Worlds in Collision (12 page)

“First, I accept the situation. Starfleet has some reason for suspecting that Spock might be responsible for an attempt on the lives of one or more of the prize nominees on board the
Enterprise.
Right or wrong, that is a fact. Second, I find out why that suspicion exists and if it in any way threatens further harmful activity on board.”

“And third?”

“That will depend on Mr. Spock's innocence…or guilt.”

McCoy nodded seriously. “That's a hard decision to make,” he said.

“It's the captain's decision, and when I make it, Bones, it'll be the right one.”

For an Andorian, Romaine thought, Commander Farl was looking rather pale, almost the color of one of the Fleet-issue wall panels Sal was always going on about.

“What's the emergency, Captain?” the chief technician asked as she entered the breakout area. She paused and looked around in surprise.

The large room was typically used as a temporary planning and operations center for research projects. Accredited scholars using Prime's facilities could set up these areas as private offices containing computer consoles, associate staging stalls, desks, chairs, and whatever other equipment they might need outside of a lab. But Farl and his staff had turned breakout area C into what looked to be a fort. There was even a two-person portable combat transporter pad in the corner.

Farl walked over from a tactics table where Romaine could see schematics of the central dome complex displayed. She assumed the flashing red triangles floating above it represented troop placement. What was going on here?

Including his antennae, Farl was still ten centimeters shorter than Romaine, but the light armor he wore added to his bulk, and the small strips of
gral
fur crisscrossed over his chest plate, a concession to his clan standing allowed by regulations, made him look like a bizarre mechanical/organic hybrid.

He stopped to stand within centimeters of Romaine, staring earnestly up at her. Andorians had no concept of “personal space.” But even faced with the imposing presence of a fully armed soldier in the midst of Memory Prime's civilian areas, Romaine retained enough composure to realize that Farl was upset and even grimmer than Andorians usually were.

“Quite seriouss, I'm afraid, Chief Romaine,” Farl said in the soft dry whisper of his species.

Romaine didn't like the look or sound of any of this. The troopers assigned to Prime weren't supposed to carry more than hand phasers in the civilian areas, let alone set up command stations there. “How serious?” she asked, and her tone told Farl she wanted an answer
now.

“It iss classified,” Farl said, and had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I'm ranking Starfleet officer, Farl, I—”

“Not in thiss emergency, I am sorry to say. You are now in command of only the science and administrative functions of thiss facility.” Farl looked over to the transporter pads where two more Andorian troopers shimmered into existence. They quickly ran off to a second display table.

“Farl,” Romaine said, trying to sound reasonable, “I know what the regulations are, and the only type of emergencies I can think of that could possibly remain classified to the ranking officer of a starbase installation are…” She saw it in his small, dark eyes. She had spent enough time with Andorians to be able to read their expressions.

“Precisely,” Farl whispered. “Military emergency. War preparationss.”

Romaine felt her breath catch. “Against whom? What are our orders? When did this happen?”

Farl bowed his head. Was it in shame? Romaine wondered.

“Chief Romaine,” he said in a delicate whisper, “I have enjoyed serving with you thiss past year. But I am unable to answer your questionss. Up to thiss moment, you have run thiss outpost well, according to your dutiess. Now I must ask that you let me run its military functions according to mine.”

“Then I must ask to see your authorization, Commander.”

Farl looked up into Romaine's eyes. He wore an expression of pleading. “Miraromaine,” he said sadly. “I have never received communicationss at thiss level of classification before. I must follow my orderss. Starfleet will transmit orderss to your office as well, and that iss as much as you will be allowed to know until the emergency has passed. I am truly sorry.”

“I'll have to confirm this with Starfleet,” Romaine said, and could hear the tightness of her own voice.

“Of course,” Farl said. “As I did.”

The chief technician's mind spun with the possibilities she might be facing here. She couldn't lose Prime to another Alpha disaster. She refused to.

“Until then, what can I do?” she asked. The transient population of Prime was almost four thousand now with the added visitors who had arrived for the prize ceremonies. “Shall I help Sal handle the cancellation of the Nobel and Z. Magnees—”

“Absolutely not,” Farl interrupted. “The orderss are quite clear. The ceremoniess must proceed as planned. Our preparationss must appear as no more than a drill, a training maneuver to the civilianss.”

“What?”
Romaine could see the troopers in the breakout area turn to look at her, checking on the safety of their commander.

Farl gestured to her to keep her voice down. It was a struggle.

“You're telling me that we're going on to a near war footing here and it's to be kept
secret?
That's insane!”

“It iss not insane,” Farl whispered back loudly. “It meanss that there iss a chance we can take action to contain the threat before things get out of control. Why upset the scientific community here unnecessarily? Especially with the antennae of the Federation, and perhapss otherss, upon uss?”

Farl's expression was brightening now, along with his color. That damnable Andorian love for intrigue again, Romaine thought. “What threat? What action?”

“As I told you, the threat iss classified.”

“Then what action will you be taking?”

“Some we already have.”

“Such as?”

The apologetic look came back to Farl's face. Romaine suddenly knew she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.

“My trooperss have placed three of your staff in protective custody.”

Romaine felt her blood turn to ice. “Who?” she managed to get out before her throat shut down in shock.

“Specialist Lieutenant Stell. Specialist First-Class Slann. And Dr. T'Lar,” Farl said gravely.

Romaine was stunned. She had seven Vulcans on her staff. Why these three?

Stell was a computer technician, young, serious as all Vulcans were, specializing in library subsystems. Slann was on sabbatical from the Vulcan Academy of Sciences, studying historical methods of fault toleration and error detection in trinary data storage. And T'Lar was a paleoexozoologist researching cyclical patterns of extinction in adjacent planetary systems. What was their connection?

