Star Trek

by John Jackson Miller

  “I… think I just did,” Georgiou replied.

  “Well, I did say I brought people with me.”

  Emerging from her haze, Georgiou realized the situation was much changed. Finnegan was far across the deck, hands behind his head and facedown as Section 31 officers and Thionoga sentries argued over him. Georgiou had members of both groups training their weapons on her as well.

  “I should have shot you people when I had the chance.”

  Sydia didn’t respond. Instead, she wrenched her prisoner to an upright seated position on the deck and handcuffed her. No give to these manacles, Georgiou found—and, she suspected, no secret code to deactivate them. The security chief then brought Georgiou to her feet, where she saw Leland engaged in a heated disagreement with even more Thionoga personnel.

  Georgiou spoke up. “All this for me? I hope I haven’t caused any inconvenience.”

  One of the quarrelers, she saw, was Frietas, visibly bruised from their earlier encounter. He nearly leapt out of his skin when he saw her. “She’s awake! Sedate her before she blows the station up!”

  Leland tried to calm him. “Your administrators and my organization have an understanding. The operation may have gotten a little out of hand, but—”

  “Out of hand?” Frietas raved. “Three sectors are still afire—and the mental ward’s mounted an organized insurrection! You’ve set Thionoga back a hundred years!”

  One of Sydia’s comrades approached her with something—and moments later, the Vulcan stepped toward Frietas. “I’m told this is your baton, sir.”

  The Denobulan grabbed for his weapon—and still rattled, pointed it in Georgiou’s face. After a moment of futility, he checked a reading at its base. “The tranquilizing gas is exhausted. Someone’s been using it!”

  “Yeah, that was our brawler over there,” Leland said, gesturing to the crowd around Finnegan. “When we closed in on him, he picked up the baton from the wrong end and accidentally gassed himself in the face. I guess he didn’t know it did that.” He rubbed the back of his head and shrugged. “Look, he’s yours. We’ll just take her and get out of your way.”

  “Oh, no!” Frietas shook the baton before Leland. “I speak for the warden when I say our people will want both prisoners—and probably some of you!” Several of the prison guards who’d been watching Georgiou redirected their weapons toward Leland’s team.

  Sydia snapped to attention, interposing herself between Leland and the sentries. “Instructions?”

  He had some—which he spoke into his communicator. “This is Leland. Extract the team—plus Georgiou.” He made a little salute to Frietas. “Bye.”

  Then he waited. And waited.

  Eyes narrowing, Leland made another call. “I said extract the team. Confirm receipt of order.”

  When no response came, Georgiou’s lips curled upward. “Problems?”

  Leland gestured for Sydia. “Go look out the port. See if our ship’s still there.”

  Sydia left his side with reluctance. Moments later, she responded, “It is still docked to the station.”

  “Then why can’t—” He looked to Sydia. “Are the station’s shields up?”

  “They haven’t worked for hours,” Frietas said. He pointed at Georgiou. “Guess why!”

  He motioned for the sentries to approach Georgiou, causing Leland to step in front of her. The lack of response from his starship clearly having unnerved him, he gestured for calm. “Look, it’s been a complicated day. Let’s work something out.”

  “Step aside. There’s a thousand prison cells on this station. We can find room for all of you if we have to—”

  “New arrival!” shouted Sydia from her lookout position. All eyes turned to the large window, beyond which a Federation starship approached. Unusually for a Starfleet vessel, it had four nacelles, two atop and two below, further astern. “Nimitz class!”

  “They’ve come to bail you out,” Georgiou said. “We won’t be cellmates after all.”

  “Maybe.” Leland stared at the port and the still-distant arrival. “Depends on who it is.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “I guess you wouldn’t know. The Nimitzes are favorites of admirals. Europa had been Brett Anderson’s flagship—it was one of the first losses in the Klingon War.” He ruminated. “There’s only a few possibilities, some of them better than—”

  Sydia spoke again. “It’s Pacifica!”

