Worlds in Collision (15 page)

“Then why are they interfering with our ship's system?”

Nensi was getting the strong feeling that this man didn't just dislike transporters, he
hated
them. “As I understand it, Dr. McCoy, it's a function of their fail-safe mode.” Normally transtator technology was beyond Nensi, but here he was on familiar financial grounds. “I'm sure you know that a pad-to-pad transit consumes less than one-tenth the energy of a single-pad beam.”

“No,” McCoy said plainly.

“Well, it's true,” Nensi continued, wondering what to make of this man. “Plus it takes greater operator skill to lock target sensors on to the proper coordinates, especially at orbital distances. Portable pads, on the other hand, can be preset to a fixed number of other pads, like an intercom system, if you will. Untrained personnel can simply punch in a code for a pad in the network and the system automatically transfers them from one location to another within the circuit. Very efficient for moving ground troops in a hurry.”

McCoy looked to be thinking that one through, then asked, “But if the
Enterprise
isn't part of your portable system, why do the portable units affect it?”

“It's their lock-on beacons. They're very strong and directional, for reliability under harsh conditions, and they keep attracting your ship's carrier waves. Are you familiar with the old concept of a lightning rod?”

“Very,” McCoy said with a smile. “I'm an old farm boy.”

“Then like that,” Nensi said, thinking maybe that explained the man's attitude. “In fact, under invasion conditions, portable pad beacons can be set so high that incoming beams are almost
forced
to divert to them. Very handy if you have a squad of troopers ready to take prisoners. That's why Starfleet still carries the expense of ground-assault suborbital shuttles. To avoid the risks of beam captures.”

“Now that's what I'd like,” McCoy said. “Suborbital shuttles. Something big and solid that kept me in one piece all the way there and back. Of course I'll only be able to requisition something like that when I'm an admiral. And at the rate I'm going, I'll probably be a hundred and forty.” He laughed at the concept.

Luddite,
Nensi thought to himself.

Throughout the conversation, more nominees had arrived from the
Enterprise,
but no more crew. Nensi had seen Romaine look up anxiously each time the pads had chimed, but no Mr. Scott was to be found.

By now the chamber was getting overcrowded, like most other facilities on Memory Prime, and Nensi and McCoy parted as they joined the general migration toward the doors.

The chief administrator found himself shoulder to shoulder with the young officer with the Russian or Martian accent. They introduced themselves but didn't attempt to force their arms up to shake hands.

“I noticed that you have a commodore on board,” Nensi said to Ensign Chekov.

“She was not inwited,” the ensign said, checking furtively to see if the commodore in question was anywhere nearby.

“Really?” Nensi replied as they suddenly found themselves forced to the side to clear the way for an elderly Vulcan who was being escorted to a retina scanner in the delegate identification stalls.

“She has arrested our first officer,” Chekov stated indignantly.

“On what charge?”

Chekov was obviously annoyed. “Made-up charges. She said he tried to kill Academician Sradek”—he pointed to the ancient Vulcan who was peering into a blue-lit sensorscope while his documents were processed—“that Wulcan scientist, and most of the other nominees on board.”

“No!” Nensi said, hoping to match what he felt was Chekov's sense of outrage. Nensi himself had been subjected to so many of Starfleet's arbitrary decisions in his career that he doubted if he could ever feel real outrage over anything they did to him again. But Chekov's story was intriguing. Could it be the connection to Farl's emergency?

“Yes!” Chekov replied vehemently. “It is all lies, but still she has him in the brig.”

Nensi smiled at his loose-lipped new acquaintance. “If this is your first time here, Ensign, would you like me to show you to one of our better bars?” He made a point of checking his chronometer. “There's a shift change coming up in about half an hour and I could introduce you to a number of people who I'm sure would enjoy meeting a starship officer. Especially one from the
Enterprise.”

Chekov's eyes lit up like novas. “That would be wery hospitable of you, Mr. Nensi.” Profitable to me also, Nensi thought.

