Kimura directed him to the console at the end of one of the tables. “Did they leave any intact files?”
Valmar worked on the computer for a few moments. “Mmm, the data’s wiped, but hold on . . . yes, there’s a directory fragment remaining. Translating the filenames . . . Sir, I think these were museum scans of the original Kir’Shara.”
Jackpot! “Record everything, then secure it and get it—”
“Sir!” Alonzo cried from the doorway, just before an energy bolt took her in the shoulder.
Kimura and Valmar rushed to flank the door, checking their scanners. There were at least ten Vulcan biosignatures in the corridor outside—coming from both directions. “How’d they flank us?” Valmar demanded as he dragged the moaning Alonzo out of the line of fire and reached for the first aid kit on his belt.
“The transporter sounds,” Kimura realized. “We assumed they were evacuating. Perfect cover for beaming a team in behind us!”
“But Endeavour detected them beaming out!”
“I think there are a lot more people here than we realized,” Kimura said. “Other factions backing the loyalists. This was always a trap.”
Firing from the doorway in both directions, they managed to stun several of their assailants, but there were plenty of others to keep them trapped. It was only when Surel’s team came up from behind one of the two groups, setting up a crossfire that Kimura and Valmar both joined in to neutralize the whole lot, that the other group fell back. “Keep pushing them back,” Surel ordered. “We must get to the exit with all due haste.”
Kimura fell in beside him, while Valmar picked up Alonzo. “But the evidence—”
“I trust you scanned it?” Kimura nodded, and Surel continued: “That must suffice. I have discovered something urgent that we must report without delay.”
Kimura was about to protest that at least L’Resen should be brought in to testify, but the shooting started again and he was forced to drop the issue and focus on the fight. They managed to drive the loyalists (or whoever else had been waiting in reserve) up the corridor toward the fork, while Surel ordered the other half of his team—already battling their own opponents—to do the same, trapping their adversaries in the middle. Kimura contacted Money to give the same order. “We lost Bragen,” Sascha Money reported back, her voice tight. Kimura squeezed his eyes shut and let the pain pass through him swiftly, intensely. “But we’ll make it back, sir.”
Kimura realized that Tozek was not one of the wounded Surel’s people were carrying; he must have fallen as well. But if they wished to avoid more casualties, they needed to focus on the battle. Coordinating over comms, the two Starfleet-Vulcan teams closed the pincer on their enemies. But that only drove the loyalists to fight back more fiercely.
But then he heard a voice speaking to the loyalists over their comm channel, ordering their retreat. The deep, harsh masculine voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Identifying it wasn’t as important as the question of why they were breaking for the exit.
He and Surel exchanged a look. “We have to move now,” Kimura said, and he could tell the director already knew it.
Both team leaders ordered an evacuation and pushed forward. But even though the loyalists were also in retreat, they were determined not to make it easy for their foes, raining fire down the corridor. Kimura tried not to think about what he was risking as he pushed forward, for the risk if he didn’t was far more absolute.
Or so he thought until a bolt of blinding light flashed in his right eye and . . .
And nothing was clear after that. He was on his back and couldn’t move or think clearly, and Surel was over him, calling, but he couldn’t make out the words. He felt himself being picked up, carried like a child, until another flash struck close and Surel tumbled and dropped him. Kimura faded out again for a moment, then heard Surel’s voice. He recognized the words “emergency beam-out,” and it refreshed his memory enough to let him realize that the blurry sight before him was Surel sprawled on the floor, holding a communicator in his hand. Surel’s chest and arm were covered in bright green, and there was green liquid on the floor.
Kimura felt himself fading again, but then he felt the pressure of warm fingers on his face, and there was a presence inside his mind that brought his thoughts into focus. The presence spoke to him: You must tell them what I saw, Takashi. They must know! A memory flooded into him, a memory that wasn’t his: a Vulcan speaking on a monitor, giving orders to Zadok. An older, gray-haired Vulcan whose face he’d seen before. Suddenly he knew whose voice he had heard in the corridor.
