The Lost Era: Well of Souls: Star Trek (29 page)

“Well, it’s just that I wanted to say that I understand.”

Kodell kept his voice neutral. “Understand what?”

“What you said. About passion, and things like that.”

“I was just talking.” Kodell lifted one shoulder, an offhanded gesture. It was cruel of him; he knew that right away because he saw her surprise, and the way color flooded her cheeks. The scar on her face was so red it looked boiled.

“Oh,” she said, her voice small, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I guess I thought ... well, in the mess, you ...” She broke off then made a move to back away. “I just thought. ...”

Instantly, he was ashamed. There was something touching about her, and she was reaching out, making an effort, and he knew, instinctively, that she did this only rarely. Why hurt her?

Because you’re frightened.
Not Th’leila’s voice this time, but the very special voice that was no voice at all but the thoughts of the symbiont Bok resonating in his soul.
Because she’s wounded, she’s incomplete, and you know precisely how that feels, but she’s brave, and you’re a coward.

“No, please,” he said, almost blurting it out. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. Please, finish what you were saying.”

He saw her indecision. Then she said, “Oh, hell.”

“Pardon?”

She shook her head, exhaled a short false laugh. “I never was very good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“This,” she waved her right hand in the space between them, “small talk. Breaking the ice. I’m horrible, always have been. I do better if I cut to the chase.”

“Cut to the ... ?”

“Yes, it means get to the point. It’s an Earth saying, back from the days when they made films.”

“Films.”

“Yes, like holos, only they were pictures on celluloid, and
the way to keep an audience’s attention was to cut from a scene that was all talk to one that was all action, and ...” At the expression on his face, she laughed outright.

This pleased him. “Something’s funny.”

Her black eyes sparkled. “You sound like Glemoor. You know, the way he always wants people to explain their idioms.”

“I’ve noticed that. You think he doesn’t understand?”

Bat-Levi cocked her head to one side. “No, he knows what he’s doing. Remember, he’s tactical. I’ve noticed he always does it when things are really delicate. It’s hard to explain, but I think it’s a sophisticated kind of negotiation. Idioms imply a shared culture, and so when Glemoor asks someone like Castillo to explain, or for help, he’s giving Castillo something. Validation, an advantage that really isn’t one.”

“So you think he appeals to ego.”

“Right. It’s a way of giving something to someone that doesn’t cost you a thing.”

“A good tactic,” said Kodell, and they exchanged smiles. She was a head shorter, and the fact that he had to look down moved him, made him feel protective.

What is it about this woman?
Aloud, he said, “Well, then, cut to the chase, Commander.”

Her face grew serious, and they were so close he saw her eyes flick back and forth, searching his.

“Yes. I just wanted to say that I understand. Completely. What you said about someone being angry enough to want to kill, or feel that murder is the only way. I understand all about that. I understand about passion.”

“And pain,” said Kodell, and then wondered why he’d said that.

“And pain.” She paused. “I think maybe you know about pain, too. Loss.”

“And why is that?” He tried to keep his voice light, and didn’t know if he succeeded. A high thin whine sounded in his ears, almost like an alarm.

“I just
know.
If that makes sense.”

He was very still, though his mind was not. Uncanny, how did she know? For some reason, he was acutely aware of the way his heart thudded in his chest: almost as if his heart had stopped beating and just now remembered to come back to life.

Oh, Th’leila Bok, how much of my life have you stolen? How much did I
let
you steal?

He cleared his throat. “All this talk about emotion, we’ll think you’ve spent too much time with our ship’s psychiatrist.” He’d meant it as a joke, but instantly he saw her embarrassment, and he knew he’d stumbled into something. “Commander Bat-Levi, I didn’t mean ...”

“It’s okay,” she said. She made a move to go. “Anyway, I should ...”

“No, don’t.” He almost reached out a hand to stop her but restrained himself at the last instant. “I’m the one who should apologize. Not many people to talk to in engineering, just machines,” he was aware that he was starting to babble but plunged on, “and, anyhow I’m out of practice, I made a bad joke. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice tight with mortification. “I forgot. It’s a small ship and, of course, everyone must know.”

Now he was confused. “Know? Know what?”

“Well, that,” and just as quickly she stopped herself. Kodell knew at once he shouldn’t pursue the matter. “Nothing. Oh, hell,” she sighed, “I always put my foot in it.”

