Cloak

by S. D. Perry

  For the first time since hearing that a starship was outside, Suni felt like they were going to pull it off, that everything was going to work out. By inviting Jim and Mr. Spock to see how things were for themselves, to let them question Dr. Kettaract’s work and get solid answers, they’d have no choice but to support it. And once the Federation actually possessed the knowledge and power of Omega, there be no concern over exactly how it had come about.

  And how could they object, anyway? The cloaking device hadn’t just magically fallen into Starfleet’s hands. Jim Kirk wasn’t above a bit of treachery, not when it was for the greater good.

  She heard Bendes’s voice out in the corridor. A second later, he walked into the lab with Jim, his first officer, and another dark-haired human in a Starfleet science uniform.

  “ . . . are so few of us, most of the station is closed off,” Kettaract was saying. “I think you’ll find that everyone here is thoroughly committed to the experiment . . .”

  He kept talking, but Jain couldn’t hear him. She’d found Jim’s gaze and was locked there, searching for some trace of feeling in his watchful eyes. His expression was perfectly neutral, as though he’d never seen her before.

  “Ah, Dr. Suni,” Kettaract announced, walking the group closer. “I believe you said you’ve already met Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. This is Dr. McCoy, the captain’s chief medical officer.”

  The doctor nodded at her, though he, too, seemed preoccupied, his attention moving to the observation booth—where he saw someone he knew, from the look of recognition that crossed his face.

  “Captain, that friend I was telling you about . . . would you excuse me a moment?” McCoy asked.

  “Go ahead, Bones,” Jim said, still watching Jain.

  Kettaract was too excited to notice. “Dr. Suni, perhaps you could tell the captain something about what we’re doing here, while I show Mr. Spock the equations we’re working from . . . ?”

  Before waiting for a response, he was already leading Mr. Spock away, describing the equipment, the Vulcan following with his hands clasped behind his back. She and Jim were alone.

  “What we’re doing is the right thing,” she said, not sure what else to say. It was the truth, and the first thing she thought of. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.”

  “And are you sorry about what happened to Jack Casden?” he asked, studying her, his tone as unreadable as his expression.

  So he knew that much. “It was an accident,” she said softly, looking away, wishing as she had so many times in the last few days that she’d sent Dickerson instead of Max. Dickerson wouldn’t have messed things up. “A mistake.”

  When she looked at him again, she saw no understanding, no sympathy or even mercy—but there was a hurt deep in his eyes that was painful to look at, and she realized that some part of him had been hoping it wasn’t true.

  “So this is what you meant, about compromising your beliefs to sustain them,” he said, anger tinging his voice. “Killing, so that you and Kettaract could keep working on this, this perfect molecule. Was it worth it? Do you really think that the Federation is just going to wipe out all its enemies when you turn it over to them, that they’re going to have the same agenda you do?”

  From her guilt and pain, the seeds of frustration took root. She kept her voice low, but the words came sharp and fast. “And you think they won’t? Do you really believe that Starfleet will continue to exist by optimism and good intentions alone? Remember what you said, about how hard it is to keep the faith when it seems like everyone else is giving up—maybe they’re giving up because they finally opened their eyes and realized that a warm smile just isn’t going to cut it anymore.”

  Jim stared at her. “So this is your answer. Lying, stealing, murdering.”

  “Certainly Starfleet isn’t capable of anything like that, oh, no,” Jain said angrily, struggling to keep her voice down. “Tell me, what’s General Order 24? Isn’t that the one where you get to destroy an inhabited planet? Starfleet is in denial, Jim, you preach peace and the pursuit of knowledge until anyone comes along who won’t follow the rules, and then you break out the phasers and roll right over them.”

  She stopped to take a deep breath, to regain control. “Don’t you see, this is the answer. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  Jim was shaking his head, his gaze hard and unforgiving, but when he spoke he just sounded tired. “All those people, Jain. Casden, his crew—even the man who was investigating. Are you and your friends going to kill everyone who gets too close to finding you out?”

  She hadn’t heard about Darres, and the news was an unpleasant surprise. It was no wonder Jim wouldn’t listen, he had told her that the captain was an old friend.

  “I’m sorry about Gage,” she said, meaning it. “I didn’t know. I swear to you, there’s not going to be any more killing, not after today.”

  Jim looked at her for a long moment, and what she saw in his face was much worse than anger. It was pity.

  Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  * * *

  She was standing with a small group near an observation room at the front of the laboratory, older, streaks of gray in her red hair, but otherwise just as he remembered.

  McCoy stopped a few meters away, standing uncertainly for a moment as he watched Karen Patterson talking with a short woman, her eyes just as pretty as he remembered. They were actually standing right next to the synthesis space, it seemed, a wide, open area flanked on all sides with heavy equipment. And he realized suddenly that as badly as he’d wanted to find her, to talk to her, now he was afraid.

  Because if she tells me there’s no cure and no chance of one . . .

  McCoy scowled at himself, wondering when, exactly, he’d gone spineless. He straightened his shoulders and went to meet her.