 

As promised, the Extended Loan was one of Prime's better bars. It featured subsidized prices for Fleet and Federation personnel, and an ethanol synthesizer two generations ahead of the overworked antique on the
Enterprise.
Chekov proved to be most talkative, having been charmed and delighted with the decor—a reconstruction of the legendary Icelandic public databank from the late 2000s that had been so important to the growth and development of synthetic consciousnesses. An hour later when the shifts finally changed and a rather rowdy group of librarians decided they should get to know the new ensign very well, Nensi had heard the full story of the
Enterprise'
s voyage from Starbase Four, the dilithium disaster and the flux release, the arrest, everything.

As Chekov was practically carried out of the bar to be shown what sights there were to see, Nensi sat back in his booth and nursed the vodka for which the ensign had insisted on paying. The chief administrator was worried. Farl's flap, as he thought of it, was obviously far worse than he had suspected, reaching out from Memory Prime and apparently even affecting the
Starship Enterprise.
But with subspace channels restricted to military communications, and Farl now exerting his military authority, there was no one for the chief administrator to turn to, nothing he could do to help preserve his facility.

No, take that back, he thought. There
was
someone he could turn to for help. Something.

He knocked back the vodka and left the bar to find Romaine. Liars or not, it was time to pay another visit to the Pathfinders.

Kirk smiled warmly, expertly hiding the rage that burned within him. Commodore Wolfe had returned to the
Enterprise
with Commander Farl and had been in briefings for the past six hours, briefings that were plainly off limits to the
Enterprise'
s captain. Kirk hadn't felt like this since he was a middy in his first year at the Academy and at the mercy of just about everyone else's schedule.

Across the restaurant table from him, Mira Romaine stopped her story and sipped her wine. Then she smiled at the captain and said, “Did you hear any of that?”

Kirk switched gears instantly. “After the extent of the damage at Memory Alpha was fully charted, you were posted to the
U.S.S. Rainbow Warrior,
then took a three-month course at the Vulcan Academy, joined the Memory Prime implementation team, and here you are,” Kirk recapped smoothly. His years on the bridge of the
Enterprise
had given him the ability to follow several conversations at once, even without being aware he was doing it. But he decided the commodore had stolen enough of his energies for this evening; it was time to pay more attention to Mira.

“Very impressive, Captain. I would have sworn you had tuned me out completely.”

Kirk raised his own glass. “Never,” he said graciously.

“And you?” Romaine asked. “What have you been up to in the past few years?”

Kirk sighed. “Not much,” he said blandly. “Same ship, same captain.”

“Same crew?”

“Mostly.” Kirk saw in her eyes what she was afraid to ask. “And honestly, Scotty said absolutely nothing about knowing you were here. He really has had his hands full with the dilithium burnout.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Romaine said, “but that's not why I was asking.”

Kirk felt a momentary twinge of sadness for the woman. How often had he said the same sort of thing without really meaning it, as she just had? “How's your father?” he asked to change the subject.

“Grumpy as ever,” Romaine said with a smile, though it plainly didn't reflect her feelings.

“Still retired?” Kirk drained his glass and looked around for the server, a tall man in a traditional long white apron who looked as if he could juggle antigravs set for full attract.

“His last ‘retirement' lasted three months. Now he's consulting for a mining company in the Belt. He likes the travel.” Romaine followed Kirk's eyes, saw Sal Nensi enter the restaurant, and waved him over. It didn't take much to convince him to join them for supper. The table's server was over instantly with a third menu screen. The speed of service at this restaurant was so fast that Kirk idly wondered if there were voice sensors in the table. Either that or the servers had better hearing than Mr. Spock.

“Enjoying shore leave?” Nensi asked of the captain after placing his order.

“Just waiting,” Kirk said. “Story of my life.”

“And mine,” Nensi agreed. “Especially now. No doubt you've noticed that a military exercise is being carried out at this facility.”

Kirk looked over the railing beside their table at two Andorian troopers marching below through a central plaza. “Difficult not to. Is this a regular occurrence?” Kirk was puzzled as he tried to read Nensi's surprised reaction.

“You mean
you
don't know what it's about?”

“I had assumed it was security for the prize ceremonies.” Kirk felt alarms going off. He had not thought to question the presence of so many troopers on Prime after being told that the portable combat transporters had been dispersed simply as part of a scheduled drill.

