by Greg Cox
“Aye, sir,” Palmer said. “I’m on it.”
Kirk knew he was asking a lot of her, but he was confident she was up to the challenge; Palmer had served as the relief communications officer for years and never performed less than ably in all that time. Nevertheless, as Kirk glanced over the bridge, he couldn’t help noticing all the missing faces: Spock, Scotty, Sulu, Uhura, and Chekov. Even McCoy was still down on the planet, assisting in the evacuation of the city hospital. Their absence troubled Kirk; Palmer and the others were good people and highly capable officers, but Kirk felt like he was facing this crisis on his own, missing his usual right-hand people.
What was a captain without his crew?
* * *
“Good news, Nyota. Another truckload of evacuees is on its way out of the city. That empties Zone F. ”
“Fantastic.” Uhura drew a line through the designated area on a large paper map Flossi had procured for her. “That’s one more block cleared.”
Uhura had turned the Pergium Palace into an impromptu command center, only blocks away from ground zero. The map was spread out atop a table near the stage as she fielded reports from throughout the neighborhood. Teams of volunteers, each supervised by an officer from the Enterprise, were racing the clock to get any and all civilians away from the power plant and its dangerously unstable warp core. Uhura’s personal communicator was getting a workout as she pined for her specialized earpiece back on the bridge, which would have helped her focus on the ceaseless stream of reports flowing into the club. She was half tempted to ask Captain Kirk to beam the earpiece down to her, but assumed that the transporters were fully occupied beaming shut-ins to safety.
“Here.” Flossi offered her a steaming mug of hot nabbia tea. “You look like you could use this.”
Uhura looked askance at the mug, but didn’t turn it down. She needed to be at her best and the tea was supposed to be invigorating.
“Thanks.”
Flossi winked at her. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
A priority hail from the Enterprise demanded her attention. She put the other chatter on hold as she responded immediately.
“Lieutenant Uhura reporting.”
“Kirk here,” the captain’s voice addressed her “I understand you’re overseeing evacuation efforts downtown?”
“Affirmative, sir. I was in the right place at the right time.” She glanced guiltily at the tea. “Or the wrong place, depending on your point of view, I suppose.”
“In any event, I applaud your initiative. I’m in touch with Mayor Poho and her people, but I wanted to hear from you firsthand. What’s your situation?”
Uhura concisely briefed Kirk on the status of her volunteer operation. “We’re moving plenty of civilians away from the area, but whether it’s fast enough or far enough remains to be seen. I have to admit, Captain, that I’d feel a lot better if I thought there was even a chance that warp core won’t blow.”
“Scotty has a plan,” he informed her. “He’s going to attempt to launch Thunderbird into space before the core breaches. But success is not guaranteed. One way or another, the fewer people in the vicinity the better.”
“Understood, sir. And I’ll take a risky plan over no plan any day, especially if Mister Scott has his hand in it.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Kirk said. “But I’m concerned by your own proximity to Thunderbird. I’ve instructed Palmer to keep a priority channel open in case you need to beam out in a hurry.”
Uhura glanced around the Palace and at Flossi and the other locals she had come to know here. Her silly trophy cup still rested on the table, where it was being used as a paperweight to hold one end of the map down.
“Thank you, sir, but I’m going to stay here for as long as I can, and as long as I can do some good.”
“Message received, Lieutenant. Try not to call it too close. Kirk out.”
Uhura put down the receiver, just to clear her mind before checking in with the volunteer squads. She took a sip of the tea.
Damn, that is good, she thought. Sorry, Mister Spock.
“Everything okay, Nyota?” Flossi asked.
“Here’s hoping.” She had faith that Scotty’s mad plan would work. The only question was how much it would cost them. Peering across the club at the now-empty stage, she wondered if she should start singing “Nearer, My God, to Thee” and whether anyone would get it if she did.
It’s not over yet, she thought.
Twenty-Four
Deep Space Station S-8
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
The general store on the promenade was closed for the night, but Naylis admitted Sulu and Knox anyway, before locking the front entrance behind them. An actual steel door slid into place, as opposed to merely a protective force field. The lights were dimmed and most of the shelves and display cases were in need of restocking. Sulu had never seen the place so empty before.
“Just need a few moments of your time,” Sulu said.
“I’m at your service, Lieutenant.” Naylis stepped behind the central counter to straighten up a display of pocket-sized transponders. “Your timing is impeccable, I must say. I was just about to head to my quarters.”
Sulu kept a close eye on the Troyian merchant. He had brought Knox along as backup while Johann remained posted outside Tilton’s room in the infirmary, in part to keep anyone from seeing the manager in his present state, but also to guard Tilton from anyone who might want to silence him. Doctor M’Benga was hopeful that proper treatment could reverse the worst of the brainwashing. Sulu wanted to give Tilton a chance at recovery.
“Let me get straight to the point,” Sulu said. “What do you know about neural neutralizers . . . and how to get your hands on one?”
Naylis stopped fiddling with the display. He looked up at Sulu with a quizzical expression on his face. If he was alarmed by this line of inquiry, he did a good job of hiding it. Sulu resolved to never play poker with the man.