  His fear that she wouldn’t remember him had been needless. When she saw him approaching, her face lit up.

  “Lenny? Lenny McCoy?”

  Cringing inwardly—no one had called him Lenny in about a million years, primarily because he despised it—he smiled at her. “Hello, Karen.”

  She quickly excused herself from her group and took his arm, beaming up at him. “Well, this is a nice surprise. How are you, Lenny? How on earth did you end up out here? Did Bendes talk you into staying for the big event?”

  Small talk seemed inappropriate, somehow. He wasn’t sure which question to start with, so he decided to ask one of his own. “Karen . . . how did you get mixed up in all this?”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I’ve been wondering that myself. Long story short, a friend of mine, she’s a chemist—that woman over there, in the tan blouse? She called me up about six months ago and asked if I was still thinking about pursuing my interest in gamma radiation pathology—which I’ve been considering for a while now—and she told me about Omega. She sent me the proofs, and I just couldn’t resist.”

  McCoy nodded, but didn’t return her smile. “Have you—did you know about the Sphinx?”

  “What about it?” Her smile slipped. “Nothing has happened to Jack, has it?”

  So she didn’t know. He shook his head, deciding that there’d be time for that later. “No, I just heard it was the transport out here . . . Karen, aren’t you worried about the danger involved in this whole Omega business?”

  “No, not really,” she said. “I’ll admit, I was a little nervous, but only because of just how powerful the molecule will be. Now that the moment is upon us, I’m actually pretty excited. Everyone is, I’ve been making the rounds and I’d say the doubt meter is on zero.”

  She laughed as though she’d told a joke, and McCoy chuckled politely. Same old Karen. He started to tell her that the big moment was probably going to be postponed indefinitely, that the Enterprise had come to stop it—but realized suddenly that he just couldn’t wait a moment longer, not one. His vaguely prepared story about having a patient with the disease flew right out the window. He had to know, he had
to know if there was a chance.

  There was no one close by. He faced her, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to find you because I know you spent some time studying xenopolycythemia. I read your paper on it, and you said that there were some promising advances being made . . . I’ve been diagnosed with it, Karen. Please, tell me honestly—how far away is the cure?”

  The unhappy shock on her face gave way to sympathy, compassion . . . but he didn’t see what he’d hoped for, what he’d prayed for. There was no reassurance coming.

  “Oh, Lenny, I’m so sorry.”

  McCoy swallowed, hard, and nodded. “That’s all right.”

  “No, I mean I’m sorry you’ve been diagnosed,” she said. “Your chances are slim to none, I won’t kid you, but it’s not totally hopeless.”

  Her bedside manner hadn’t improved, but he barely noticed. “Really? How, I mean—where? Who’s doing the research?”

  “You’re looking at her,” Karen said, though she wasn’t smiling encouragingly. “I’ve been considering the problem off and on for years, how to slow the red blood cell production. I have a couple of ideas, but Lenny—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Even if one of them pans out, I just don’t know. How long?”

  “A year, maybe.”

  She forced a smile. “Well, I guess I won’t be hanging around here, then. I’ll pack my bags tonight.”

  McCoy couldn’t believe it. Twenty years had passed, and yet she was willing to set her life aside to help him . . . to offer him a thread of hope, real hope.

  The lump in his throat was hard to get past. “I—Karen, I don’t know what to say—”

  She sighed. “Honestly, Lenny, I wouldn’t say anything, yet. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “Of course,” he said, trying to mean it. “I understand.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else and then stopped, looking past his shoulder. McCoy turned and saw a man approaching, rubbing his nose with one hand and grinning wildly.

  “We’re ready,” he breathed, sniffling loudly, shifting his weight from foot to foot like an overstimulated child. “Everything’s ready.”

  * * *

  Spock was apparently just finishing looking over Dr. Kettaract’s notes when Kirk walked away from Jain to meet them, clamping down on his feelings as best he could.

  He was hurt, angry, and dreadfully, horribly disappointed. It was as if she thought he’d never questioned an order, or searched himself for the morality of his choices. She thought he didn’t understand, he saw it in her eyes . . . and to be so harshly underestimated by someone he’d respected, shared his feelings with—

  She was wrong. He understood exactly what she was saying, what she wanted, what she believed. He’d heard all the arguments before, both sides—the Federation needed to be aggressive and militaristic, it needed to be passive and peaceful. He’d finally come to realize that neither and both were right, and that was the least popular option of all.

  He understood that people wanted answers, they wanted solid rules that they could apply to every situation . . . it was the nature of man, he’d always thought, to want to figure everything out in advance. To know how you’re supposed to feel and what you’re supposed to think without having to constantly question everything, all the time. He wanted it, too, and why not? Everything would be so simple.

  And if life actually worked that way, we would all be able to close our minds, to stick to our personal convictions without ever having to listen to anyone else’s. To never doubt ourselves . . . but at the expense of never changing.

  Starfleet was a military organization. It was also a pacifistic organization, and a scientific one, and many other things . . . and in Starfleet as in life, any situation was best handled by trying to see it with a clear eye before making a choice.

