Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

34

Pennington bounded up the steps to the main floor of Sobon’s home, where he found M’Benga sitting on a decorative stone bench before a small garden. Like Pennington, the doctor was dressed in a light brown soft suit like those typically worn by Vulcans who spent great periods of time in the unforgiving desert. The clothing’s color was such that M’Benga almost blended in with the garden’s serene surroundings.

“You sent for me, mate?” Pennington asked. “Tell me you’ve found where they hide the swimming pool in this place.”

Turning from where he had been examining the garden’s array of plants, M’Benga replied, “Afraid not.” He rose from the bench, brushing his hands together. “Sinar tells me we have a visitor.”

“We?” Pennington asked. “As in you and me? Who would be coming to see us here, of all places?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” M’Benga indicated for Pennington to follow him. “Sinar said she’d be waiting in Sobon’s study.”

Falling into stride alongside the doctor, Pennington said, “Speaking of Sobon, how’s he doing? Rough night last night.”

M’Benga nodded. “I’m told he’s resting. That last meld took even more out of him than the first one.”

“I figured it would be hard,” Pennington said as they proceeded down the hallway toward the elder Vulcan’s study. “I just didn’t think it would be so hard. On him or on her.”

He and M’Benga had not been allowed into T’Prynn’s room during Sobon’s latest attempt to meld with her the previous evening, but they had not needed to wait long to learn the results of the Vulcan’s efforts. As on the first evening, Sobon had emerged from the meld visibly shaken and physically weakened, requiring the assistance of Sinar even to go back to his bedchamber.

“Apparently,” M’Benga said, “this Sten has embedded himself so far into T’Prynn’s mind that he’s become part of her, as vital to her existence as her own consciousness. If I understood Sobon correctly, simply going in with the idea of removing him as a single piece, if you will, won’t work. The way he describes it, he’s executing a series of ‘probing’ melds with T’Prynn, as a means of helping her to erect mental barriers or finding places to hide within her mind, away from his attacks. It also somehow involves diverting Sten’s katra.To me, it sounds as if he’s sending it away, making it chase shadows, whatever.” Shaking his head, he added, “I don’t understand any of it, but in order for her to achieve peace, Sten will have to be forcibly driven from her. That’s what the Dashaya-Ni’Varritual is supposed to accomplish.”

They came to the door leading into Sobon’s study, and Pennington slid aside the bolt securing it. He stepped into the room and stopped as he came face-to-face with T’Prynn.

“What in the name of…?” he began, feeling his jaw slacken before he caught himself.

“Greetings,” offered the Vulcan woman standing before them. “I am T’Nel.”

On closer inspection, Pennington realized that this, of course, was not T’Prynn, though the resemblance was remarkable. She was somewhat older, but Pennington noted the similar soft lines of the woman’s jaw. The same dark hair was arranged in a shorter style, which likely was practical for the Vulcan desert environment. Her eyes were a different color, much darker, though they peered at him with the same power and focus he recalled from his encounters with T’Prynn.

Stepping around Pennington, M’Benga said, “Hello. I’m Dr. Jabilo M’Benga, and this is my friend, Timothy Pennington. We were told you wanted to see us.”

T’Nel nodded. “I am T’Prynn’s older sibling. Healer Sobon sent for me upon your arrival, as he believes I may be of some assistance.”

“You live here, in the commune?” M’Benga asked, looking around for a place to sit but foiled at every turn by more of Sobon’s books, scrolls, and other papers.

“No,” T’Nel replied. “I live in the village of Ha’tren, several kilometers from here, though T’Prynn and I did live here for a time.”

Gesturing toward the door, M’Benga said, “Would you care to walk outside?” To Pennington, he said, “It’s not too hot yet.”

“That is acceptable.” As the trio moved back into the corridor, T’Nel said, “In our youth, we were quite satisfied living here. I mentored under Healer Sobon, and T’Prynn followed her interests in botanical and agricultural sciences. Indeed, many of the gardens around the commune were first planted by her.”

