Cloak

by S. D. Perry

  “Mr. Spock, I thought you’d still be at the conference,” the captain said. He appeared to be tired, his shoulders somewhat slumped as he started toward his quarters. Spock fell in beside him.

  “After speaking with Dr. Kettaract, I decided that my time would be better spent here, researching his personal and professional history,” Spock responded. “And I’ve uncovered a few facts that bear immediate discussion.”

  “Explain.”

  Spock quickly related the gist of his conversation with Kettaract, which surprised and concerned the captain. They reached his quarters as Spock was relating the information, the captain gesturing him inside so that he could continue.

  “His willingness to discuss the cloaking device, and his excessive anger toward what he considers to be Starfleet’s hypocrisy, prove nothing,” Spock said.

  The captain leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. “But?”

  “There is a history of emotional instability. Bendes Kettaract achieved his first doctorate at the age of nineteen, in molecular physics, and went on to earn two more before he was twenty-five, in quantum mechanics and chemistry. He was enrolled in Starfleet Academy throughout, and was regarded as something of a prodigy even before his first paper was published, on proton decay. Afterward, the Federation’s scientific community unofficially designated his as the next great mind in science. Kettaract then disappeared for two years, throwing himself into a new project—and upon his next publication, he became an object of scorn to the same people who had earlier embraced him. He theorized a stable, energy-producing, artificially created molecule that would ‘be to a warp core what a warp core is to a matchstick,’ and was denounced as a fool when serious flaws in his premise became immediately apparent.”

  The captain raised one hand slightly, stopping him. “Is it possible, his theory?”

  “No,” Spock answered. “However, having read his paper, I believe he was much closer than anyone credited. His math was superb, and all of the components he based his theory around do exist. If such a synthesis was possible, the energy output would be as high as he postulated, perhaps higher. But the design was inherently unstable, and that instability meant his molecule could not exist for more than a fraction of a second.”

  Although Spock could have continued, the captain nodded, and he returned to Kettaract’s history.

  “The barrage of denouncements from his peers drove him out of the public eye for just over a decade,” Spock continued. “It is unknown what he did for the entire period, but he was hospitalized twice for paranoid episodes in the first five years, claiming that he was being watched and followed. He apparently recovered; at the end of his hiatus, he published again—this time, a speculative analysis of a theoretical quark grouping. The paper was heralded as brilliant, and did much to redeem his reputation, although not to the same status as before.

  “Since then, Kettaract has worked in and out of the private sector, primarily as a researcher but also as a consultant, among other things. Technically, he is still a member of Starfleet, but has not been considered to be on active duty for some time. As he told me himself, he’s done work for Starfleet Intelligence . . . and it was his reference to the Romulan cloaking device that drew my attention—”

  “—because of the Sphinx,” the captain said softly. “Have you found any evidence of a connection between Kettaract and Casden?”

  “I have not,” Spock said. “I have nothing but conjecture at this point.”

  “But you think you’re on to something, don’t you?”

  Spock raised an eyebrow. “I believe further investigation is not unwarranted, sir.”

  The captain paused, frowning. His voice when he spoke was uncertain. “Is it possible . . . do you believe that Dr. Suni might know something about this?”

  “I would not presume to say,” Spock said. “Logically, however, it must be considered. By Dr. Suni’s own admission, the two of them are currently working together on an unspecified project—of which there is no mention in the files.”

  The captain nodded reluctantly, clearly dissatisfied with the conclusion. “Yes, of course. Recommendations?”

  “First, that we coordinate with Captain Darres’s investigation,” Spock said. “His team may have access to information about Jack Casden and the Sphinx that we do not. I also recommend a more exhaustive search of Federation records for information about Doctors Kettaract and Suni, perhaps cross-referencing with M-20’s files. And I suggest that we concern ourselves with whether or not Captain Casden was actually involved with the Romulans—which, based on my conversation with Dr. Kettaract, we can no longer presume with any certainty. We have to account for the Sphinx’s graviton reading, and if the device we obtained is still being studied by Starfleet Intelligence—”

  The captain finished his thought. “—then where did that reading come from?” He looked at Spock closely, pursing his lips. “How do you propose we do that, exactly?”