But then he heard the explosions starting, and then his body began to tingle and burn. He didn’t know whether the blast wave or the transporter beam had gotten to him first.
16
May 28, 2165
U.S.S. Endeavour
DOCTOR PHLOX SPENT HOURS operating on Takashi Kimura, even summoning the assistance of a pair of surgeons who shuttled aboard from Vulcan’s spacedock. Benedetta Alonzo and Pamela Janley had both needed their injuries treated as well, but Phlox had reported them both in recovery hours before Hoshi Sato heard any further word about her lover. The procedure took long enough that T’Pol was able to compose letters to the families of both Bernard Bragen and Bayani Valmar, informing them that they would never see those loved ones again. Both had given their lives heroically: Bragen in defense of his teammates, both human and Vulcan, and Valmar in acquiring and protecting the scans of the forging equipment in the bunker, scans that had been found on his body when it had materialized along with the others—although his scanner had been damaged in the explosion and Cutler was unsure how much data she would be able to recover, a serious problem given that L’Resen had evidently died as well, leaving the scans as their only real evidence of the forgery’s origins. But transmitting the letters had done nothing to distract Sato from her fears, only reinforcing her dread that she might soon have to send a third letter to Hideto and Emiko Kimura about their son. And who would write a comforting letter to me? she wondered at one point in the long vigil.
At another point, she wondered how the Vulcans handled such matters. The families of Surel and his subalterns Tozek and Semorn would now have occasion to find out—as, presumably, would the families of the estimated eleven unconscious loyalists left behind to die in the explosion, once their remains had been identified. Even the Vulcan newscasters, commentators, and private journal authors whose chatter Sato monitored seemed stunned by the magnitude of this act of violence. What had been a political debate about alien fraud and manipulation had now escalated to open violence by Vulcans against their own. Although the chatter from the planet below was much more subdued than it would have been on Earth, for most of the populace were patiently waiting for more information before they formed conclusions—the reverse of how too many humans tended to operate, even in this comparatively enlightened age.
In time, Phlox reported that Kimura was stable and out of surgery, and Captain T’Pol permitted Sato to accompany her to sickbay. But Hoshi was dismayed to see no sign of Phlox’s normally irrepressible cheer and optimism; instead he wore the stern but empathetic countenance with which he delivered bad news. “I’ve done all I can for him,” he said in slow, heavy tones, “with the commendable assistance of Doctors T’Ruun and Venast. But I must ask you to prepare yourself, Hoshi.”
She took a deep breath, striving for her discipline as an officer. She had been through many terrible things before. “Go ahead, Phlox.”
“Takashi sustained extensive primary and secondary blast injuries to the left side of his body, in addition to serious flash burns. I’ve had to remove a portion of his left lung, and his left kidney was a total loss. I’ve implanted a Tumodian lamprey to perform hemodialysis for the moment; it’s a similar principle to how my osmotic eel cleanses wounds.” Sato nodded. “I’m sorry, but his left arm also had to be amputated. And I’m afraid at this poin
t I can’t assess his viability for a biograft or prosthetic arm, for there’s extensive nerve damage to the shoulder.” He looked to T’Pol. “I’m afraid his physical recovery would take months at best, and he’s unlikely to regain sufficient mobility and strength to resume his duties as a starship armory officer.”
“Understood, Doctor,” T’Pol said, subdued. Her gaze remained on Sato.
Phlox took a deep breath. There was worse news? “There is . . . also significant brain damage.” Hoshi gasped. Phlox maintained his calm, clinical tone, spelling it out with a detached relentlessness that was almost a comfort. “He’s sustained injury to his right frontal and parietal lobes, evidently due to thermal and radiation trauma from a particle beam. It’s too early to assess the extent of his impairment, but judging from the areas of the damage, Takashi could well have issues with motor skills, language, sensory perception and integration, visual memory, advance planning and problem-solving . . .”
