled crew members before climbing into the cockpit of the shuttlecraft and firing up its helm controls. Her stint in the GRC, which had occasionally required her to assist in making deliveries to disaster sites and outlying refugee camps, had taught her a little about piloting a variety of vehicles. She hoped it would be enough—and that she could get away from the Enterprise fast enough to elude its tractor beams. Who knows, she thought. Maybe Jim will be shrewd enough to let me escape.
It was better this way. She knew that fleeing only made her look guiltier, but that didn’t matter anymore. She fully intended to serve as a scapegoat for the sake of peace; better that the Pavakians and Oyolu blame her for the murders than each other. Perhaps in that way she could finally atone for her crimes, as well as those of her infamous father, and spare Jim Kirk any torturous dilemmas.
The only question had been to whom she should turn herself in to, the Pavakians or the Oyolu? After some consideration, she had decided to set course for Oyolo, in hopes of smoothing over any hard feelings from the hostage crisis and rescue mission. The Pavakians would be displeased, but, as long as the Oyolu did not go easy on her, they might settle for the knowledge that General Tem’s alleged assassin had not gotten away scot free. “Justice” would be served and the peace process could continue.
Or so she prayed.
As she’d programmed them, the bay’s huge clamshell doors opened at her signal. A low-level force field kept the bay pressurized while permitting access to and from the Enterprise. Activating the thrusters, she lifted off from the marked runway and piloted Copernicus out of the bay faster than was surely advisable. In a heartbeat, the shuttle had cleared the bay and was accelerating through the vacuum of space. Lenore held her breath, fearing that a tractor beam would lock onto Copernicus at any moment, while testing the shuttle’s speed limits.
“Good-bye, Jim,” she whispered over the thrum of the impulse engines. “I never meant to hurt you again.”
Lenore steered a course for Oyolo.
Twenty-Seven
“Captain!” Chekov exclaimed. “Copernicus has exited the shuttlebay!”
“What?” Kirk had no idea who could have taken the shuttlecraft or why. A horrible thought flashed through his brain: Could there be a third Gast running amok? “Lock onto it with a tractor beam. Don’t let it get away!”
“I’m trying, sir,” Chekov said, “but the tractors are inoperative!”
More sabotage, Kirk realized. Gast’s handiwork no doubt.
Within seconds, Copernicus would be out of range of the tractor beams, Kirk realized, and the Enterprise couldn’t even chase after it with the ship’s propulsion systems down. Frustrated, he pounded his fist against the armrest of his chair. As if the bombs and the doomsday shuttle weren’t enough!
“Uhura,” he barked. “Hail Copernicus. Find out who the devil took that shuttle!”
“Yes, sir!” She fiddled with the controls of her console. A startled look came over her face as she established contact with the runaway shuttle. “It’s Lenore Karidian, sir!”
Lenore?
Of all the possibilities out there, that one had never occurred to him. Thunderstruck, he glanced at Riley, who appeared equally taken aback. In all the commotion since Gast’s confession, there had been no time to address the fact that Lenore was apparently innocent after all.
So why was she running?
“Put her through,” Kirk ordered.
“Aye, Captain.”
Lenore’s head and shoulders appeared upon the main viewer. Seated at the helm of the Copernicus, she wore a red Starfleet uniform and had her hair styled in a manner consistent with regulations. Her expression was taut but determined. Kirk wondered briefly how she’d managed to evade her guard and escape her quarters. He assumed that Chekov was checking into that at this very minute.
“Lenore?” he asked. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry, Jim. I know how this looks, but it’s best for everyone. I’m going to turn myself in to the authorities on Oyolo . . . and confess to the murders.”
“But you’re not a suspect anymore. We’ve identified the real assassin: Colonel Gast. She’s in custody now.”
He kicked himself for not immediately informing Lenore that she’d been cleared of suspicion, but with the bombs going off and Oyolo in danger, there had simply been more immediate matters demanding his attention. He had thought Lenore was safely stowed away in her quarters.
“Gast?” Lenore was visibly confused. “But . . . how—?”
“It’s complicated,” he said, lacking time to explain. “But you need to turn around and head back to the Enterprise immediately. There’s a Pavakian warhead heading straight for Oyolo.”
He glanced at the digital countdown: Twenty minutes to impact.
“A warhead?” Her face paled as she grasped what that meant. “Can’t you stop it?”
“We’re trying, but our hands are tied.” He hastily explained the situation to her. “So, you see, Oyolo is the last place you want to be right now . . . and we need that shuttle back.”
With the Enterprise stalled, Copernicus was their best shot at intercepting the Pavakian shuttlecraft bearing the warhead. Kirk had been on the verge of dispatching it when word came that it had been hijacked. But was there still time to make the attempt?
“Can I help?” Lenore volunteered. “Tell me what to do.”
Kirk took her offer seriously. She was already en route to Oyolo, which put her in a better position to stop the doomsday shuttle than anyone else. And he knew from bitter experience just how determined and effective she could be when it came to eliminating threats.
“
The shuttle’s phasers,” he asked Chekov, “could they stop the Pavakian craft?”
Chekov shook his head. Sensor data scrolled across his tactical displays.
“Unlikely, sir. Sensors are detecting high-level shields protecting the target. It appears that, among other things, all power from the life-support systems has been diverted to the deflectors. The hull is also protected by heavy ablative plating.” He shook his head. “It’s an armored truck, sir. I doubt the Copernicus’s phasers can make a dent in it.”
Figures, Kirk thought. He wondered if the diplomatic shuttle had always been so heavily armored, due to the constant danger of Oyolu terrorism, or if Gast’s fellow conspirators had deliberately fortified it in preparation for this attack. Not that it mattered; from what Chekov was saying, the shuttle could not simply be halted by Copernicus’s phasers. Plus, Lenore lacked Starfleet training in space combat. There was no guarantee she could score a direct shot.
But Lenore had another idea.
“What if I collided with it?” she suggested. “And it hit me instead of Oyolo?”
Kirk didn’t like the idea, but looked to Chekov for a tactical assessment.
“It could work,” Chekov said. “A collision at impulse speed, with the warp nacelles partially engaged, could trigger the warhead.”
Before it reaches Oyolo, Kirk realized. “But that would be suicide, Lenore.”
“I know. This is my chance to finally wash the blood from my hands, and perhaps even redeem the name of Karidian.” Emotion cracked her voice. “It’s very clear to me now that I’ll never truly be able to escape my past, so I might as well stop trying . . . for everyone’s sake. It’s probably better this way. . . .”
“No,” Kirk objected. “I refuse to accept that. You can’t just throw your life away.”
“But what other choice do we have?”
Kirk’s mind hit on a possible solution. “Listen to me,” he said urgently. “I have an idea.”
• • •
“Transmitting intercept data,” Chekov’s voice announced. His thick accent reminded Lenore of the one she had assumed for a production of The Seagull many long years ago. “Please acknowledge.”