  “By speaking with the Romulan Commander,” Spock said. “She is still in Federation space.”

  “Still?” the captain asked. “But why? The Federation doesn’t hold political prisoners . . . surely there wasn’t a problem with physically returning her.”

  “She’s to be exchanged for a Federation ambassadorial aide being held by the Romulans, on charges of espionage,” Spock said. “The commander is not a prisoner. She’s being detained on Starbase 23, near the Neutral Zone, but has been allowed free access to contact her people, within security-based limits. This personnel exchange was insisted upon by the Romulan government, apparently so that their release of the ambassadorial aide will not be taken as a sign of weakness, by their enemies or their own populace.”

  The next logical step was obvious. Starbase 23 was barely eight light-years from Station M-20.

  “Sir, I request permission to leave at once for Starbase 23 and speak with the Romulan commander.”

  The captain raised his eyebrows. “You think she’ll talk to you?”

  Spock hesitated, considering what he knew of her. “I believe it’s quite possible.”

  The captain nodded once. “Permission granted. I’ll ask Captain Darres to lend us one of his ships, first thing in the morning. M-20 has two personal transports with warp capability; you can be there and back in hours instead of days.”

  Spock agreed, and after a few possibilities were discussed concerning the expansion of the file searches, Spock was dismissed. He headed for the bridge to see about establishing a temporary computer link between the file libraries of the Enterprise and M-20, and realized upon his arrival that for several minutes, he had focused his thoughts on the relatively simple task to the exclusion of all else. He had been avoiding thoughts of the commander, and the recognition of his internal evasion gave him pause. Retreat from oneself indicated an emotional reaction.

  Spock contacted the starbase and secured a connection between their records libraries, asking the ship’s computer to compile data on Bendes Kettaract, Jain Suni, and Jack Casden. After a brief consideration, he added the name John Hermes, the sender of Dr. Kettaract’s unwritten message.

  He expected the complete search to take several hours, and decided that he would retire to his quarters, to consider his upcoming conversation with the commander, assuming that she would agree to see him.

  His unusual effort to avoid thinking of her also required contemplation; he was the first officer of the ship, and ship’s business demanded that someone contact an emissary of the Romulan government in order to collect information. Considering that the commander was available, and that the two of them had briefly established a personal connection, it was only logical that he should make the attempt.

  Spock kept that firmly in mind as he walked to his quarters. It was all a matter of logic.

  Kirk woke up early and contacted Darres about letting Spock use a personal transport. Darres agreed, and Kirk invited him to the Enterprise for lunch, telling him that he wanted to talk more extensively abo
ut Jack Casden. He didn’t explain why; considering Darres’s feelings about Casden, Kirk thought a face-to-face would be better.

  He and Spock went over the results of the computer search, which had turned up very little; there was nothing on Jain but an educational history, and nothing further on Kettaract or Casden. When Spock explained the reference to John Hermes—there was no file for anyone by that name currently living in Federation space—Kirk remembered that Jain had said something like “Tom, not John” to Kettaract the night before. Spock ran the name Tom Hermes, but again, they came up empty.

  Spock beamed over to the station, and had departed for Starbase 23 by 0900. Kirk saw him off the ship, and though he thought his friend’s trip was a good idea—logical—he had to wonder if the Romulan commander would agree to see him. Obviously, Spock wouldn’t deign to discuss it, but Kirk wasn’t blind; the commander had been interested in Spock personally, and they had spent a good period of time alone together . . . although the thought of Mr. Spock being anything less than purely professional with a Federation enemy, even an attractive one, was pretty hard to swallow. Still, Hell hath no fury, as the saying went, and unless he’d misread the commander’s signals toward his first officer, he thought Spock might end up getting the door slammed in his face.