Hoshi realized T’Pol had caught her; she had momentarily lost her balance. The warmth of her captain’s hands—her friend’s hands—on her shoulders helped her regain her strength. “I’m all right, Phlox. Go on.”
“Keep in mind, Hoshi, I’m only listing possible effects. Not all of them will necessarily apply. In fact, I’m fairly certain the commander’s brain damage could have been far worse.”
“What do you mean, Doctor?” asked T’Pol.
“Crewman Alonzo reported seeing Director Surel place his hand on the commander’s face just before the explosion. I detected neurochemical residues of a type I’ve seen before, specifically in Admiral Archer and Corporal Askwith following their telepathic contacts with Vulcans in the original Kir’Shara affair. It would appear that Surel, with his dying breath, initiated a mind meld with Commander Kimura. It seems to have had a stabilizing effect on Takashi’s neurological functions; a rough analogy might be the effect of the medications delivered to stroke victims to ameliorate ischemic damage. There are even signs that Takashi’s brain has already begun to reroute some of its functions around the damaged areas, perhaps under Surel’s guidance.”
T’Pol took a step toward him. “Doctor . . . is there any sign that Surel . . .”
Phlox anticipated her and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. Doctor Venast raised the question of a katra transfer as soon as we learned of the meld, but even with his expertise guiding us, we could find no evidence of any foreign engrammatic pattern in the commander’s brain.”
Sato barely registered their words, which were almost gibberish to her. She remembered something about katras from the original Kir’Shara incident, something to do with how Admiral Archer had discovered the ark. But it was of little interest to her now. Takashi would live . . . but would he still be the man she loved? Even if he were, he could no longer be a starship officer . . . and what would happen to them then?
But T’Pol was still speaking, concern evident on her face. “That means that Surel had the opportunity to preserve his katra in his final moments, yet he chose to sacrifice that opportunity—to consign his essence to oblivion. What could have been important enough to require such a sacrifice?”
Phlox pondered. “He was a dedicated Syrannite. Perhaps he considered the preservation of Commander Kimura’s life and sanity to be of sufficient importance. We know from Admiral Archer’s experience that a katric transfer can be quite stressful on a human. The director may have been unwilling to risk further damage to the commander for his own personal gain.”
“Logical,” T’Pol conceded. “But it is also possible that Surel discovered something of importance, and upon his imminent death, transferred the knowledge to Commander Kimura to ensure it would reach us.”
Phlox pursed his lips, tilting his head in a shrug. “It’s possible.”
“Then I need you to revive Commander Kimura at the earliest possible opportunity. It may be imperative that we speak to him.”
The doctor was about to protest, but he paused on seeing the resolute look in T’Pol’s eyes. “Theoretically, I could revive him briefly right now. But I would emphatically advise against it. It would delay his recovery and possibly impair it to some degree.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Doctor. He may hold vital information.”
“And he may be in no condition to communicate it.”
“Do it, Phlox.” The words grated out of Hoshi’s throat, emerging with almost physical pain. “It’s what he’d want you to do if there were any chance it could make a difference.”
Phlox grudgingly conceded and led them inside. Sato tried to control her shock at the sight of her lover’s bruised and battered form on the scanner table, the stump where his left arm had been, the shaved, swollen, and bandaged right side of his head. That beautiful face, that strong, sleek body, now broken and vandalized. And who knew what might be left of the sweet, magnificent warrior-philosopher inside, the man who could field-strip and reassemble a particle rifle in under thirty seconds but would walk fifty kilometers to rescue a wounded bird?
The doctor injected Kimura with a stimulant, insisting that he could not allow them to speak to him for more than two minutes. What seemed like ages later, Kimura’s eyes began to open and he moaned softly. “Takashi?” she prompted softly. “It’s okay. It’s me.”
“Ho . . . Hoshi?” he murmured after a moment, filling her with relief. His eyes brushed across her—but did not stop, did not focus on her. “Doko ni . . . I hear . . . where you?”
Hoshi gasped. Phlox stood comfortingly near, though touching was not his way. “Sensory and linguistic impairment. But they may not be permanent. It’s actually a good sign that he’s responding so well already.”