  He’d looked at Jain and seen certainty. She’d decided that the Federation needed more power, and had set about trying to achieve it without looking at the decisions she was making to get there. It had been the downfall of too many people to count, and it hurt his heart to see her there.

  Kirk stayed standing, though Spock and Kettaract were both seated at a small folding table. Spock set Kettaract’s clipboard aside and folded his arms, frowning thoughtfully.

  “Well? You see the evolution, don’t you?” Kettaract asked eagerly.

  “Yes,” Spock said. “And the work is brilliant, Doctor. The inclusion of opposing magnetic fields in a cross pattern to more precisely control the acceleration rate is most interesting.”

  Proud to the point of conceit, Kettaract nodded, smiling. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “However, your synthesis will almost certainly fail,” Spock continued. “The quark-antiquark imbalance will dissolve the atomic binding energy even as it’s formed.”

  Kettaract’s smile had faltered. “And I’ve taken that into account, with the subspace vent at fusion.”

  “Which will not be sufficient to stabilize,” Spock said evenly. “And which will release the reaction into subspace, creating a chain reaction that will have a catastrophic effect on that continuum.”

  Kettaract shook his head. “That won’t happen. The reaction isn’t sufficient for the particulate matter to reach a critical velocity, or a critical temperature. The energy will be contained.”

  Kirk glanced behind him and saw that McCoy had returned, and was watching with some concern.

  “According to one of the scientists, everything is ready to go now,” Bones whispered, leaning forward. “And they’re all convinced it’s going to work.”

  Spock was still speaking. “ . . . and while your mathematics are otherwise sound, you’ve presumed that the transition into subspace will dampen velocity and temperature. I put forth that it will not, and your work hasn’t convinced me otherwise.”

  Jain had approached the other side of the table, to stand behind Kettaract.

  “You’re arguing a theoretical point,” the physicist said angrily.

  “Indeed. As are you, Doctor,” Spock said. “It is an unknown. You’d be risking your life to find out which of us is right.”

  “I know—” Kettaract stopped, his face flushed and unhappy . . . and Kirk thought he saw the faintest shadow of doubt cross his face before it was gone.

  “The risk is minimal,” Jain said, putting her hand on Kettaract’s shoulder. “You know that. You’ve worked on Omega for years, you’ve covered and checked every aspect again and again—we never would have supported you if we didn’t believe in your work, Bendes. I never would have supported you.”

  She looked at Kirk, her expression as cold as her voice was encouraging. “Everything is ready to go. Don’t let them stop you now, at the very threshold. They don’t want anyone to take a chance, because they can’t. They’re hypocrites, just like the rest of them.”

  Kettaract was nodding. “You’re right, Jain, of course you’re right.”

  “Right or wrong, I’m not going to let you destroy yourselves,” Kirk said. If the scientist didn’t want to see reason, fine, he didn’t have to. “Bones, go talk to your friend, convince her it’s over; she can help explain to the others. Spock, start shutting the equipment down, and I’ll have Mr. Scott—”

  Jain turned and sprinted across the laboratory, running for a long panel set into the wall less than fifteen meters away.

  “Captain, she must be stopped!” Spock said, quickly rising to his feet.

  Kirk grabbed his phaser, no time to think as he raised it, pointed—

  —and Jain was already there, her hand on the panel. He was too late. She turned and smiled triumphantly but there was no happiness in her victory, nothing but self-righteous anger in her expression, crossed with pain when she saw the phaser in his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Bendes,” she called, her voice ragged. “I know it was supposed to be your big moment.”

  Kettaract stood up, an incredulous smile breaking across his face. “You did the right thing.”

  He
turned to Spock, still smiling. “We’ll find out which of us is right, Mr. Spock, in about ninety seconds.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jain walked back toward them as a smiling Bendes said something to Spock; she didn’t catch it. Probably something about the countdown.

  It’s done. Finally.

  She was still overwhelmed by the sense of relief that had washed over her when she’d flipped the switch; nothing else mattered. Jim Kirk and his high-flying morality could go to hell.

  Mr. Spock responded to Kettaract’s smiling statement by ignoring it, turning to Jim instead.

  “We have to leave immediately, Captain. This station will be destroyed.”

  “Can we stop it?” Jim asked. “Break the equipment, shut down the computer?”

  “Negative, we could accelerate the process.”

  “I think you should stay for the show,” Jain said, but Jim wasn’t listening. He snatched up his communicator and flipped it open, talking fast.

  “Scotty, lock on to us, prepare to go to warp.”

  The hum of machinery was filling the room, the other scientists clapping and laughing as they filed into the observation booth.

  Jim turned and waved his arms at them, shouting. “Listen to me! You have to evacuate, now!”

  “Karen!” the Enterprise doctor called, but Dr. Patterson was well inside the booth.

  Kettaract started waving, too, shouting louder than either of them. “Everything is fine! Everything is fine! Sixty seconds or less!”

  The team members Jain could see looked confused, but they still moved into the booth, finding their seats. She knew they would, they had faith. They knew Kettaract was right. For all his personal failings, he was a genius.