Worlds in Collision (3 page)

Starn considered his options. It was probable he could walk away from this now. But the opportunity for expansion that this meeting offered might not come again. However, if he did commit to the contract, in the end he would still be able to make a final decision concerning who would be the more difficult victim: the one who was now unrevealed, or a certain Klingon civilian.

“Very well,” Starn agreed. Karth moved his hands back to the center of the desk. “But since I cannot know the cost or effort involved in this service, I must call on Klingon honor to seal our bargain. State your price.” Starn was puzzled when he could detect no physiological response to his subtle insult. For a non-Klingon to bargain on Klingon honor implied either that the non-Klingon was an equal of a Klingon or that Klingon honor was suitable for animals. At the very least, Karth should have demanded a test of blood, if not death, but Starn could not hear any quickening of Karth's breathing rate or see any change in his skin color.

“Two hundred Iopene Cutters with feedback shields.”

Two hundred!
Starn concentrated on not disrupting his own breathing rate. Whole planets could be taken with a handful of cutters whose beams could tunnel through any force shield by turning the shield's own energy against itself in perfect counterphase.

“I was not aware that there were that many in existence,” Starn said flatly.
Two hundred!

“Do you doubt my word?” Now Starn picked up an immediate flush in Karth's face and a rapid escalation in breathing rate.

“I simply stated a fact. For such a price I will accept your contract. Again I ask, who is the victim?”

Karth motioned for Starn to approach the desk. He touched a keypad and images formed on the desk's surface. Starn watched intently.

At first he was stunned. Then impressed. The concept was brilliant. By this one single action Starfleet could be reduced to an uncoordinated swarm of helpless ships and starbases. The entire Federation could be brought to its knees. So many past wrongs would be repaid. Starn knew he would have accepted this contract without fee.

He leaned over the desk, studying the words and pictures, memorizing the diagrams and timetables. Already a plan was forming. It could be done. He was just about to step back from the table when he noticed Karth's hand on the keypad.

“Bring up the initial timetable again?” Starn asked.

Karth tapped out a three-key sequence. Starn watched the Klingon's exact hand movements carefully, then stepped back.

“I will be proud to carry out this service,” Starn stated. “But I do have a question.”

“I expect you to have many.”

“Federation officials will not rest until they discover who is behind this action.”

“That is not a precise question.”

“What do you wish the officials to find out?”

“That is not a clear question.”

“Should I leave evidence implicating the empire in this crime?”

Karth leaned back and snorted. He gestured to his dark face. “Who has set this crime in motion, trader? What do you think?”

Starn took his opening. “I think it is intriguing that I am being hired to commit this crime by a mechanical device attempting to pass itself off as a Klingon.”

Karth's hands disappeared beneath the desk with unnatural speed. Starn twisted sideways and reached beneath his cloak. Karth jumped back from the desk, aiming a disruptor at Starn. The cutter's particle beam sliced through the air with a thunderous crackle, disassociating dust and smoke molecules. But Karth
dodged!
The beam erupted on his shoulder instead of his chest.

Starn stumbled back against his chair. The cutter whined as it cycled up to discharge again but it would take too many seconds. Karth's shoulder dripped with thick blue coolant. Wires and transtators glowed and sparked in the mechanical ruin. The Klingon robot leveled its disruptor and fired. Starn braced himself for disruption. The Andorian girl was engulfed in a sputtering orange corona and collapsed onto the floor. The robot placed the disruptor on the desk.

Starn looked over to the Andorian. Her body had not disintegrated. She was still breathing. A Klingon disruptor set for
stun?
What kind of madness was this?

“Neural disruption only,” the robot said. “She won't remember anything of the last twelve hours. She didn't know.” It pointed to its shoulder.

The cutter beeped its ready signal in Starn's hand.

“You won't need that,” the robot said, pushing small silver tendrils back into its shoulder. The arm beneath fluttered erratically, then jerked once and hung limply.

Starn replaced the cutter beneath his cloak. “You didn't kill her?” he asked.

“Low crime rate in Town. She'd be missed. There'd be questions. The important thing is that there be no witnesses.” A flesh-colored foam sprayed from the robot's good hand to cover the open circuitry of its blasted shoulder. “Not now, and not when you carry out your contract.”

Starn watched with fascination as the robot began to repair itself. He suddenly doubted that the Klingons had anything at all to do with this.

“That sounds quite…logical,” Starn said and, thinking of the image that hung above the tavern door, he began to laugh.

Spock did not need logic to know that another attempt was going to be made. The only question was, who was behind it: the captain or the doctor? He finally decided that the instigator would be the one who entered the
Enterprise'
s recreation lounge last. Satisfied, Spock returned to his meal. His theory was disproved when the lounge door puffed open and Kirk and McCoy entered together. Spock realized then that they were both in on it. Whatever this one was going to be, it was going to be big.