She took his hand . . . his surviving hand . . . and it seemed to help him focus on her, though his eyes would still not fully lock on. “I’m right here, Takashi.”
“Hoshi-chan . . . Samishi katta desu . . . Thought . . . never see you again.”
“Yamero, baka,” she snapped in a quavery voice, telling him to stop such foolish talk. “We’re both here,” she assured him, trying to keep him focused on English. “You’re safe aboard Endeavour.”
“Endeboru . . . uchūsen . . .”
“Starship. That’s right.” She patted his hand. “You’re back home.” She ignored the fact that it wouldn’t be his home for much longer.
“Commander Kimura,” T’Pol said. “Do you recognize me?”
The sound of his commanding officer’s voice seemed to trigger some reflex to strive for greater alertness. “Senchō . . . Captain. Captain T’Pol. Yes. Yes, ma’am.”
“I am grateful that you have returned alive, Takashi. You have done us a great service. But if you can, I need you to perform one more service. I need you to concentrate. I need you to remember the events in the bunker.”
“The bunker . . .” Suddenly his gaze sharpened. “Surel! They shot him . . . yurusenai!”
“Stay calm,” Sato urged. “It’s okay, don’t strain yourself.”
“No. Hoshi . . . important, have to . . . Captain . . . Surel showed me. What he saw. Who he saw. Who . . . who’s doing all this.” He trailed off, confused.
Phlox moved closer, watching Kimura’s vitals on the monitor uneasily. “Captain, he’s been agitated enough. He has to rest now.”
“Ie! No, Doctor!” Kimura grated out. “Have to . . . report. Can’t . . . remember . . .” His gaze locked on T’Pol. “Meld. Surel gave me . . . I give you.”
Taking his meaning, the captain looked to Phlox. “Would there be any risk involved with a meld in his condition?”
“There’s a risk involved with being awake in his condition, Captain. Any further cerebral activity . . .”
“The contact would be brief. The information is prominent in his mind, so it should be simple to retrieve it with a light mind touch. A full meld should not be necessary.” Her gaze softened. “And perhaps there is some
way I can . . . ease his distress, as Surel did.”
Phlox held her gaze. “Very well. But use great delicacy, Captain.”
“Of course.” T’Pol glanced to Sato, as though seeking permission. Hoshi nodded, and T’Pol carefully placed her fingers on Kimura’s temple and cheek, as gently as if his skin were loose-packed snow.
Moments later, her eyes widened and she staggered back in shock. Hoshi moved to catch her, but she recovered. “Captain?” Phlox asked.
“I’m all right, Doctor.” She turned to Kimura. “Thank you, Commander. You may rest now.” She nodded to Phlox, who administered a sedative. Sato held his hand as he went under.
T’Pol made her way over to the console near the sickbay door and contacted the bridge, requesting a communications channel to Admiral Archer. It was some moments, however, before the admiral’s voice came over the channel. “Archer here. This isn’t a good time, T’Pol.”
“Sir. Commander Kimura has just relayed vital intelligence about the identity of the individual behind the dissident plot.”
Archer paused. “I’m glad to hear the commander pulled through. But I’m afraid his intelligence came a little late. We’ve been beaten to that particular punch.”
Vulcan Council Chamber, ShiKahr
“Your disbelief is logical, my fellow Vulcans,” said the man whose planetwide address was being carried on the Council chamber’s monitors—a stern-featured older Vulcan with steel-gray hair and intense blue eyes, unusual for his species. “My Syrannite enemies, and their Andorian and human backers, have spent years spreading propaganda that I had died or defected to the Romulans. Indeed, their agents have made more than one attempt to bring about the former fate, which is why it has been necessary for me to remain in hiding. But I am prepared to provide proof, as soon as it can be delivered in a way that will not jeopardize my safety, that what you see before you now is true:
Star Trek: Enterprise - 017 - Rise of the Federation: Uncertain Logic Page 21