Pennington smiled at the images that suggested. “I never pictured T’Prynn as having a green thumb. Somehow, I like that.”

“The pigmentation of T’Prynn’s thumb is the same as the rest of her epidermis,” T’Nel said, “though I suppose the pigmentation of Vulcan blood might evoke such a description. Still, it is somewhat inaccurate.”

They emerged from the main entrance to Sobon’s home and into the courtyard that formed the commune’s center. Outside, Pennington saw a few villagers tending to gardens or washing clothes by hand in large stone basins. Two younger Vulcan males were working on a roof, replacing what looked like clay shingles. As M’Benga had promised, it was warm, but the heat of the day was still a few hours away.

His eyes tracked along the high stone wall that formed the village’s perimeter—installed, Pennington was told, to prevent entry by any of the “predators” M’Benga had mentioned on their first night here—and then he turned to look to the south at the heavy wrought-iron gate that was the commune’s main entrance. Beyond the threshold and just visible on the left side of the gateway was the nose of the Starfleet shuttlecraft that had been sitting there since the first morning Pennington and M’Benga had spent here. The Starfleet security personnel who had arrived in the shuttle were polite enough, as Pennington had discovered when he walked to the gate to investigate their arrival. According to the lieutenant who was the team’s leader, an attractive blonde with an Australian accent and an apparent invulnerability to every bit of charm Pennington had been able to muster, the detail had been sent to ensure that T’Prynn remained in the village, at least until such time as she was declared medically able to travel. They, of course, were forbidden to enter the village without permission, but that did not stop them from monitoring the comings and goings of the residents.

“How delightfully fascist,” Pennington had observed during that first morning, earning a disapproving glare from the attractive young lieutenant.

Now, turning his attention back to T’Nel, he asked, “I understand that you’re a healer?”

“That is correct,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back as the trio began to walk a circuit around the courtyard. “Though I am not nearly as accomplished as Healer Sobon. Still, the Dashaya-Ni’Varwill require two healers working in concert, and he feels my familial connection to T’Prynn may be of some benefit.”

“So,” M’Benga said, “you’re obviously familiar with what happened to her.”

“I was there when it happened.” T’Nel paused, nodding to one of the workers tending to a garden as they walked past. “T’Prynn and Sten were betrothed as children, as is customary among our people, though she always resisted that tradition. She always was rather conflicted, expending much energy trying to reconcile what she perceived as inconsistencies in our culture. Though Vulcans are taught from a very early age that they possess the right as individuals to make their own life choices, several of our most time-honored traditions seem at odds with this philosophy. Marriage, of course, is one such tradition, and T’Prynn never was able to come to terms with the idea of marrying Sten.”

“She resisted him?” Pennington asked, frowning. “Turned him down?”

T’Nel replied, “In a manner of speaking. She lived here for a time, as a youth, learning under Healer Sobon’s tutelage and trying to come to terms with those facets of our society with which she had taken such fervent issue. For a while, she was at peace, and when the time came for her and Sten to be united in matrimony, T’Prynn asked Sten to release her from their bond. He had always loved her, had always wanted her, but to T’Prynn, he seemed too controlling, too dominating. It was not what she wanted from a marriage, and after his refusal to release her, she challenged him to ritual combat in order to fight for her release.”

“Koon-ut-kal-if-fee,”M’Benga said. “Marriage or challenge.”

“Yes,” T’Nel confirmed. She said nothing for a moment, then turned so that she faced Pennington and M’Benga. “You understand that these are not matters normally discussed with outworlders, but Sobon has spoken for your trustworthiness.”

“I’m her doctor,” M’Benga said. “I want to help her, any way that I can. To do that, I need to understand things that I admit are beyond my expertise.”

Resuming their walk, T’Nel said, “That is logical. During the challenge, when they were in physical contact, T’Prynn was winning the combat. He was near death, at her hand, when Sten initiated the meld. He knew he was about to die, and in his last moments of life, he forced his katrainto her mind. The meld was interrupted when T’Prynn killed him. Since that day, she has been val’reth.”