“Mr. Spock, mind if I join you?” Kirk was already seated by the time Spock could swallow and begin his reply. McCoy sat beside the captain, not even bothering to ask Spock's permission. The table for eight was now filled. As were the two tables closest to it. The fact that the two chairs across from Spock had been left empty, even as other crew members decided to sit as close to him as possible, indicated that everyone else knew that Kirk and McCoy were expected. It had also been Spock's first clue that he was, as McCoy would put it, being set up.

“Well, Captain?” Spock decided to play white and take the advantage of the opening move.

“Well what, Spock?” Kirk's wide-eyed innocence confirmed his guilt.

“I merely assume that you have come to tell me something and I wonder what it is.”

Kirk pursed his lips. “Tell you something?” He looked over to McCoy. “Bones? Did you have anything to say to Spock?”

McCoy smiled brightly, his expression calculatingly cheerful. “Not a thing, Jim.”

The captain and the doctor smiled at Spock. Spock constructed a decision tree. He could excuse himself and return to his station, though he concluded that would be interpreted as a resignation from whatever game was being played. Or he could regroup his position.

He took another forkful of salad.

“Good salad, Spock?” Kirk asked.

Spock chewed carefully and nodded warily, assessing the captain's counteropening gambit. He prepared himself for the next attack. But the captain turned back to McCoy instead.

“So, Bones, who do you think is going to take the top spot for the Nobel and Z. Magnees Prize in medicine?”

So that was it, Spock realized. Something to do with the prizes. But what? He had not been nominated, and his work would likely remain too specialized to ever qualify. Sarek, his father, had been awarded the Peace Prize more than twenty years ago but, logically, that had nothing at all to do with Spock. So what were they hinting at?

“Well now, Jim, I think that Lenda Weiss has made a remarkable contribution to our understanding of resonance fields. Half my portable scanners are based on her work. I really don't see how she has any competition.”

“Not even from Forella?” Kirk suggested. “I hear his work with shaped stasis fields will make the protoplaser obsolete in just a few years.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” McCoy said definitively. “Dr. Weiss is the front runner. No doubt about it.”

“I believe you'll find the work of Stlur and T'Vann merits the attention of the prize committee as well,” Spock offered. He suspected he shouldn't get involved but logically he could see no other choice. The captain and the doctor were grievously misinformed. “They have opened up the whole new field of transporter-based surgery. Surgeons might never—”

“Stlur and T'Vann?” Kirk interrupted. “A Vulcan team?”

“Department heads at the Academy of Science,” Spock added.

“So you follow the prizes, do you, Spock?”

“Doctor, the winners of the Nobel and Z. Magnees Prizes represent the forward thrust of Federation science and culture. From their work today it is possible to deduce the shape of tomorrow. They represent the finest minds of all the worlds of the Federation. Who would not follow them?”

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. Spock observed them and felt as he did when he stepped into one of the captain's intuitive mates in three-dimensional chess, but he still couldn't determine what Kirk and McCoy were trying to accomplish.

“I suppose you keep up with all the latest news about the prizes then?” Kirk asked.

For a chilling moment, Spock was afraid he was about to be informed that Dr. McCoy had been named a nominee, but quickly discounted the notion. The prize committee had some standards, after all. There were Vulcans on it.

“I follow the news as much as I am able, Captain,” Spock replied.

“And you know about the ceremonies coming up?”

“I have read about them in the updates.”

“Ah, good then. You know all about it. C'mon, Bones.” Kirk started to stand. McCoy followed.

Is that all?
Spock thought. Where was the logic in creating an elaborate setup such as this just to determine if he had been keeping up with the news about the prize ceremonies? Had he missed something?

“Excuse me—know all about what?” he asked, knowing the odds were overwhelming that he shouldn't.

“The prize ceremonies,” Kirk said.

“The scientists who will be there,” McCoy added.

“Where it's being held.”

“How they're all getting there.”

“You
do
know, don't you, Spock?”

Spock prepared himself for the worst. “I'm afraid I must say I obviously do not know. Please be so good as to inform me.” Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances one more time.

“Why certainly, Spock,” Kirk began, then paused for a moment. Everyone in the lounge looked at Spock expectantly.

“The
Enterprise
has been assigned to carry a delegation of sixty prize-nominated scientists to the ceremonies on Memory Prime.”

Checkmate,
Spock thought.
Again.
“That is indeed splendid news,” he managed to say evenly.

Kirk turned to McCoy. “Well?”

“He blinked, Jim. I'm sure of it.”

“How about a smile? A little one?”

“Maybe. But the blink was definite. I think he's excited. Think of it, an excited Vulcan! And we were there.”

Spock stood up from the table. “Captain, may I ask what arrangements have been made to accommodate the delegation on board?”

“You may ask, but I can't answer. The person in charge hasn't told me what's been planned yet.”

“I see. And who is the person in charge?”

“You are.” Kirk checked with McCoy. “Another blink?”

“I might have to write this up.”

Kirk looked back to Spock. “If that's all right with you, that is?”

“I shall be honored, Captain.”

Kirk smiled. This time it was genuine. “I know, Spock. We all know.”

“If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I find I have considerable new work to attend to.”

“Of course, Mr. Spock. Carry on.”