“I assume you’re asking in your professional capacity, Lieutenant. Please tell me you’re not actually in the market for such an insidious piece of merchandise.”
Sulu noted that Naylis didn’t pretend to be unfamiliar with neural neutralizers, the existence of which was hardly public knowledge. Perhaps he judged that feigning ignorance would be unconvincing, considering his reputation for being well informed on matters of interest.
“Could you get me one if I was?”
“Goodness, what makes you think that?”
“Well, Grandle did say you could get your hands on just about anything for the right price . . .”
“Anything legal,” Naylis stressed again.
Sulu recalled Grandle’s skepticism regarding that claim. “That’s right. You said that before.”
And yet a neural neutralizer was apparently hiding in or around the station, and, from what Sulu gathered, Naylis was notorious for having his mint-green fingers in all sorts of pies.
“Look, Lieutenant,” the merchant said. “I trade with dealers all over the quadrant, so, yes, I’m quite aware that the black markets exist, even for items banned throughout the Federation for very good reasons, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I would never stoop to such illicit dealings. I’m a legitimate businessman.”
“Funny thing, though,” Sulu said. “I asked the station computer to give me a rundown of recent imports and exports passing through this station, and it turns out that you recently received several large shipments from the dark side of Habah VIII, which is known to be a hub of illegal tech trafficking.”
“Among other things,” Naylis said. “If you look closer at the database, you’ll see that those shipments are listed, accurately, as a large quantity of used antigrav lifters of the sort that will come in handy for prospectors on Baldur III.” He gave Sulu a conspiratorial smirk. “What can I say? You can get lifters at a good price, and with considerably less red tape, if you’re not too picky about whom you deal with, but it’s not as though
they’re dangerous contraband. If anything, I was simply doing my best to lighten the loads of many a would-be miner.”
Sulu glanced around the store. “Where are those lifters now?”
“Sold out almost instantly,” Naylis said. “I made a handsome profit, if you must know, without having anything to do with a neural neutralizer.”
“Then you won’t mind if we look around a bit?”
“Must you?” Naylis said, sighing theatrically. “It’s been a long day, and I haven’t had my supper yet.”
“All the more reason for me to get down to business.” Sulu nodded at Knox, who stood by attentively. “Keep Mister Naylis company while I see what I can find, one way or another.”
“Aye, sir,” Knox said, watching his back. Her phaser remained clipped to her belt, but Sulu was confident that she could deal with Naylis if he tried to cause trouble.
Naylis’s easy smile curdled. “Really, Lieutenant, I must protest. This borders on harassment. Perhaps we should see what Mister Tilton has to say about this?”
“Tilton is indisposed,” Sulu said. “Just sit back and let me do my job.”
Sulu walked the store, methodically scanning the premises with a tricorder in hopes of finding something suspicious. There was no guarantee, of course, that the neutralizer was nearby, or even that Naylis was indeed responsible for smuggling it onto the station—the case against the merchant was circumstantial at best—but it was a place to start searching for the neutralizer. The way Sulu saw it, an educated guess was better than no clue at all.
Wonder what Mister Spock would think of that logic?
The tricorder hummed as it surveyed the shop, finding nothing out of the ordinary at first. Then a blank spot registered on the display as the scans were unable to probe beyond what appeared to be a largish closet door located below an Employees Only sign. Fiddling with the controls, Sulu confirmed that the area behind the door was shielded against conventional scanners, which struck him as, well, excessive.
“What’s behind this door?”
“Just a walk-in storeroom,” said Naylis with affected casualness. “Nothing more.”
“Then why the heavy security?” Sulu asked.
“Call me paranoid,” Naylis said. “You can never be too careful in my line of work.”
Sulu didn’t buy it. Legal wares and supplies didn’t require this level of secrecy. A control panel next to the doorway regulated access to the storeroom. “Care to open this for me?”
“I think not, Lieutenant.” Naylis crossed his arms atop his chest. “I know my rights.”
“And I smell a rat.”
Sulu detached an all-purpose door opener from his belt, having come prepared to poke around where he wasn’t wanted. The small handheld cylinder, which functioned as a high-tech skeleton key, was designed to circumvent both mechanical and magnetic locks via a combination of miniature tractor beams and signal emitters. This particular lock was a good one, much harder to pick than, say, the locks in that twentieth-century Air Force base he and Captain Kirk had burgled a few years back, but the device worked just as well this time around. A beep sounded as the door slid open to reveal far more than just shelves of unsold stock.
“Bingo,” Sulu said.
The storeroom had been converted into a rough approximation of the neural neutralizer chamber back on Tantalus V. A reclining chair leaned backward beneath a circular beam generator embedded in the ceiling. A transparent partition, crudely assembled from what looked like repurposed materials, separated a freestanding control console from the actual neutralization chamber. Sulu repressed a shudder at the sight of the chair, which was presumably where Tilton’s mind and memories had been tampered with.
“Ensign,” he addressed Knox, “please ensure that Mister Naylis stays put.”
“Aye, sir.” She drew her phaser. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Wait,” Naylis cried out. “I can explain!”
“Really?” Sulu found that hard to believe. “This should be good.”