“My God.” Pennington shook his head as he tried to imagine what T’Nel was describing.

T’Nel said, “In the years following the meld, T’Prynn was able to erect and maintain mental shields to combat Sten’s katra,but keeping those in place required much effort. Now it appears that those barriers have failed, and she and Sten are once more locked in mortal combat. Essentially, they are struggling for control of her mind. She attempted to find a cure for her condition, of course, but none was to be found. Finally, she chose to leave Vulcan, for reasons that remain known only to her. I have not seen her since that time.”

“Fifty years of fighting off that bastard,” Pennington said, feeling overwhelmed by what he had just heard. What must it be like, he wondered, trying to live with the essence of another person living inside one’s own mind, dueling with whatever it was that defined one as an individual? The very notion was too much to take in, at least not all at once.

His eyes shifting to the dozen or so vre-katrascattered among the books and other items on the shelves of Sobon’s study, he asked, “T’Nel, this ritual Sobon is trying, do you think it can work?”

“I admit that I am unfamiliar with the Dashaya-Ni’Var,” T’Nel replied. “It comes from a time before Surak, and there are no accounts of its practice in modern times. Most adepts will not even acknowledge its existence. I suspect that only a small number of healers and adepts possess the mental skill required to carry out the ritual, and even fewer would be willing to risk such an undertaking. Fortunately, Sobon is one such individual.”

“What will happen if Sobon isn’t successful?” M’Benga asked.

Once more, T’Nel paused, and Pennington noted the slight shift in her otherwise passive expression. There was something new just beneath the surface of her composed veneer. Resignation, perhaps? Pennington could not be sure.

“T’Prynn has spent many years battling Sten. She has never yielded. She never will yield. If the Dashaya-Ni’Varproves unsuccessful, I believe T’Prynn will continue the fight within her mind so long as she is able.”

She did not say it, but Pennington knew what came next. T’Prynn would never submit to Sten. She would die for that choice, and she would die fighting, trapped within the inescapable confines of her own mind.

35

“Ensign Ribiero, please describe to the court your primary duties.”

From where he sat at the table he shared with Rana Desai, Commodore Reyes watched as Captain Sereb, once again in full theatrical mode, circled the small dais on which sat Ensign Gisela Ribiero, one of Starbase 47’s junior communications officers. Though she faced away from him and toward Admiral Moratino and the other board members, Reyes still could see the nervousness and uncertainty wracking the young ensign’s body. He doubted that her short career in Starfleet had been sufficient to prepare Ribiero for anything as disconcerting as the court-martial of her commanding officer.

Trial by fire, kid. I’m sorry about that.

“I’m assigned to the station’s primary communications control center,” she replied, hints of her native Portuguese still evident as she spoke. “We handle the receipt of all incoming communications, both real-time and prerecorded.”

Behind her, as he paced a circuit around the dais, Sereb asked, “And as part of your duties, are you not often tasked with the screening of all communications to ensure that they do not violate station security protocols?”

Ribiero nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“In particular, are you tasked with ensuring that incoming and outgoing civilian communications traffic complies with these security protocols?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

Leaning to his right so that he could speak almost directly into Desai’s left ear, Reyes whispered, “He loves the buildup, doesn’t he?”

Desai’s only response was a muted grunt, her gaze never wavering from the proceedings unfolding before her.

It had gone this way for the past two days, with Sereb calling witnesses and starting out with the mundane, matter-of-fact questions to lay groundwork for the line of questioning he actually wanted to pursue. The senior staff had been called to testify during the first two days of the trial, and all of them had offered little to nothing in the way of damaging testimony. The reasoning for this was simple, in that Reyes had acted to insulate all of them from any fallout from his decisions and actions. Therefore, Commander Cooper and the rest of the command staff had been unable to speak to any direct action Reyes had taken in violation of Starfleet regulations.