Spock nodded, took his tray to the recycler, and headed for the lounge door. As he stepped out into the corridor, he could hear McCoy complaining.

“I was sure we were going to get a smile out of him this time. I'll admit two blinks are a good start but—” The doctor's voice was lost in the puff of the lounge door.

Spock walked through the ship's corridors at a measured pace, contemplating his feelings. Despite what most of his crewmates believed, Vulcans
did
have emotions. It was just that they chose not to express them. Though Spock supposed that Dr. McCoy would be surprised to discover how close he had come to seeing Spock smile back in the lounge.

In fact, if Kirk and McCoy had not made it so obvious that they were setting him up, Spock thought he might well have been startled and pleased enough at the news of the prize nominees to have actually smiled in public. Then again, Spock thought, perhaps that's why the captain had made it so obvious, so his friend would be forewarned and spared committing an unseemly act.

The captain has such an illogical way of being logical,
Spock thought. He knew he would think about that for a long time, though he doubted he would ever totally understand. And as in most of his personal dealings with the captain, Spock decided that understanding probably wasn't necessary.

 

“Transporter malfunction!”

There weren't many words that could shock the chief engineer of the
Enterprise
awake with such forcefulness, but those two never failed.

Scott jumped out of his bunk and slammed his hand against the desk com panel. The room lights brightened automatically as they detected his movements. That voice hadn't been Kyle's. He peered at the nervous face on the desk screen.

“Scott here…Sulu?” What was Sulu doing in the main transporter room? “Report!” Scott hopped around his quarters, trying to pull on his shirt and his boots at the same time as Sulu's tense voice filtered through the speaker.

“The…carrier wave transmitter just shut down, Mr. Scott. Every pad in the ship is out.”

“Ochh, no,” Scott moaned. Years ago on another ship he had seen a landing party evulsed by a carrier-wave collapse. He had personally seen to it that such a malfunction would be virtually impossible on his
Enterprise,
no matter what McCoy might think.

“Give me the error code, lad,” Scott asked softly. There was no need to rush now. Whatever, whoever, had been in the matrix when the wave collapsed was irretrievably lost. And Scott didn't want to think about who might have been in the matrix. They were still in orbit around Centaurus. The captain had some property there…and had planned to visit it.

“Error code, Mr. Scott?”

“Below the locator grid, Mr. Sulu.” Where was Kyle?

“Uh…one-two-seven,” Sulu read out tentatively.

Even Scott had to stop and think to remember that one. When he did, he was relieved and angry at the same time. At least no one would have been lost in transit and there would be no more danger to the ship until he manually reset the carrier-wave generator.

“Mr. Sulu, I dinna know what it is ye think you're doing at the main transporter station, but I strongly suggest ye call up the operator's manual and look up a code one-two-seven shutdown on your own. I'll be down right away and in the meantime, Mr. Sulu…”

“Y-yes sir?”

“Don't touch
anything!”

Scott broke the connection to the transporter room, then opened a new link. “Scott to security. Have a team meet me in the main transporter room, alert the captain if he's on board, and find me
Mr. Kyle!”

Then the chief engineer straightened his shirt in the mirror, smoothed his hair, and stormed out of his room to find out who had just tried to scuttle the
Enterprise.

Sulu began to apologize the instant Scott stepped through the door.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Scott. I only have a Class Three rating on the transporter. The simulator never took me past error code fifty.” Sulu stepped quickly out of the way as Scott took his place behind the transporter console.

The doors slid open again. Four burly, red-shirted security officers rushed in, followed by Captain Kirk.

“Scotty, a malfunction?” Kirk looked at the transporter pads. Scott could hear the captain exhale with relief when he saw they were empty.

“An automatic shutdown, Captain. Error code one-two-seven.”

Kirk's eyes widened. He knew them all. “Somebody tried to beam an
accelerator field
on board?”

“Aye, while our own warp engines are on line, too. If the computer scan hadn't recognized the accelerator signature in the matrix and automatically reversed the beam, the chain reaction between the field and our dilithium crystals would have fused every circuit in the Cochrane generators, released the antimatter…occh.” Scott worked at the panel to reconstruct the readings of the aborted beam-up.

Kirk noticed Sulu standing in the corner by the viewscreen. “Isn't this Mr. Kyle's tour?”

“Well, yes, Captain. But when Doctors T'Vann and Stlur beamed up with their transporter-based surgical equipment, Kyle, well…he asked me to cover while he—”

“—helped them calibrate their equipment?” Kirk suggested. “Or was it check their figures? Or link up to the ship's computer?”

“Actually, set up their equipment in his transporter lab, sir,” Sulu completed.

Kirk shook his head. “I don't know, Scotty, but it seems that ever since the prize nominees started coming aboard, my crew is playing hooky from their work to go back to school.”

“ ‘Hooky,' Captain?” Spock had entered the transporter room and joined Scott behind the console.

“An inappropriate leave of absence, Mr. Spock, usually from school.”

Spock arched an eyebrow. “Why should anyone wish to do that?” He realized the captain was not about to enlighten him, so he turned to Scott. “What does the problem appear to be, Mr. Scott?”