  “Oh,” Leland said, his normally controlled face showing just the hint of alarm. He lifted his communicator again. “I guess we’d better get ready for a hail.”

  Glowing materialization effects announced several new arrivals on the now-crowded deck. Their number included Pacifica security officers, led by someone Georgiou knew well.

  From both worlds.

  “Admiral Cornwell,” Leland said, straightening. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you to the neighborhood?”

  “Start by asking the person whose neighborhood you’ve just ruined,” Katrina Cornwell said. The dark-haired woman stepped to one side—and revealed the Rigelian female who had just materialized behind her. “I think you know Warden Ohtak?”

  “Warden!” Frietas said, brightening. “I’m so happy you’re safe.”

  “The admiral beamed me off Thionoga five minutes ago,” Ohtak said, “when my control center fell.”

  Her remark startled Leland, who looked at Cornwell. “You didn’t just drop out of warp?”

  “We’ve been stationed in the debris field,” Cornwell said, “until we got the warden’s distress call. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to know everything?”

  “Stationed nearby,” Leland repeated, digesting.

  Cornwell’s voice was stern. “Admiral Patar and her colleagues in Intelligence may run your section, Captain Leland, but you’re still part of Starfleet. And Starfleet tries to keep an eye out for biological weapons.”

  “Biological weapons?” Leland looked around and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “She means me, you imbecile!” Georgiou stepped near. “You were watching me—but she was watching you. Starfleet doesn’t trust its own spies.”

  “Hey, wait a second.” Leland put up his hands innocently, eyes darting to the many Thionoga personnel in earshot. “I don’t know what you mean. We’re just a security team, running a training operation.”

  “Oh, give it a rest,” Georgiou snapped. “Thionoga is renting you space for your black site. I think they know you’re not here making instructional vids.”

  Ohtak jabbed a finger at Leland. “You won’t be doing anything anymore. This facility is a disaster—and it’s all your fault!”

  “Starfleet will make good,” Cornwell promised. “This is better discussed elsewhere.” She gestured to Georgiou. “I assume you have no objections to our taking this prisoner?”

  “I absolutely insist,” Ohtak said.

  Frietas pointed in the opposite direction. “What about the other one?”

  “What other one?” the admiral asked.

  Georgiou looked to see that Sydia and the Thionoga guards had Finnegan on his feet. His hands bound behind him, Finnegan was marched toward the gathering before the yacht. The gas from Frietas’s weapon seemed to have calmed him, as it had Georgiou, making his grin seem even more dopey—if that were possible.

  And when he saw Cornwell, he bubbled with glee. “Well, hello there!”

  She turned—and dropped the communicator she was holding. “Sean Finnegan?”

  “Kitty, my girl, it’s been an age!”

  Georgiou and Leland looked at each other. Kitty?

  “He’s one of ours,” Ohtak said, clapping her hand on his shoulder. “Take her, but he stays. He’s got a sentence here—and he’s just added to it.”

  Cornwell was still stricken with surprise. “What—what did he do?”

  “He helped me,” Georgiou replied dryly. “That ought to be crime enough in your world.”

  Finnegan loo
ked downcast. “I guess it’s good-bye after all, Georgie.”

  It was Leland and Cornwell’s turn to look at one another. “Georgie?” she said.

  “I’ve decided to let that one go,” Georgiou said. “For old times’ sake.”

  “Old times?” Cornwell recovered her composure—and then her communicator. “Pacifica, I have a party to beam out.”

  “Now, Admiral?”

  “Before things get any stranger.”

  9

  U.S.S. Pacifica

  APPROACHING FEDERATION TERRITORY

  Starfleet didn’t believe in agonizer booths, but Georgiou thought it seemed to subscribe to the theory behind them. The luxurious quarters she’d first been imprisoned in aboard Discovery were an aberration; Starfleet’s vessels, including that one, regularly confined people behind energy shields in small spaces. And while there might not be regular bouts of electrocution, they inflicted discomfort in other ways. Brig furnishings were either devoid of taste or missing altogether. Food was served in her cell, presented without imagination or attention to theme. And the prison uniforms were nothing special. Thionoga’s, but without the parasites.