However, Sereb still had managed to find some way to make even the most innocuous statements appear damning toward Reyes, establishing a pattern of apparent secretive conduct and furtive conspiring to undermine the lawful operation of the station and its crew. Because none of his people knew anything about what Reyes was doing, he must have been acting with deliberate intent to circumvent regulations and protocols. While Desai had objected several times during different rounds of questioning and Admiral Moratino had sustained some of those objections, Sereb still had done his job, sowing the seeds of doubt in the minds of the court’s board members.

He’s a crafty bastard,Reyes thought. I’ll give him that.

“Ensign,” Sereb said, now pausing to stand before Ribiero, “you are currently assigned to Gamma Shift, are you not?”

Again, Ribiero nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Gamma Shift is the least busy, in that it is scheduled from twenty-three hundred hours to oh-seven-hundred hours the following morning, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

The burly Tellarite looked up from his questioning, locking eyes with Reyes for a moment, and the commodore was certain that the smug blowhard might have smiled at him if he had not chosen instead to continue his pacing. “As such, is it typical to receive visits to the communications center by members of the station’s command staff?”

“Objection,” Desai said, rising from her seat. “Calls for speculation.”

Moratino nodded. “A bit borderline, Captain, but I’ll sustain.”

Clearing his throat, Sereb said, “I’ll rephrase the question. Ensign Ribiero, for what reasons might a member of the station’s command staff visit the communications center?”

“There are occasions when Commodore Reyes or Commander Cooper has been handling some urgent matter and wishes to oversee communications directly. There have also been instances when one of them has to provide an eyes-only decryption key for an encoded message from Starfleet Command. Things like that.”

Sereb, pacing again, waved his right arm. “So, suffice it to say that such visits are not the norm.”

Oh, for God’s sake, just get on with it, already.Despite the exasperation he was beginning to feel at this latest example of Sereb’s courtroom drama, Reyes forced himself to remain still, his hands clasped before him on the table while maintaining a stoic expression, just as Desai also was doing.

“Walk us through the events of stardate 1528.4, Ensign,” Sereb said. “You were on duty in the communications center. At approximately oh-three-hundred hours, who else was present?”

Knowing where this was going, Ribiero faltered for a moment and even cast a glance over her shoulder toward Reyes, which earned her a stern glare from Sereb before she answered, “I was alone, sir. It was my turn to stand watch while the others were taking their mid-shift meal break. The first one back would relieve me so I could go and eat. It’s standard practice, sir.”

“So, you were alone at oh-three-hundred hours,” Sereb said, continuing to pace. Looking toward Reyes again, he continued, “And did you receive a visit on this evening?”

Ribiero nodded. “Yes, sir. Commodore Reyes entered the center and asked me how things were going.”

“And how werethings going?”

Even from his angle behind and to the left of her, Reyes saw Ribiero’s jaw tighten. She did not appreciate this game, either. “They were fine, sir. They’re always fine at that time of night.”

Sereb grunted. “What happened next?”

“The commodore ordered me to take my meal break, sir.”

Pausing before the trial board, Sereb directed an expression of feigned astonishment to the board members before turning toward Reyes and Desai. “He ordered you away from your post?”

“Not exactly, sir,” Ribiero replied. “He said that he had a classified message to transmit and that it was urgent and eyes-only and that it would be recorded in the official log as such. It’s happened before, sir.”

“So, you’re saying the commodore makes a habit of circumventing security protocols with regard to classified communications?”

That brought Desai out of her chair again. “Objection, Your Honor. Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained,” Moratino replied. “Captain Sereb, watch your footing here.”

“I apologize, Your Honor,” Sereb said before returning his attention to Ribiero. “Ensign, Commodore Reyes ordered you away from the communications center so that he might transmit a classified message. Did he offer any clues to the nature of the message, the receiving party, or whether he might require assistance?”

Ribiero shook her head. “No, sir. The commodore is familiar with our equipment.”

“Did you take this opportunity to remind him of station security procedures with respect to communications?”

“Yes, sir, I did, but Commodore Reyes provided an authorized override code that allows him to bypass such restrictions.”