  With only a minimum of ship’s affairs to see to, Kirk found himself looking for ways to kill time before meeting with Darres. Bones was still busy with the crew physicals, obviously caught up in one of his workaholic phases, and although about fifty crew members were attending the third day of the summit, give or take, Kirk decided that he didn’t feel like returning to M-20; he went to the ship’s gym instead and spent an hour at the punching bag and weights, his thoughts full of Jain.

  All they knew for certain about Kettaract was that he was angry, political, and that he knew about the cloaking device—but if it turned out to be more than that, if they discovered that Kettaract’s knowledge of the cloak was somehow connected to what happened to the Sphinx, then there was a possibility that Jain might know something. After their incredible day together, he couldn’t believe that she would involve herself in anything immoral or unethical—she was too bright, too straightforward—but he kept returning to the conversation they’d had, in the observation lounge. What she’d said, about compromising one’s beliefs in order to hold on to them . . . maybe she’d found out something about Kettaract, something she felt she couldn’t reveal. It would explain her strange statement—and it would mean that she hadn’t actually participated in anything untoward, which was what he wanted more than anything to believe.

  It was hard not to wonder. Jain was something of a paradox unto herself, honest with her opinions and feelings, cryptic and vague when it came to actual information about her life or work. And that all the computer had on her was a list of schools she’d attended was certainly unusual, especially considering her claim to be working on a Starfleet project.

  The captain showered and dressed, and was just leaving the gym when Uhura called, her voice spilling out of the intercom by the door.

  “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

  He stepped to the wall, tapping the switch. “Kirk here.”

  “Sir, I have Captain Gage Darres from M-20 on the line; he says it’s important.”

  “Put him through,” Kirk said, frowning. It was already 1100, they’d be meeting in an hour, and Darres wasn’t the type to get overly excited about trivial matters—

  “Go ahead, Captain,” Uhura said.

  “Jim?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” Kirk said.

  Darres sounded slightly out of breath. “I need to come up to the ship, now. Will you meet me in your transporter room?”

  “Of course—what is it? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t think it’s safe to talk about it,” Darres said, his breathing ragged. “I coded my notes, but I’m pretty sure now that my temp quarters are bugged. I’m calling from ops, but they could be monitoring everything, this could be huge—”

  “Slow down,” Kirk said, alarmed at Darres’s obvious fear; he’d never seen or heard it before. “Who’s ‘they’?”

  “Will you meet me? Right now?” He sounded on the verge of panic.

  “Yes,” Kirk said firmly. “Gage, listen to me—call security, have someone escort you to the transporter room. Will you do that?”

  Darres took a deep breath, blew it out. “Okay. I’m okay, I just—right after I talked to you, I got this call, and—”

  “You can tell me about it when you get here. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Kirk out.”

  After a brief call to engineering, Kirk walked quickly to the transporter room, deeply concerned. Either Darres was having some kind of burnout, brought on by the stress of the investigation, or his safety really had been compromised somehow. Neither option seemed preferable. He’d talked to Darres only a few hours ago, and he’d been fine; if he was suffering from paranoid delusions at the time, he’d hidden it well . . .

  . . . which suggests that there really is a “they.”

  Scotty was on the transporters, and was locking on the station’s signal when Kirk arrived.

  “We’re all set to receive, Captain.”

  Kirk nodded, watching the empty platform impatiently. Another minute slowly passed before Mr. Scott announced the incoming signal, much to Kirk’s relief.

  In front of them, a single, shifting glitter of light and shadow spun up, solidifying, becoming Gage Darres—

  —and as the shimmering pattern turned solid, Darres collapsed, crumpling boneless to the platform, his eyes wide and staring.