“I know this idiom. On Trill, we say,
Uncork week-old fermented
klah.” Kodell pulled his features into a comical grimace. “Very unpleasant.”

Despite herself, Bat-Levi chucked. “Sounds gruesome.”

“Smells. Yes. By the way, congratulations; I hear you’re going to be our new first officer.”

“Just acting. Until the captain decides what she wants to do.” Bat-Levi gave an inverted smile, something that seemed to come naturally. “I’m not sure it’s the way I wanted to make XO, though. Not even sure I want to
be
first officer, but, sometimes, opportunity chooses
you
.” She pulled herself up. “I should go; I didn’t mean to keep you. But, maybe, we could, I don’t know, catch a cup of coffee, or something? Sometime?”

Kodell hesitated for what seemed like a long time but was, really, a fraction of a second. “Yes. Coffee. I’d like that,” and he meant it.

And then he did something that was, for him, totally out of character, almost insane. “Do you mind if I make a little suggestion?”

Coffee, and then offering to help with her servos—
“I couldn’t help noticing that they need adjusting. Why don’t you stop by engineering when you’ve got time?”
—like it was no big deal. Bat-Levi hummed as the turbolift shot up to Deck 12, and the doors sighed open. So, why did it
feel
like such a big deal?

Because it is, honey. It is.

Just you wait, Tyvan. Just you wait.
She stumped toward her quarters. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she told him. She was even more surprised that the thought—her wanting to tell Tyvan
anything—
didn’t make her angry. Not one bit.

Bat-Levi burst out laughing. And that felt good, too.

Marta Batanides stopped speaking, and for a good ten seconds, the bridge was so quiet the staccato bleeps of the ship’s systems cracked like pistol shots. Even Stern, who stood to the left of Garrett’s command chair, was speechless.

Although Batanides had come through on audio, Garrett stood before her chair, hands clasped behind her back, her stance formal. “I want to lodge a formal protest.”

“Certainly.” Batanides’s voice was just as formal. “I’ll see that Admiral Stout is informed. Anything else?”

“You mean besides the fact that I don’t want you taking Commander Halak off the ship without representation, and unaccompanied? That regulations
demand
a command-level inquiry with his captain in attendance? That I
protest
your authorizing the removal of one of
my
officers from
my
ship, yet you haven’t filed a
single
charge?” Garrett shook her head even though Batanides couldn’t see her. “No.”

“Objections noted,” said Batanides.

“What about Starfleet Command? My personal report to Admiral Stout?”

“Admiral Stout has authorized
me
to inform
you
that he is aware of your objections and they’ve been duly noted.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Facts are facts, Captain. You are hereby ordered to remand Commander Halak to Lieutenant Burke. Your former first officer,” Batanides paused as if to underscore Halak’s status, “will not be unaccompanied. Lieutenant Burke and a representative of the Vulcan V’Shar, certainly an impartial agency ...”

“Logic isn’t synonymous with impartiality.”

Batanides talked over Garrett. “
Will
accompany him. If after a more formal inquiry, charges are brought, Commander Halak will be afforded representation.”

“I want to be there,” said Garrett, knowing her demand would fall on deaf ears. But for the same reason that she’d chosen to take the call on the bridge, she wanted her objections on record. No more cloak-and-dagger routine on
her
ship. “The regulations are clear, Commander. They
demand
the presence of Halak’s commanding officer.”

“Captain Garrett, those same regulations also stipulate that should said commanding officer’s duties interfere, a formal statement will suffice. If it’s any comfort, we’ve contacted
Barker
and Captain Connors is en route.”

“No, I’m not comforted. Surely my testimony isn’t irrelevant.”

“No one’s suggesting that. But we are reopening our investigation into the Ryn mission.
That
mission was and
is
none of your concern.”

“Isn’t Captain Connors likely to be a little prejudiced? You claim two of his crewmen were murdered.”

“And you’re
not
prejudiced? One of your officers is also dead.”

Out of her left ear, Garrett heard Stern give a muffled curse. Swiveling on her hips, Garrett silenced the doctor with a look. Garrett faced forward again, staring at stars, talking to a woman she couldn’t see. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“Captain Garrett.” A little pause, as if Batanides were a disapproving schoolteacher. “Be reasonable. You have your orders. Further, Halak’s shuttle is to be put under guard, and secured. The shuttle and its contents are evidence, and a team of SI agents will be dispatched to bring the shuttle back to Starfleet Headquarters for further study. As for the
Enterprise,
you are to proceed to the Draavid nebulae cluster.”