  And when it came to a certain form of torture, Starfleet had the Terran Empire licked. It allowed visitors. Plenty of them. Since Georgiou’s sudden departure from Thionoga, they hadn’t left her alone. Nine different interviewers had come to see her: some working for Cornwell and something called the Federation Security Agency, others working for Starfleet Intelligence, mostly Section 31. The latter were easily identifiable, as they never gave their names. Who did they think they were fooling?

  So she was not surprised when her dinner, such as it was, was interrupted by workers who placed a small table and two chairs just outside her cell, right beside the force field. But when she saw Cornwell and Leland arrive from different directions, she began to hope the parade of visitors might be nearing an end.

  “Just a second,” Georgiou said, standing from the small table and chair provided to her for dining. She pushed the table right to the force field, so as to almost adjoin the one on the other side—except for the energy barrier. She smiled with satisfaction and scooted her chair to the table. “Now, we can pretend we’re one big family.”

  Cornwell looked to Leland, who stood, stoic. When she took her chair, he followed suit. Both produced data slates, which they placed before them on the surface.

  Georgiou feigned rapt attention. “Are you going to tell me stories? I do love entertainments at dinner.”

  Cornwell spoke without looking up. “We’ve been investigating events on Thionoga in parallel. I assume you figured that from all the interrogators.”

  “No, nobody’s been here.”

  “As near as I understand it, Leland visited you on Qo’noS several days ago to…” She paused, as if about to say something unpalatable. “To recruit you for Section 31. Leland then staged a training exercise at the black site on Thionoga—”

  “There are no black sites,” Leland said, eyes not moving from his data slate.

  “An exercise at an internment facility where the Federation has guest privileges,” Cornwell pronounced. When Leland had no objection, she continued. “A test of your abilities as a potential agent.”

  “And as I understand it,” Leland said, reading, “operatives for Klingon Emperor L’Rell alerted the Federation that I had removed you from Qo’noS, which led to their alerting Starfleet Command. Then, despite the fact that there was never any objection to my plans from Admiral Patar—”

  “Who is not the only overseer of Section 31,” Cornwell interjected.

  “—Admiral Cornwell requested and received permission to reroute Pacifica to spy on us.”

  “Which the Federation Security Agency demanded—because of who she is.”

  Georgiou clasped her hands together. “This is entertaining. Are you going to talk like this all night?”

  Cornwell ignored her. “The Federation only ever wanted Section 31 to keep tabs on the emperor. They never wanted you to run a salvage operation.”

  “That hurts,” Georgiou said.

  “Now Thionoga is trying to salvage its entire facility—and the agent you had posing as Dess has had to have five bones repaired. All because of Section 31’s bright idea—and its lack of foresight.” The admiral put down her slate and stared at Leland. “I thought you were in the business of predicting everything.”

  Leland gestured at his own slate. “We sure as hell didn’t predict that one guy—that Finnegan. Starfleet didn’t even know he was there, or why.”

  Georgiou piped up, “Isn’t it refreshing when your top spy doesn’t know something? It must give you such a feeling of confidence.”

  Leland ignored her and scrolled through the list on his slate. “Finnegan’s record—it’s something else.” He looked keenly at Cornwell. “How did you know him?”

  Cornwell waved dismissively. “Sean’s grandmother lived next door to my family—he visited during the summers. My folks would give him odd jobs.”

  “I see,” Leland said, referring to his data slate. “Got into Starfleet Academy the first time on a captain’s choice—those recommendations are always confidential. You?”

  The admiral scowled. “I don’t see how that’s what you should be asking right now.”

  Leland put up his hand. “You’re right.” He turned to Georgiou. “The more important question is how you knew him—and that he was there.”

