Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

42

Despite the sensation that the collar of his dress uniform was choking the life out of him, Reyes did not reach for it, did not move to run a finger between it and his neck. Instead, he remained fixed at his position of attention, staring straight ahead as the members of the court-martial board resumed their places on the bench. Out of the corner of his right eye, Reyes saw Desai and Sereb, both standing as well. Below the bench, Lieutenant T’Nir stood facing them, her expression implacable as usual.

The happy fun group.

Admiral Moratino and the trial board had spent nearly three days deliberating behind closed doors, and Reyes—with Desai’s help—had tried to take some comfort from the protracted waiting. According to her, it was a good sign, indicating that the board did not view the charges against Reyes and the actions he had taken as a simple matter of good or bad, right or wrong. As far as he knew, no Starfleet flag officer had ever stood trial on charges on this magnitude, not with ramifications such as those that might still come about as a result of the events that had occurred and that continued to unfold in the Taurus Reach. In Desai’s estimation, the members likely were proceeding with utmost care, perhaps aware of the historic nature of the ruling they would hand down and the precedent such a decision might set for the future.

Or it could mean that they just haven’t found the perfect deep, dark hole in which to bury me.

As the board members moved to stand before their seats, Reyes allowed his gaze to flicker to each face, trying to gauge any clue or hint from their expressions. None of the officers showed any outward signs of emotion, their features fixed and neutral as they awaited instructions from Moratino. Without being asked, Lieutenant T’Nir reached for the computer terminal next to her chair and activated the unit, once again recording the court proceedings.

“Commodore Reyes,” the admiral said after everyone was in the proper place and she had rung the ship’s bell to bring the courtroom to order, “the board has reached its verdict. Are you prepared to hear this decision?”

Here we go.

It had all come to this. The hours spent in earnest preparation, the cold, ruthless prosecution by Sereb and the equally impassioned defense mounted by Rana, the testimony Reyes himself had provided while on the witness stand, and now the trial board’s deliberations were past them. All that mattered now was how, or even if, Sereb or Desai had managed to influence the board with their arguments. Though Reyes had always fancied himself a good judge of people and their possible reactions to given situations, he had found himself powerless to produce even the slightest notion of which way the board might be leaning, and that was before they had secluded themselves for their private discussions.

Well, now’s your chance to find out,he mused, chastising himself. Get on with it, already.

Steeling himself, Reyes nodded. “I am, Your Honor.”

Without further delay or preamble, Moratino said, “On the charge of conspiracy, this court finds Commodore Reyes not guilty.”

Not really a surprise, Reyes knew. Of the charges against him, everyone had told him this was the one least likely to be upheld. Still, it was a moment’s relief actually to hear the decision spoken aloud. His plea of guilty to the charge of willful disobedience had already been entered and accepted. Reyes forced himself to stand rigid and still as he waited for the final charge and findings to be read.

Without even the slightest change in her tone or cadence, Moratino said, “On the charge and specifications of releasing classified information to unauthorized personnel, this court finds Commodore Reyes guilty as charged.”

There it was, the final, most damning charge against him, the one even Rana herself had expressed doubts about their ability to overcome. Despite all of his mental and emotional preparation, Moratino’s every word was like flame scorching his flesh. From his right, Reyes heard Desai’s subtle yet sharp intake of breath. His heart pounded in his chest, and blood rushed in his ears, and Reyes felt his knees begin to quiver. He locked them into place, refusing to present even the slightest sign of weakness or reaction. A glance out of the corner of his eye told him that Desai also was struggling to maintain her own bearing.

“Does the commodore wish to make any further statement before the court proceeds to sentencing?” Moratino asked.

What the hell am I supposed to say now?Only sheer force of will prevented Reyes from asking the question aloud. No, he decided. He had already taken full advantage of the opportunities afforded to him to speak on his own behalf. There was nothing more to be said and no need to delay the inevitable any longer.

Reyes shook his head. “I have no further statement, Your Honor.”

