by S. D. Perry
"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 about 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--Kkk 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 Romu- Ian 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 be- fore 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 c
alled 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?" "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."
McCoy smiled. "Mouthy?"
Jim smiled back. "Bored." It was only a second or two before their smiles faded, as though the weight of their troubles was too great to be suspended any longer, but it was time enough for McCoy to understand how lonely he'd been.
Tell him.
No. Not until he'd talked to Karen, not until the outcome was certain.
"Anything else?" Jim asked.
"Actually, there is." McCoy picked up the data chip. "I found this tucked in one of his boots. I opened it up, but it's just a bunch of symbols and numbers. The computer couldn't read it, either."
Kirk took it from him. "Darres said something about putting his notes into code. He thought he was being targeted because of his investigation into what happened on the Sphinx."
That explained a few things. No wonder Jim was talking about bugs and computer mistakes-on-purpose.
"Uhura might be able to do something with it," the captain continued, heading toward the door. "Thanks, Bones."
"Don't mention it," McCoy said. "And Jim... I'm sorry about your friend."
"Me, too," Jim said.
Chapter Ten
The journey from Deep Space Station M-20 to Starbase 23 was brief and uneventful, and Spock used the time to hypothesize connections between Dr. Kettaract and what had happened to the Sphinx. He considered a wide range of motivations and goals, from Kettaract being in collusion with the Romulans to his stealing the cloaking technology in some plot against the Federation. Obviously, without additional information, not one of his theories could claim a solid foundation of fact--however, he found that the running speculation kept his mind occupied and when new data did present itself, there was always the possibility that it would support a premise he had already structured.
Upon his arrival, the transport and his person were scanned by security personnel, a standard practice for the starbase; its proximity to the Neutral Zone demanded heightened safety measures. When care119 ful scrutiny had classified him as a non threat he was issued a pass and asked to wait while the Romulan commander was informed of his arrival. Because she was a guest of the station, she was not required to submit to any interviews.
Spock was kept waiting for nearly an hour before the commander made her decision, which was to grant him some of her time. He had expected to wait, because he believed that she did not wish to seem overly eager, either to dismiss or accept him. She was a proud woman; she was Romulan.
He was led to her somewhat isolated rooms by the station manager's aide and left there after a brief lecture concerning disclosure of Starfleet or Federation business, the lecture's summary being not to do so. He was also informed that while her communications with her own government were monitored for content, her quarters were private.
Standing outside her door, Spock mentally collected himself in preparation for the interview and then signaled his presence.
"Enter," she said, the sound of her voice surprising him somehow, and he stepped inside.
She was sitting at a small table in the middle of the living space, an empty chair across from her; the room's padded couch and chairs had been pushed aside. He noted that the air was pleasantly warm, the environment similar to that of his quarters on the Enterprise, and to her own ship.
He turned his attention to the commander, and she returned it evenly, neither of them speaking. As with the sound of her voice, seeing her again was oddly surprising, his body reacting as if to a minor shock--although except for a change in the style of her hair, which was pinned up, she was as he remembered. Elegant, with a presence that demanded attention and respect.
"Hello, Spock," she said, her tone without inflection. She gestured to the chair opposite her own. "Would you care to sit?"
"Yes, thank you," he replied, moving to join her. When he was seated, he and the commander again studied one another, his fascination drawn to her eyes. There were complexities there that he had not forgotten, her gaze as disturbing to him as it had been at then- first meeting. Disturbing, but not distressing.
"You didn't say good-bye to me when I left the Enterprise," she said, gently but with no artifice of kindness. Her vo
ice was deep and tuneful. "Have you come to apologize?"
"That is not the purpose of my visit," he said. "But if my actions or lack thereof offended you, I apologize."
She watched him, smiling slightly. "Then I accept. Tell me, what is the reason for your visit? I doubt very much that it's the pleasure of my company."
He felt an urge to disagree with her, in spite of the truth of her statement; he suppressed it. "I've come to ask for information regarding cloaking technology and the distribution of it within the Romulan Empire."
Her smile widened, but he could see clearly that anger inspired it. "You're joking--no, of course you're not. Why? And what makes you think that I'd want to help you?" Spock had already considered answers to her questions. "The Enterprise is currently investigating an event which may have involved a cloaking device. There are rumors being passed that your people were involved with this event, in which a number of deaths occurred--but there's also a possibility that the matter is an internal one. I seek the truth, and would use your answers only for the purposes of defining this investigation. I would not betray your confidence."
"Really?" she asked airily. "How comforting. And what if I told you that the Empire is planning a hostile invasion of Federation space?"
"Obviously, I have to consider the sanctity of life paramount," he said.
"Obviously," she said, watching him intently. "But you still haven't answered my question. You've told me why I should help you... but you haven't yet explained why you feel mat I might wish to."
Spock considered his response carefully. He understood that she was searching for his personal assessment of their relationship, but the truth did not reflect well on his commitment to the Vulcan identity. What made it all the more difficult was that she had made her own feelings clear, all those weeks ago, that she accepted and even encouraged his humanity--at the same time respecting his choice to identify himself as Vulcan. It was an acceptance that he had rarely known, and never from a woman to whom he was attracted.