“We've been informed that this facility is in the middle of a military emergency,” Romaine said. “I've had my command temporarily suspended.”

Kirk held up his hand to stop the revelations. Something wasn't making sense. “Just a moment,” he began, turning to Romaine. “You say
you
were in command of this base?”

“Yes sir,” Romaine replied as if she were still a specialist lieutenant on Kirk's bridge. “It's supposedly a civilian installation but requires a military presence, so the Federation and Starfleet compromised by giving command to someone in Starfleet technical services. Me. Except under military emergencies.”

“And what is the nature of the military emergency?” Kirk asked hurriedly. It was impossible to think that his ship could arrive at a facility in a military emergency without Starfleet informing him.

“I don't know,” Romaine said.

“Nor I,” Nensi added.

“Commander Farl took over early this morning and said that I could confirm it with Starfleet.”

“And did you?” Kirk asked.

“I can't get through channels. Everything's restricted or encrypted.”

Nensi leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Captain Kirk, does this military emergency exist without you being informed of it?” The man looked equally alarmed and confused.

Kirk studied Romaine and Nensi. Obviously they had parts of the puzzle he was trying to solve. He had to trust them in order to make an exchange: his pieces for theirs.

“An Alpha emergency has been declared on board the
Enterprise,”
Kirk said in almost a whisper.

The three of them then abruptly sat back from the table as the server brought the first course of hydroponic salads. He topped up their wineglasses, then departed.

“I've heard about the Alpha emergency,” Nensi said.

Kirk considered the man's statement for a moment and decided Nensi had said it so Kirk would understand two things: that Nensi had his own sources of information and that he was holding nothing back.

“I appreciate you telling me that,” Kirk said. “Do your sources have any idea why an Alpha was called?”

“Sorry, no.”

“The unofficial explanation I was given,” Kirk said, “was that Starfleet had received unsubstantiated information indicating that one or more of the prize nominees were targeted for assassination.”

“Commander Farl said he was under orders not to tell me the nature of Prime's emergency,” Romaine offered. “But he did say that he expected the situation to be improved when the
Enterprise
arrived.”

Nensi turned to Romaine. “Did Farl say that before or after we heard about the dilithium burnout on the ship?”

“After, of course,” Romaine said. “He only took over this morning.”

Nensi looked back to Kirk. “My sources also tell me that the dilithium incident on your ship was considered by Commodore Wolfe to have been an assassination attempt orchestrated by your science officer.”

“Mr. Spock?” Romaine said with surprise. “Impossible.”

“That's what I said,” Kirk agreed. “Though the commodore does believe she has a circumstantial case. But putting that aside, what I don't understand is if our two declared emergencies are connected, then why would your commander feel that
his
emergency would be lessened by my ship's arrival? It doesn't make any more sense than thinking that the two emergencies aren't connected.” Kirk tapped his finger on the table for a moment, then reached to his equipment belt and brought out his communicator with a practiced flip that snapped it open, ready to transmit. “Kirk to
Enterprise.
Put me through to McCoy.”

“The ship's doctor,” Romaine explained to Nensi as Kirk waited for McCoy to come on channel.

“We've met,” Nensi said with a grimace. “The technophobe.”

Kirk smiled as McCoy responded to the captain's call. He sounded as if he had been sleeping but didn't object when Kirk suggested he join him and Nensi and Romaine for dinner. Within three minutes, a transporter field swirled into being down in the plaza below. McCoy looked around until he saw the captain wave from the restaurant balcony. By the time the doctor arrived at the table, the server had miraculously arrived and set a fourth place and provided another menu screen. McCoy didn't even glance at the offerings and simply ordered a bourbon, or whatever they had that was more or less chemically inspired by bourbon.

“Good to see you in one piece,” Nensi commented as the server left for the bar.

“It's good to
be
in one piece after being in billions,” McCoy agreed, missing the point. He clapped his hands together and looked expectantly at the captain. “So?” he asked, implying a dozen questions in one word.

“First, how's Spock?” Kirk asked.