Relaxing her posture, Moratino said, “I do have something to say before sentence is read. Commodore Reyes, I’d like you to know that the questions presented to this court-martial were not easy ones to answer. We’ve dealt with issues typical and yet vital to the maintaining of proper discipline, order, and leadership that are hallmarks of Starfleet service. At the same time, we’ve addressed concerns about the very safety and security of the Federation, whose people and principles we all are sworn to honor and defend.

“While it would be easy to characterize this trial as a matter of addressing the simple unlawful actions of a single officer, to do so overlooks the larger issues that brought about those actions. Many of those issues are matters of a scope far greater than can be adequately addressed in this forum.

“However, we are left with certain moral absolutes, which we cannot dismiss and against which we can tolerate no willful disregard, especially when such action results in the alarming or disruption of the very people we are sworn to protect. Starfleet’s chain of command is in place for practical, time-tested reasons, as are its regulations and principles. Particularly now, when the Federation faces challenges and obstacles in regard to which its fate has yet to be determined, and with the very likely possibility of war with enemies to our way of life, those principles must be honored. No matter how well intentioned their actions might be, we cannot allow our officers—above all, officers of the rank and experience held by Commodore Reyes—to defy those principles. Likewise, such actions must be appropriately punished, as an example to all who wear our uniform and affirm the oaths we hold so dear.

“Commodore Diego Reyes,” Moratino said, her gaze now fixed on him, “it is the ruling of this court that, effective immediately, you are stripped of all rank as well as all allowances and privileges accorded to officers of flag rank. You will be permitted an appropriate time to put your personal affairs in order, after which you will be remanded to the Starfleet detention facility in Auckland, New Zealand, on Earth for a period of no less than ten years, with credit for time already spent in confinement as well as the transfer to Earth.”

The words rang in Reyes’s ears, pounded his skull, raked across his flesh. No amount of preparation or reflection, none of the nights he had lain awake pondering such possibilities, had been sufficient to offset the plain, blunt force of the judgment Moratino placed upon him. In the eyes of all lawful authority, he was a criminal, branded and stained for all time. Nothing he did from this point forward, no thought, word, or deed, would ever change this simple, harsh truth.

“Upon completion of that sentence,” Moratino continued, “you will be dismissed from Starfleet with forfeiture of all allowances or benefits. Transfer to Earth is to commence at the earliest available opportunity, and you will be permitted confinement to your quarters until that time. Mr. Reyes, do you understand the sentence I have just imposed?”

His mouth having suddenly gone dry, it took an extra moment for Reyes to summon the spit necessary to offer even the simplest reply. “Yes, Your Honor.”

Perhaps not in approval or satisfaction as much as simple acceptance, Moratino nodded. “Very well. Guards, you will secure the prisoner to his quarters, where he will remain until further notice. This court stands adjourned.” She reached forward and took up the wooden striker ringing the bell one final time before laying it to rest.

Reyes stood motionless, waiting as Lieutenant T’Nir deactivated the computer unit and the board members turned and filed out of the room. He turned to see Desai regarding him, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes. Over her shoulder, Captain Sereb made an effort to avoid eye contact as he replaced his belongings in his briefcase. Finished with that, the Tellarite rose to his full height and turned to face Reyes, his deep-set eyes studying him for several moments before the lawyer turned and exited the room without uttering a single word.

A Tellarite who’s a good sport?Reyes could not help the wayward thought. Now I’ve seen it all.

“Diego,” Desai said, her right hand moving as though to reach for him, but she brought it back to her side as the pair of security officers moved to flank him. “I…I don’t know what to…”

Drawing a deep breath, Reyes made a show of looking about the empty courtroom before his eyes returned to her. Neither he nor Desai spoke.

There was nothing to say.

43

T’Prynn buckled as Sten slammed into her, the weight of his body carrying them both to the sand. She kicked and bucked beneath him, twisting as they tumbled down the slope, sand stinging her eyes and getting into her nose and mouth. Sten’s hands reached for her throat, and she struck out, knocking away his arms. Releasing a cry of rage, she punched him in the face. He grunted in pain, and she felt his grip loosen. She kicked at him, her foot catching the inside of his knee. His leg collapsed, and he rolled off her.