Again, Sereb paused, this time holding up one pudgy finger. “Ah, his command override authority. As I understand such protocols, they’re normally reserved for emergencies, are they not?”

“That’s correct, sir.” The ensign now was visibly nervous, doing her best to maintain her bearing. Reyes felt nothing but sympathy for her. It was not her fault that she sat before these officers in this way. She had done her duty in every measurable respect. He wanted to stand and shout that to the board members, wanted to cram the words down Sereb’s throat, but even as the thoughts festered in his mind, he felt the gentle touch of Desai’s hand on his arm, warning him to stay seated and keep his mouth shut.

“Yes, sir, and the commodore informed me that there was such an emergency.”

Sereb glared at her. “And you took him at his word?”

The question seemed to take Ribiero off guard, but for the first time, she seemed willing to push back, if only a little. “Of course I did,” she said, a slight edge creeping into her voice. “I had no reason to suspect he’d be lying.”

“No, of course not,” the Tellarite replied. “You were carrying out your duties, as was expected of you. You had every reason to trust that your commanding officer was doing the same, rather than using his rank and position to carry out illegal acts under cover of official business.”

“Objection,” Desai snapped, pushing herself to her feet. “Your Honor, is the prosecution asking a question or providing editorial commentary?”

“Sustained,” Moratino said, and this time, there was no mistaking the irritation in the admiral’s voice. “Captain Sereb, my patience is beginning to wear thin.”

The prosecutor nodded. “Understood, Your Honor.” To Ribiero, he said, “Ensign, as of this moment, do you know the contents of the message Commodore Reyes sent from the communications center?”

“No, sir,” Ribiero replied.

“Isn’t there a record of the message in the comm center log?”

The ensign shook her head. “Not of the message itself, sir. Just a record that the message was transmitted, the time and date of the transmission, and the sending and receiving parties.”

Sereb asked, “And who were the sending and receiving parties?”

When Ribiero paused this time, Reyes knew she did not want to answer and why. She drew a deep breath before replying, “The sender is listed as Timothy Pennington, and the recipient was the Federation News Service.” Even though Reyes knew what the response would be, the words spoken aloud were like kicks to his gut.

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, and perhaps desiring to quit while he was ahead, Sereb turned to the board members. “Your Honor, I have no further questions for this witness.”

“Very well.” Moratino looked to Desai. “Does defense wish to cross-examine?”

Rising once more from her chair, Desai replied, “No, Your Honor.” Reyes thought he sensed a hint of resignation lacing the words.

“You may step down, Ensign,” the admiral said. She spent a moment writing something before reaching for the striker. “We’ll stand in recess until ten hundred hours tomorrow. Court is adjourned.” She rapped the ship’s bell, and Lieutenant T’Nir rose from her place just in front of the bench.

“All rise,” called the Vulcan as everyone stood and waited for Moratino and the rest of the board to file out of the room. Once they were gone, T’Nir deactivated the computer terminal next to her chair before leaving the room.

Reyes stood silent, staring straight ahead and waiting until Sereb left the courtroom before even turning to Desai. “I really hate this, you know.”

“I know,” Desai replied, gathering her materials. “But it’s necessary if you want your chance on the stand.”

“My people don’t deserve to be dragged through this,” Reyes said. “They don’t even know what most of this is about, and I made sure none of them was put in a position to have to do or say anything against regs. Sereb knows that.”

Desai sighed. “Of course, he knows that. Remember, the facts aren’t in dispute here. All he can do is attempt to demonstrate the scope of what you’ve done. Since you took steps to protect everyone, all he can do is illustrate that by having all of the witnesses testify that they don’t know anything. He’s marking time until we switch to the defense phase. That’s when he’ll cut loose, and you know he’s just drooling at the chance to come after you.”

“I have that effect on people.” Reyes said as the pair of security guards assigned to escort him back to his quarters stepped forward from where they had been standing at the courtroom’s rear wall. With them falling into step behind him, Reyes and Desai exited the room, and he paused as he saw Jetanien and Fisher waiting in the corridor.