  Kirk was crouching at his side in a second, barely hearing Mr. Scott call for medical assistance as he lifted his old friend, supporting him into a half-sitting position, calling his name.

  Gage Darres didn’t answer. He was dead.

  * * *

  Because the fatality was recorded as having occurred on board the Enterprise, it fell to McCoy to perform the autopsy. And because it had been one of Jim’s friends who’d died, McCoy worked fast. He was ready to deliver his report less than two hours after he’d first been called to the transporter room by Mr. Scott.

  After seeing that the remains were securely stored, McCoy washed up and called Jim to sickbay—and realized, with a guilty start, that the autopsy had been a relief, in a way. As tragic as unexpected death was, it had a way of reminding people that they were still alive . . . and sometimes that went for doctors, too. Maybe especially, because a big part of the medical profession was about dealing with death, and about maintaining an objectivity when faced with the pitiful truth of it.

  Strange, how that carefully trained objectivity seems to miss a beat, when it’s your own lifeless face you imagine staring up at you.

  McCoy ignored the thought, reminding himself that he had to think positive. Counting on Chekov to come through with Karen Patterson’s whereabouts made it a little harder, but surely the young man’s ego would push him to succeed, come hell or high water. Chekov would find Karen, and if there was a treatment available anywhere in the universe, she’d know about it.

  While he waited for Jim, McCoy went through Darres’s personals, picking out the data chip he’d found tucked into the captain’s right boot. He walked to the computer, curious about what might be on the chip, primarily because it was a strange place to carry one. Since the only DNA trace on the thing came from the dead man, there was no physical evidence to preserve, and therefore no reason not to look.

  McCoy plugged it in—and a series of symbols came up on the screen, a seemingly endless stream of them interspersed with a few numbers. He asked the computer to translate, but it turned out not to be a language, or at least not one on file. Sighing, McCoy pulled the chip just as Jim walked in, his face set in the grim lines of a man dealing with an unforeseen grief. McCoy suddenly felt selfish, for worrying about his own problems when Jim’s friend had died.

  The captain didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Well?”

&n
bsp; “Well, as far is I can tell, it was an accident,” McCoy said, standing up. “Transporter failure—theirs, not ours—and the most common kind there is, cellular shock. Things don’t fit back together quite right. It’s almost always an internal tissue mismatch, the wrong types of cells being used to rebuild something inside, often the heart; the body can’t take it and shuts down.”

  Jim didn’t respond, staring down at the floor, his expression blank.

  McCoy softened his tone. “It happened fast, Jim. He wouldn’t have suffered.”

  The captain looked up. “So it was a transporter malfunction. On the station.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Could it have been done on purpose?”

  McCoy blinked, surprised at the question. Jim had asked him to check for anything unusual, by which he’d assumed tissue damage or toxins in the system, but there hadn’t been anything like that. If someone had actually rigged the transporter to fail . . . why, that was cold-blooded murder, plain and simple.

  “I don’t know,” McCoy said. “It seems unlikely that someone would go through that kind of trouble . . .”

  “But is it possible?” Jim asked.

  McCoy scowled. “I’m a doctor, not a technician. Ask Scotty, or Spock.”

  Jim nodded slowly. “Good idea. I’m not sure when Spock’s getting back, but I was planning to send Mr. Scott over to look for bugs, anyway, and see about their investigation. I’ll have him check out their systems.”

  Where did Spock go? Bugs?

  “Sounds like I’ve missed a few things lately,” McCoy said slowly.

  “You have,” Jim said, his voice a bit gruff. “I’ll be happy to fill you in when you’ve got a spare minute. Are you almost done with the physicals?”

  McCoy started to bristle at Jim’s tone, but gave up after about two seconds. He’d been avoiding his friends for days. Expecting that no one would notice or care was ridiculous.

  “I’ll probably be finished early tomorrow,” McCoy said.

  “Good,” Jim said, and then in a lighter tone, “because you know how Spock gets when you’re not around.”