T’Prynn came up on one knee, her stance unsteady as she gulped air into her burning lungs. All around her, the wind howled, blowing sand across her body and stinging her exposed skin. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, she saw him lying on the sand beside her on his stomach, already scrambling to his feet, and with a single awkward movement, she lunged forward with the knife in her right hand, driving the blade into Sten’s thigh. He screamed in agony, twisting away from her and allowing himself to tumble down the side of the dune.

The attacks were coming more frequently now, offering her almost no respite. With each successive engagement, she grew weaker, with no means of replenishing her flagging strength. Conversely, Sten appeared for each new clash bearing no injuries or signs of their previous encounters. His strength and determination continued unabated, fueled by the rage of being denied that which he believed was rightfully his.

Looking about, T’Prynn saw nothing but endless rolling sand dunes, offering no paths of retreat or sanctuaries in which to hide. Her only recourse was to stand and fight, again. Submission was not an option, not so long as breath entered her body. She heard footsteps churning through the sand and turned to see Sten running toward her, once more brandishing a lirpa,which had—like Sten himself—seemingly appeared from the very air.

“T’Prynn!” he yelled, his face contorting into a mask of rage.

T’Prynn scrambled to her feet and backpedaled, looking for the weapon she was certain she had dropped during the fight. Nothing but windswept sand surrounded her. Sten was scrambling up the dune now, holding the lirpaover his head as he charged. Then he stumbled as a yawning pit seemed to appear in the sand at his feet, spiraling open like a massive iris. T’Prynn watched the sand within the circle fall, disappearing into blackness. Shouting in alarm, Sten tried to lunge to one side, but even his remarkable reflexes were not enough to keep him from dropping into the pit. As he disappeared from sight, T’Prynn still heard him calling her name, the echo of his voice fading into the darkness that had claimed him.

Standing next to M’Benga near the door to the bedchamber, Pennington watched as Sobon’s eyes snapped open and he pulled his withered hands from the katrapoints on T’Prynn’s face, breaking the meld. His breathing was accelerated, and perspiration had broken out on the Vulcan healer’s forehead.

“There is not much time,” Sobon said, his voice low and weak. “We must begin the Dashaya-Ni’Var.”

From where she stood at the foot of the bed, which had been turned so that its left side no longer rested against the wall but allowed for a person to access that side, T’Nel moved without prompting to the small table in the corner of the room, retrieving what Pennington recognized as a vre-katra.Perhaps it was one from Sobon’s study, the oversized crystalline vessel appearing to weigh quite heavily in the Vulcan woman’s hands. “It is ready, Healer.”

Leaning closer to M’Benga, Pennington asked, “They’re doing it? Now?” He regarded Sobon again. “He doesn’t look as if he’s up to this.”

“We’re out of time,” the doctor replied. “If he thinks they need to go in now, then he’s worried that T’Prynn won’t last much longer. Besides, T’Nel will be with him.”

Pennington nodded, recalling what Sobon had explained to them over dinner one evening more than a week earlier, though he did not pretend to understand any of it. T’Nel would participate in the meld, following Sobon’s lead into the depths of T’Prynn’s tortured mind. Her task would be to guide T’Prynn—or her katra,at least—to a place of relative safety. Meanwhile, Sobon would attempt to engage Sten’s essence directly, forcing a joining of their two katras.Unlike T’Prynn, whose mental powers had been far outmatched by Sten’s during the meld he had initiated in the midst of their ritual combat five decades earlier, Sobon was counting on his own much greater experience to give him the advantage over Sten’s unrequited lust and unwavering rage.

The two humans said nothing more as T’Nel positioned the vre-katranext to Sobon’s left hand, while his right hand remained on the bed, next to T’Prynn’s head. Then T’Nel moved to the opposite side of the bed, her movements rapid but not hurried. As expected, neither Vulcan’s face revealed any outward sign of emotion.