“The work isn’t exactly urgent. I don’t expect a new star to pop into existence in the next two weeks. Surely that mission can wait,” said Garrett. Privately, she was appalled. Mapping protostars was the sort of mission Command handed to junior crews—and green captains. Garrett was certain Burke had a hand in this, convincing Batanides to get them out of the way until SI’s investigation was over. A
trip to the Draavids would put them in a virtual communications blackout, and out of circulation, for two weeks.

“I think not,” said Batanides. The woman had all the emotional reactivity of a Derellian seaslug. Garrett wondered if anything rattled the SI officer and decided, probably not. “Those are your orders, Captain Garrett. You should be receiving official confirmation any time now. Lieutenant Burke?”

Garrett heard the scrape of Burke’s boots against the deck as she came to attention. “Ma’am?”

“When do you estimate arrival at Starfleet Headquarters?”

“If we leave within the next two hours—eight days, Commander.”

“That’s absurd,” Garrett interrupted. “Sivek’s warpshuttle can only make warp four. The trip will be unnecessarily long. We can cover the same distance in far less time and bring the shuttle to Headquarters without your having to send out a team. Frankly, I would think that you would be eager to ...”

Batanides cut her off. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to keep you from your next assignment. The time won’t be wasted. We’ll use it to completely decrypt the information Lieutenant Burke pulled from the shuttle log.”

Garrett racked her brain for something else to say, some other avenue of protest, and could find none. She heard the unmistakable quaver of an incoming message, and looked over at Bulast, who was already turning in his seat.

“Admiral Stout’s reply, Captain,” he said, sotto voce. He scanned the message and read verbatim. “
Your protests noted and entered into the official record. Commander Halak to be remanded without further delay. Orders are to proceed to the Draavid nebulae cluster for astrometrical analysis.
Signed W. Stout, Admiral, Starfleet Command. Authentication code verified.”

Garrett’s brows met. “That’s it? No other response to my inquiries?”

“No, Ma’am.”

Batanides, again: “If there’s nothing else, Captain?”

“Yes. I want to be informed when Commander Halak arrives.”

“Don’t worry, Captain. He’ll get here safe and sound.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t
mind
,” Garrett said to air, “if it’s not too much
trouble,
I want to be informed,
Commander.
And I insist upon being included in the formal inquiry via subspace. I
do
have that right.”

“You may ask,” said Batanides, ambiguously. “Your request will be forwarded.”

“Thanks.” Garrett glanced at Bulast, who nodded and moved to forward the request to Stout. Despite Batanides’s reassurances, Garrett wasn’t taking any chances on her messages evaporating into subspace.

“Anything else?” Then, not waiting for a reply: “Very well, you have your orders,
Enterprise.
Batanides, out.”

“Well,” said Burke, after a moment, a
that’s-that
lilt in her voice, “Captain, it sounds like we both have our orders. We should be ready to get underway shortly.”

Garrett gestured irritably. “Fine. I’ll have security meet you.”

“No need. Sivek and I can handle the prisoner.”

“Regulations demand that a security officer ...”

“Captain,” said Burke, with such good humor Garrett wanted to yank out the woman’s tonsils, “I respectfully remind you that Commander Batanides specifically declined your offer for security to accompany us to Headquarters. And now if you’ll excuse me.”

Stern waited until Burke was off the bridge before exploding. “Captain, you’re not going to let them take Halak. Not like
this!”

Garrett turned a bleary eye on Stern. “We have our orders, Doctor.”

“But it’s damned irregular, it’s not ...”

“Doctor,” said Garrett, mounting the two steps to her
command chair. She sat. “Please make sure Lieutenant Burke has a copy of your medical evaluation. Tyvan’s, too.”

“But, Captain,” Stern began.

Garrett didn’t even turn around. “Dismissed, Doctor.” She waited until she heard the hiss of the turbolift doors open and closed. “Mr. Bulast, any follow-up orders?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Excellent.” Then she nodded to Castillo at the helm. “All right, Mr. Castillo, you heard the woman. Lay in a course for the Draavid nebulae cluster. I want us to be ready to get underway as soon as the
T’Pol
clears.”

Castillo moved to comply. “Yes, ma’am.”

Garrett swiveled her chair to face Bat-Levi’s station immediately behind and to her right. “Commander, you’ll continue as XO until further notice.”