“Hello, Diego,” the ambassador said, bowing in greeting.

“What are you two doing loitering around here?” Reyes asked. He actually was glad to see his two friends.

“We’re here to offer moral support,” Fisher said. “And if that’s not enough, I have a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

Glancing over his shoulder at his security escorts, Reyes said, “I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to throw any wild parties while I’m confined to quarters.”

“Is there a better time?” Fisher asked. “Don’t worry. We’ve already received approval from Admiral Moratino for a one-hour visit later this evening. Assuming you want the company, that is.”

As they began walking up the corridor toward a bank of turbolifts, Reyes asked, “Is this really a good idea? It sounds like the kind of thing they let a condemned man do on his last night.”

“Perish your negative thoughts, Diego,” Jetanien said, his voice carrying more than a minor rebuke. “Captain Desai has comported herself with distinction to this point, and I have no doubts she will rise to the occasion when the trial turns to the defense.”

Looking over her shoulder at the Chel, Desai asked, “How do you know how I’m comporting anything? I haven’t seen you in the courtroom.”

“My dear, I know everything,” Jetanien replied. “Just as I know that there are very few people who possess the unique understanding of the situation here in the Taurus Reach that is required to run this station and oversee its mission. Diego is one such individual.” To Reyes, he said, “I firmly believe that you will play a significant role in any success we hope to have out here.”

Uncomfortable with dwelling on that line of thought, Reyes sought to change the subject. “I hear you’ve had your own hands full,” he said, eyeing the ambassador. Then, nodding toward his friend’s manus, he added, “Or whatever you call those things.”

Jetanien uttered a string of clicks that echoed in the passageway. “Indeed, it has not been easy for people in my line of work these past weeks. The Klingons are on the move everywhere, it seems, and the Tholians naturally are proving to be most uncooperative.”

Shaking his head, Reyes said, “I don’t know how you do it, Jetanien.”

“What do you mean?” the ambassador asked.

“I mean juggling so many balls and keeping them all in the air. It’s quite a sight to see, you know.” He had always been impressed with Jetanien’s ability to handle multiple issues, particularly when it came to the nonstop head-to-head game of interplanetary politics, but recent events had tasked even his formidable abilities. Diplomacy was easy when everyone got along, but it was an altogether different animal when things were not quite so picturesque. “You’re trying to do the impossible, and it’s fun watching you try.”

“I’m trying to do the impossible, too, you know,” Desai said, punching him playfully in the arm.

Reyes nodded. “It’s fun watching you, too.”

They came to the row of five turbolifts, and Jetanien and Fisher hung back as Reyes, Desai, and the security detail moved to enter one of the available cars. Pausing at the threshold, Reyes turned to regard his friends. “Listen, I think I’d enjoy that visit.” It was the first time since his incarceration had begun that he had requested to see anyone. Even his meetings with Desai during their preparations had been at her bidding. “A change of pace might do me some good.”

“Now you’re talking,” Fisher said, unable to suppress a grin. “And I’ll have my scotch in hand.”

Jetanien added, “I cannot promise any special vintage spirits, but I do have a vat of—”

Reyes held up a hand. “Don’t even say it, whatever it is.”

“Well,” the ambassador said, “there’s simply no accounting for taste.”

That elicited a small laugh from Reyes as he boarded the turbolift. “Nineteen hundred hours. You know the address.” As the doors slid shut and the lift began to move, he turned to look at Desai.

“You know, for a minute there, I was able to forget about all of this.”

Desai smiled. “Good. That’s what friends are supposed to help you do.”

As the turbolift continued its ascent through the core of the station, Reyes stood in silence, contemplating what Jetanien had said moments earlier. Could he still play a role here, despite all that had happened? Was Starfleet of a mind to forgive his transgressions in the interest of ensuring that the best possible people were employed here, working to unlock the mysteries upon which they had stumbled?

Possible,he decided, but not damned likely.