“Let us begin,” Sobon said, his voice barely a whisper as the wrinkled fingers of his right hand reached once more for T’Prynn’s face, seeking the contact points. On the opposite side of the bed, T’Nel touched her fingers to her sister’s head in similar fashion, and Pennington watched as Sobon and T’Nel closed their eyes at the same moment.

“Terau-kashkau-Veh-shetau,”Sobon said, his features tightening as he recited the ancient Vulcan invocation, the basic translation of which Pennington now understood to mean “Our minds are merging, becoming one.” The words were offered in a dialect that, according to Sobon, had not even been spoken aloud with any regularity for more than two thousand years. Despite himself, the reporter felt his pulse quickening as he listened to the Vulcan master continue to recite a litany of incantations in the obscure dialect, now joined by T’Nel, who also was invoking the ritualistic text in synchronicity with Sobon.

Something flickered in the corner of Pennington’s left eye, and when he turned his head toward the source, he could not help the gasp of surprise that escaped his lips.

Beneath Sobon’s left hand, the vre-katrawas glowing, emitting an ominous crimson pulse.

“T’Prynn.”

She jerked at the sound of the new voice, turning to search for its source until her eyes fell upon Anna Sandesjo, standing less than ten meters from her. She appeared just as she had the last time T’Prynn had seen her, before she boarded the doomed freighter Malacca.In her hands, she once more wielded a bat’leth,the ceremonial bladed weapon that signified her Klingon heritage.

“Anna?” T’Prynn said, confusion washing over her. How was Anna here now? Despite her uncertainty, T’Prynn could not deny the relief washing over her as she beheld her lover, the strains of prolonged battle seeming already to fade. She no longer heard the wind rushing in her ears, and even the sand seemed to have quelled. “I do not understand.” Had Anna come to take her from this place? The idea of leaving behind the war she had waged for far too long was like a siren’s call.

“All will be explained in time, T’Prynn,” Anna said. Moving her right hand from the pommel of her bat’leth,she held it out to her. “Come with me.”

T’Prynn extended her own hand, her knees weak as they supported her battered body. Soon, she realized, she would rest, in the comforting embrace of the one person with whom she had been able to find even momentary peace. Her hand slipped into Anna’s, and T’Prynn felt the other woman’s fingers wrap around her own. Warmth erupted from her very touch, cascading through her being and pushing away the pain that had been her constant companion.

“Come, T’Prynn,” Anna said, an instant before her features stretched and contorted into those of Sten, the bat’lethin her hand morphing into the familiar shape of a lirpa.T’Prynn felt the grip around her hand tighten as Sten’s eyes widened in the all-consuming rage that was now the sum total of his existence.

“Submit.”

Releasing a howl of rage, T’Prynn lashed out, catching Sten across his temple. How dare he invoke Anna’s image, defile it for his own twisted pleasure? Was it not enough that he hounded her mercilessly, stalking and assaulting her without remorse or respite for what seemed like eternity? Now he conjured the image of the one person she had cherished, had loved,in his fight against her? The thoughts infuriated T’Prynn even further, and she channeled that wrath into strike after strike, ripping free her hand from Sten’s grip and using it to pummel him again and again. The lirpadropped from his other hand and moved to protect his head. T’Prynn ignored the gesture, pounding him until her hands ran slick with her own blood. Sten stumbled backward over a dune and fell to the sand, rolling away from her. She did not follow, standing on the rise, all but consumed by the ferocity of unchecked emotion boiling within. Her pulse rushed in her ears, the sounds of her labored breathing drowning out even the intensifying wind.

Then T’Prynn felt a hand on her shoulder, and a new, softer voice seemed to whisper in her ear, easily heard even over the wind. “Come with me, my sister.” Turning toward the voice, she beheld T’Nel, her older sibling. “We must leave this place now.”