“Well, you see . . . that is, you have to understand . . . it’s merely that . . .” His voice faltered as he recognized the futility of trying to talk himself out of the hot water he had just landed in. “On second thought, I can’t explain.”
“I figured as much.”
Sulu traded the door opener for his communicator. He flipped it open, intending to hail Grandle, when the store’s front entrance retracted and the security chief strode in to join them. She arrived alone, a grim expression on her face.
Speak of the devil, Sulu thought. “Good timing, Chief. I was just about to page you.”
“Got word that something was up,” Grandle said. “What’s going on here?”
Sulu wasn’t sure where to begin, with the fact that Tilton was the saboteur, that the manager had been brainwashed by a neural neutralizer, or that Naylis had just been caught with a neutralizer in his possession? Probably the latter, he decided.
“There’s something you need to see,” Sulu said. “Take a look at—”
“Just a moment,” Grandle said.
Without warning, she punched Knox in the head, knocking the unsuspecting ensign out cold. Knox slammed into the counter before crumpling to the floor. Startled, Sulu reached for his phaser, but Naylis got the drop on him by pulling a vintage Klingon disruptor pistol out from beneath the counter.
“Not so fast, Lieutenant,” the merchant said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Grandle drew her own phaser as well. “Don’t make a move, Sulu. We’re taking this station back from you.”
Outnumbered and confused, it took Sulu a few moments to grasp the truth.
“Naylis got to you too. You’ve been brainwashed like Tilton.”
“Watch your mouth!” Grandle barked. “I don’t have to listen to you. You don’t belong here. You never belonged here!”
“That’s right, Mister Grandle. Lieutenant Sulu is the real troublemaker here. He needs to be dealt with . . . for the good of the station!”
“That’s absurd!” Sulu wondered how much conditioning had been required to turn Grandle against him. “Think, Grandle! Listen to what you’re saying!”
“I told you to be quiet!”
A brilliant carmine phaser blast stunned Sulu.
* * *
Dazed, Sulu woke to find himself in the neutralizer chamber, seated in the chair beneath the beam projector, as Grandle strapped his left wrist to an armrest. His right arm was already bound. Fear vaporized any last trace of grogginess from Sulu’s brain as he realized what was happening. Naylis was about to brainwash him too.
No! he thought. Nobody is going to make me a zombie again!
“Listen to me, Grandle. This isn’t who you are. You can fight this!”
“You’re wasting your breath, Lieutenant,” Naylis said. Turning his head, Sulu saw the Troyian standing by the control console, aiming a disruptor at Knox, who was back on her feet again, but who was also clearly in no position to come to his rescue. Naylis smirked at Sulu through the clear partition. “Mister Grandle and I recently had a long talk in this very room. She understands now where her loyalties lie. Don’t think you can convince her otherwise.”
Sulu wasn’t so sure of that. Was it just wishful thinking, or could he make out a flicker of uncertainty on Grandle’s face? She grimaced as she finished strapping him to the chair. A vein at her temple pulsed. She bit down on her lip as though fighting something trying to get out.
“Is he secure?” Naylis asked.
“Yes.”
Sulu thought he heard a hint of strain in Grandle’s voice. He tested his bonds; despite Grandle’s statement to the contrary, the left one was actually a bit loose. Given time, Sulu figured he could probably work that arm free.
Provided Naylis gave him that time.
“Why are you doing this, Naylis?” he asked, stalling. “What’s in it for you?”
“I could tell you,” the smuggler gloated, “but you’re not going to
remember any of this.”
“No harm in telling me, then. Indulge me. I’m sure you must have a very good reason for going to such lengths.”
“Reasons,” Naylis corrected him. “Plural.”
“Such as?”
“For one, a consortium of tardy prospectors paid me handsomely to delay and discourage their competition. For another, I personally benefit from keeping as many travelers as possible stranded here at the station rather than moving onto Baldur III.” He grinned mischievously. “It’s a win-win situation, as they say.”
“For you, perhaps,” Sulu said. “From where I’m sitting, I’m not feeling the win.”
“Give it time. Trust me, Lieutenant, you’ll soon be seeing things my way.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Sulu tried to wiggle his left hand free without Naylis noticing. He watched anxiously as Grandle joined Naylis by the control console and took custody of Knox, who was surely next in line for the neutralizer. He shared an anxious look with the young ensign, whose arms appeared to be tied behind her back. Her phaser was nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t do this, Naylis,” Sulu said. “No amount of profit is worth sinking to these depths.”
“Spoken like a true Starfleet officer,” Naylis said. “It’s ironic, though. You may recall that my home planet is positively awash in dilithium crystals, with fortunes just waiting to be seized. Alas, I’m afraid that I fell out of favor with the royal family—for reasons we need not discuss—which means that I’ve been forced to eke out a living as an exile. But who knows? l may soon be able to bribe myself back into the royals’ good graces, which would certainly justify taking a few moral shortcuts.” He smirked at Sulu. “Consider yourself lucky, Lieutenant, that I have better options than simply eliminating you and your ensign.”
Sulu’s arm was almost free. He just needed a few more minutes.