  “Ah, another interrogation.” Georgiou turned her gaze to the unpalatable green things on her plate, which she began moving around with her fingers. “No truth serum this time? You mean I can play coy and protect my reputation as a diabolical genius?”

  “Do we need a truth serum?”

  “No,” Georgiou said. “Lies are for amusement—and for people trying to achieve power. I already have it.”

  Cornwell corrected her. “You mean, you had it.”

  “That’s your opinion. I see this as one more realm to conquer.”

  Leland tried to get her back on track. “Finnegan.”

  Georgiou flicked a pea with her index finger and watched it flash off the force field. Satisfied, she did it again.

  “Finnegan,” Cornwell implored.

  “Oh, all right,” Georgiou said. “I didn’t know he was there. But I would have tried to find him if I had. He has skills in my world.”

  Leland checked his notes. “He said you called him Blackjack.”

  “A masterpiece of Terran workmanship. He kills for pleasure—but also on command. I determined a pathological murderer might come in handy in escaping.”

  Cornwell’s eyes went wide. “Murderer?” She looked to Leland. “What was he in for?”

  “I’m—uh, still trying to find that out. Thionoga’s records say his original judgment was sealed by the government that charged him. I’ve tried to ask since, but they’re not returning hails right now.”

  The admiral shook her head. “Sean’s a lot of things, but he’s no serial killer.”

  “He would’ve been more useful to me if he had been,” Georgiou said, flicking another legume. “But it’s not Finnegan’s fault he’s less than he could be. He’d never met me before.”

  Cornwell stared at her. “That’s… very generous?”

  “He was a great asset, though, and one I might be willing to train again. But he may need the lobotomy, like we gave Blackjack.”

  “A what?”

  “A surgical practice—I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. Michael told me you were a psychiatrist.” Georgiou studied the back of her hand. “You try to fix the mentally unfit. My people looked for ways to use them.”

  “There is no ‘unfit,’ ” Cornwell said, growing cross. “And I don’t even want to know what you do with them.”

  “Are you certain? I think you all get a vicarious thrill from hearing what you might be capable of, in other circumstances.” She indicated Leland. “I know he does.”

  Leland didn’t take the bait
. “Back to Finnegan. You just stumbled across someone who is, in your own world, your chief assassin?”

  “I didn’t say he was my chief.” She added a thought. “He did kill the chief…”

  Leland shook his head. “She knew him. It’s too much coincidence.”

  “Do you think I had a mole in Thionoga, or in Section 31? Or both?” Georgiou smiled. “No wonder you wanted to hire me. I’m apparently quite intrepid.”

  Cornwell looked to Leland. “It could be a chance meeting. Burnham says these coincidences tended to happen when they were in the Terrans’ universe—however many different events separate our realm from theirs, people tend to cross paths with others they know. Or even themselves.”

  Leland frowned. “I don’t like it. It’s not logical.”

  “Poor spy boy,” Georgiou said. “Creation refuses to fit into the neat little box you have for it.” She had noticed the phenomenon, herself, certainly—and was beginning not to question it. She looked to Cornwell. “Take you, admiral headshrinker. Your counterpart works for my cousin.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Hopefully not my cousin. Alexander has invented acts that have no names even in my world.” Georgiou’s nose wrinkled at the thought of her vile relative. “But he is also a strutting popinjay—a complete imbecile. ‘My’ Cornwell is probably kept busy enough making sure he doesn’t set his palace on fire.”

  Cornwell stared for a moment, and then blinked. Georgiou had found people were always fascinated to know what they were.

  “What about Leland?” Cornwell asked. “Is he there?”

  Georgiou nodded. “He debases himself for currency outside a Martian mining compound. Normally, I wouldn’t have heard of such a person, but there’s a disease named for him.”

  Leland gave an exasperated sigh. “She does this. This is the fifth different biography she’s given for me.”

  “I thought you didn’t lie,” Cornwell said.

  “This is for fun,” Georgiou replied. “And because one of the stories I’ve told has been true, he’s now going to be driving himself crazy wondering which one it is.”