“Why them?” Romaine asked, completely baffled.

“Classified.”

“Have they done anything or is it just suspected they might?”

“Classified.” Farl's eyes flashed again. “But for you, Miraromaine: it iss simply a safety precaution. There iss no definitive proof.” He shrugged, a gesture almost comical in battle armor.

“May I see them?” she asked, though it sounded more like a formal request.

Farl shook his head. “Access restricted. Again, my apologiess.”

“Anything else?”

“Alass, no.”

“This stinks, you know,” she stated, her voice rising on each word. She was trying not to take her anger out on the commander, and not succeeding.

“I am trained to prevent these occurrencess, Miraromaine. When my trooperss and I must take action, it meanss we have failed. I am familiar with the odor, yess?”

Romaine turned to go, then hesitated. “Will this situation be changed in any way by the arrival of the
Enterprise?”
she asked.

Farl smiled. “Ah, yess. I expect the situation to improve considerably by then.”

Good, thought Romaine, though she suddenly doubted that she and Scotty were going to enjoy the kind of reunion she had hoped for.

 

Kirk had never thought it odd that in the middle of a crisis he could feel good. He knew it was the rush of adrenaline that propelled him, made his steps light and his actions swift. But apart from the merely physical sensations, it was his mind and his spirit that somehow seemed to accelerate at these times. Too often he had seen other officers crumble in the face of multiple crises. But once Kirk had determined his way, no matter how slight and dismal that chance for victory might be, he kept at it until the way was clear. The ship sustained him, but it was the never-ending struggle to keep her that made him come alive. He felt that way now.

McCoy joined him as Kirk walked down the corridor on D deck, heading for the brig.

“Score one for the system, Bones,” he said.

“The commodore knows about us meeting with Spock?” McCoy asked, holding his medical kit and tricorder against his hip to stop them from bouncing as he kept Kirk's pace.

“She authorized it. Had no choice.” He turned to grin at the doctor. “As a suitably senior officer who has volunteered for the job, I'm Spock's counsel for the court-martial. She can't deny me access. Or my client's physician, either. I'm just following the rules.”

They turned the corner at an intersection. Two of Wolfe's troopers stood at attention at the end of the new corridor.

“Good,” McCoy said. “I was afraid we were going to have to charm our way past those two. The least you could have done was tell me this over the intercom.”

“Not good form to let Wolfe hear me gloat. If she's monitoring infraship communications. Which she probably is.” Kirk approached the nearer of the two guards. “I assume the commodore told you to expect us?” he said arrogantly.

It worked. The first trooper snapped a salute, usually not part of starship tradition, and barked, “Yes, sir!”

Kirk blinked at the reaction his tone had elicited, then belatedly remembered to return the salute. “Carry on,” he said, then passed the trooper and stopped in front of the open doorway to the holding cell. It was outlined with the glowing transmission nodes of a security field. Spock waited on the other side of the doorway, hands patiently held behind his back.

“Good day, Captain. Doctor,” Spock said, as if he had happened to meet them in the corridor by chance.

Kirk and McCoy returned the greeting, then Kirk turned to the second trooper.

“Turn it off, trooper,” he ordered.

“Sorry, sir,” the second trooper replied. “Commodore's orders. You may meet with the prisoner but without contact.”

Kirk checked the trooper's sleeve and name badge, then spoke quickly. “Sergeant Gilmartin, are you aware of the penalties set forth in General Regulation Document two hundred and twenty-seven, pertaining to treatment of prisoners on board Starfleet vessels: violations thereof?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Then I suggest you turn off that security field and allow this doctor access to the prisoner before you find out what those penalties are!” Kirk snapped, and then to give the sergeant a hint, added the word,
“Private!”

Sergeant Gilmartin sneaked a worried look at the first trooper and saw no reason for encouragement. “I'll have to check with the commodore, sir,” he said cautiously.

“Be my guest,” Kirk answered with a flourish of his hand.

Gilmartin walked off to a wall intercom plate. McCoy leaned forward and whispered,
“Is
there a General Regulation Document two hundred and twenty-seven?”

“Two hundred and twenty-seven
B,”
Spock amended matter-of-factly from the doorway.

McCoy's eyes widened in surprise.

Kirk looked hurt. “Doctor! Would I lie about something like that?” He turned back to watch Gilmartin before McCoy could answer.

Gilmartin returned from his intercom conversation, defeated. “We'll have to scan you before you go in,” he said apologetically.

“As set out in GRD two hundred and twenty-seven
C,”
Spock offered.

“I'll have to remember this the next time we play poker,” McCoy said as Gilmartin scanned him and Kirk with a combat tricorder and the first trooper searched the medical bag.

“Whatever do you mean, Doctor?” Kirk asked innocently.

“I mean that sometimes your bluffs aren't bluffs.”

“Only those that I know will be called,” Kirk said with a smile. “Remember that.”

Sergeant Gilmartin, satisfied with his readings, told Spock to stand back from the door and then switched off the screen. As soon as Kirk and McCoy had entered the cell, the field hummed back into life. The trooper was going by the book.

“It is good to see you, Captain,” Spock said. “I had assumed that Commodore Wolfe would countermand any attempt you made for a meeting.”

“She didn't have a choice,” Kirk said. “I'm your legal counsel.”

Spock's eyes actually flickered. Kirk saw it.

“Until an experienced counsel can be assigned,” he quickly added.

Spock's eyes returned to normal. “A clever circumvention of the commodore's wishes,” Spock said, a faint tone of relief in his voice.