“Aye, Captain. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it. You’ve done a fine job. I want you to coordinate the astrometeorological and photoradiographic sections. Have them draw up duty rosters for around the clock shifts.”
Because I’ve had it with that particular duty. Time to train her up and whip these people into shape. Give them something to focus on.

Bat-Levi looked a little surprised. “Around the clock?”

“You heard me. I want those rosters ready by 0700 tomorrow.”

“Right away, Captain. How far out do you want those rosters to go?”

“Mr. Bulast?”

“No specs on duration, Captain. Just orders to report before communications blackout.”

“Nothing about the mission’s duration?”

“None.” The Atrean’s eyebrows were very full and black, so that when they moved into a frown, they looked to Garrett like two furry caterpillars, mating. “That’s a little odd, Captain. If you don’t mind my saying.”

Propping her left elbow on her chair, Garrett stroked her lower lip between her left thumb and forefinger. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

Bulast was already preparing a channel. “Would you like me to query?”

A half-formed idea flashed in Garrett’s mind.
Beg forgiveness later.
“Negative.”

Bulast paused, his hand in midair over his console. “Captain?”

“You heard me, Mr. Bulast.” Garrett caught the whirr of Bat-Levi’s servos as her first officer stepped down from the deck and came alongside Garrett’s left elbow.

“Captain,” Bat-Levi’s voice was low, “the duty personnel will require some idea of how long you expect to monitor the cluster. If nothing else, engineering needs to know how much power they’ll have to steal from nonessential systems. The Draavids are pretty dense, and our current sensor configuration won’t do the trick of piercing through the cluster’s outer layers. Plus, they’ll have to provide for maximal shields.”

“You tell engineering that I want them ready for anything. Whether we stay five minutes or five years, I want everyone prepared for all eventualities, and I mean
all:
shields, power, sensors. Understood?”

She saw the confusion in the woman’s face, but Bat-Levi just gave a quick nod. “Yes, Captain. Right away.”

“Good.”
And damn Batanides, anyway.
Garrett had no intention of remaining at the Draavids—and in the dark—for two weeks. Their orders hadn’t specified how many protostars they should map. So, five days for Halak to get to Starfleet Command, two from them to reach the Draavids. Figure on three days, round-the-clock shifts to map four, five protostars, and they’d call it quits, get the hell out of the Draavids’ radiation sink, and get Command on the horn in time for Halak’s inquiry.

But why was she so interested, all of a sudden, in having to save Halak’s neck? The weight of the evidence, real and conjectural, was enough to scuttle a battle cruiser. Something was off, though. Things had gone just a little too fast, too conveniently. Maybe Halak had done everything SI claimed, or maybe he’d only done half and SI was filling in the blanks. Now these orders that would take them to hell and gone: Something was up. But why do this, and for someone she’d shown all the warmth of a Lampan icemonger? A man
she
was guilty of having juried and judged against a dead man?

Maybe, Garrett thought, because she was guilty, too, and it was as simple as that.

“Now hold on, hold on there a minute, Jo. My God, you’re as twitchy as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rockers.”

“For crying out loud, Mac,” said Stern, pacing back and forth like a caged leopard. “You’d be a little twitchy too, Starfleet Intelligence pulled some stunt like this on your ship.”

“Well, now,” said McCoy, drawing the words out in his best Georgia drawl and knowing it irked the hell out of Stern (which, she figured, was precisely why he did it). “They don’t put us old coots on ships, and so I don’t have any basis for comparison. Now sit down, would you? You’re giving me a headache, what with you shooting back and forth like a shuttle on overdrive. Going to need the services of your own ship’s psychiatrist, you’re not careful. How is that boy anyway?”

“Beats me.” Stern slid into a chair. “He’s not a chatty guy. You know, he’d do himself a favor if he were more visible about ship. On the other hand, his plate’s full, what with everything going on.”

“Well, that’s classic shrink behavior. All psychiatrists are a little squeamish when it comes to dealing with real people, and vice versa. I’ll bet it’s a tough row to ...”

“Mac.” Stern washed her face with her hands. “Forget
Tyvan for a sec. He’s a big boy. Now, are you going to help, or not?”

“Jo,” said McCoy, his creased and weathered features arranging themselves into a study of sincerity. “For you, anything. Just ... I don’t think there’s a thing I can do on this end.”

“That’s crap. Snoop around. Dig up the autopsy reports on Thex and Strong. For crying out loud, you’ve practically been there since they laid the concrete.”