“Busy,” McCoy said. “The commodore finally agreed to your request to let him have a remote library reader, so the last I saw, he was at his desk in the cell, working away with it on that Sherman Syndrome thing. You'd think he'd be working on his defense at a time like this.”

“Spock has a better grasp of his priorities than most people,” Kirk suggested. “He knows what he's doing.”

McCoy looked up with a smile as the server returned with his drink. “That was fast,” he said happily. The server nodded once and was gone.

“How about the commodore?” Kirk asked.

“Been meeting all day with that Andorian commander and some of her staff.” McCoy sipped the bourbon experimentally, sighed, then turned to Nensi and asked, “How's this facility set for medical personnel?”

“Any clue as to what her meetings are about?” Kirk prodded. He wondered if McCoy really didn't see the seriousness of the situation or if he had simply acknowledged the fact that if Spock wasn't concerned enough to be doing something about his own incarceration, then there was really no reason for anyone else to be concerned.

“Well, Uhura might have had a clue,” McCoy offered. He looked questioningly at Nensi and Romaine.

“It's all right,” Kirk said. “We're all in the same shuttle on this one.”

“Uhura's been ordered to stay on duty to handle communications. She says she's never seen anything like it short of being in the middle of an ion storm with all shields down. Wolfe and Farl are cut off from Starfleet Command.”

Being cut off from Command wasn't necessarily a hardship, Kirk knew. But that usually happened out on the frontier, not in Quadrant Zero. Things were getting worse by the minute. “For how long?” he asked.

“All day, as far as I know,” McCoy said. He was still too cheerful as far as Kirk was concerned, and kept glancing over the railing into the plaza.

“Uh, Captain Kirk,” Nensi said hesitatingly. “Earlier this afternoon I was present at the combined newsweb facilities and watched an interview with some of the nominees from Earth. It was conducted in real time, over subspace, with an interviewer on Luna. There were no technical difficulties at all that I was aware of.”

“Are you suggesting that only Starfleet subspace frequencies are being interfered with?” Kirk asked. “That civil frequencies are being left untouched?”

“I don't even think Starfleet would be capable of such selective jamming,” Nensi answered. “But that's what I observed.”

Kirk knew that Nensi was right. The intricacies of selective jamming of subspace frequencies made the practice virtually impossible. Usually it was all frequencies that were disrupted, or none. Perhaps it only
appeared
that communications were in disarray.

“Mr. Nensi, have your ‘sources' passed on any word about conditions on the other ships that have brought nominees to Prime?” Kirk asked.

“That was one of the first things I decided to check out when I learned what had happened on the
Enterprise.
Communications are disrupted for the other ships as well but, unfortunately, there's no other pattern. Three of the ships are traveling with reduced crews, but that's normal in this area of space. Lots of people use the opportunity for shore leave. Whatever is happening, is happening only on your ship and this facility.”

“At least that's a start,” Kirk decided. Half the battle in solving a problem was defining the problem to be solved in the first place. “Any suggestions, Doctor? Doctor?”

McCoy snapped his head back to the table. “Sorry, Jim?” he asked.

“I give up, Bones. What do you know that we don't know?” Kirk glanced down to the plaza where McCoy's attention had been focused. “Is the answer to all of our questions going to pop out of nothing down there?”

McCoy smiled mysteriously. “I suppose that's one way of looking at it,” he said. “Someone's questions, at least.”

With that Kirk saw a second transporter field glittering in the plaza. It coalesced into the red-shirted form of Montgomery Scott.

McCoy waved down at Scott and the engineer responded, making his way to the restaurant entrance below. Kirk checked Romaine. She stared at her wineglass, grasping it as if it were the only thing that was keeping her on the face of the Prime asteroid.

Kirk wanted to ask McCoy just what it was he thought he was doing, setting up a surprise like this in such a clumsy manner, but he could think of no way to do it without embarrassing Romaine and making things worse than they already were. There was a long awkward pause at the table, during which the efficient server arrived and arranged a fifth place and left another menu screen. At last Scott appeared on the balcony, looking as nervous as Kirk had ever seen him before. Romaine still stared into the compelling depths of her wineglass. When she finally looked over her shoulder, her glance must have prompted Kirk's chief engineer to finish his approach to the table.