T’Prynn’s first instinct was to jerk away from this new arrival. Another perverted deception invoked by Sten, of this she was certain. Would she be forced to battle her sister as well? Who else might Sten pull from the depths of her mind only to turn against her? “No!” she shouted, screaming to be heard over the wind. “It is a lie!” She turned and scrambled up the side of the dune away from the image of T’Nel, looking for any place to hide. A gaping hole appeared in the sand ahead of her, dark and forbidding but offering perhaps her only chance of escape. T’Prynn lunged for it without hesitation.

“T’Prynn!” shouted T’Nel, still close enough behind her that T’Prynn could hear her breathing, but she ignored the cry. She threw herself forward, reaching for the widening chasm, only to feel arms wrapping around her waist and dragging her to the sand. “No! You can’t!” Her fingers clawed at the sand as she tried to pull herself to the void that was her salvation. “You must come with me, T’Prynn. I will take you away from here.”

“Lies!” T’Prynn growled, wrenching herself free, but even as she regained her feet, T’Nel was on her again. “Release me!” she cried as she felt T’Nel’s hands on her, pulling her farther from the hole. Then she sensed movement in the corner of her eye and looked up to see Sten standing nearby, once more looking clean, refreshed, and free of injury, as he always did whenever he came for her. Once more, he held a lirpain his hands, the weapon’s blade carving a path through the air.

“Let me go!” she screamed at T’Nel. Instead, she felt her sister pulling her away from Sten even as he advanced toward them, lirpaheld high.

“T’Prynn,” T’Nel said, her grip unrelenting. “We must go. Now!”

Sten shouted, “Leave her! She is mine!” He swung the lirpaas he drew closer, its blade gleamed in the unforgiving desert sun. T’Nel released T’Prynn, and both women ducked to avoid his attack. T’Prynn felt the weapon catch her sleeve, slicing the material as easily as it moved through the air, and she threw herself down the side of the rolling hill, scrambling to retreat.

“Sten!”

All three of them stopped at the sound of the new voice, and T’Prynn turned to see Sobon, the elder Vulcan who had intruded upon her consciousness, helping her with increasing frequency to escape Sten’s unceasing campaign. Sobon stood on the windswept sand, waiting with hands clasped before him in a meditative stance.

“You,” Sten said, pointing his lirpaat Sobon. “You stand between me and what is mine. T’Prynn has defied and dishonored me for the last time.”

“She is not yours,” the healer replied, his voice even. “She rejected you and accepted the ritual challenge. You are the one without honor, for not releasing her from the sacrament. It is time to correct that mistake.”

Sten, having long abandoned all semblance of discipline and bearing, actually laughed at that. “If you feel you can rise to the challenge, elder, you are welcome to try.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before he lunged forward, lirpaswinging for Sobon. T’Prynn could only watch as the blade cut through the air, aiming for the elder’s neck. Sobon stood unmoving, waiting for the attack. When the weapon made contact, the aged Vulcan’s body shifted, dissolving and allowing the blade to pass unhindered through him. The momentum of the swing carried Sten off balance, and as he lost his footing, Sobon leaped forward, reaching out to capture Sten’s head between his hands.

The instant his fingers touched Sten, both Vulcans’ bodies were enveloped in a blinding field of red energy. T’Prynn reached up to shield her eyes from the intensity of the glare as Sten cried out at the contact, jerking in apparent pain. Sobon stepped closer, countering Sten’s attempts to break free and moving with the speed and strength of a man half his age as he reinforced his hold on the other Vulcan. His expression remained passive, though T’Prynn could see the strain on his features.

“Dashaya-Ni’Var-kashkau-Veh-shetau-Sten,”Sobon said, and Sten shrieked, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth hanging open in new distress. At the same time, T’Prynn felt something tugging on her own consciousness, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled, feeling herself beginning to plummet toward the sand, only to have her fall arrested by hands on her shoulders. Looking up, she locked eyes with T’Nel, seeing the concern in her sister’s eyes.

She’s real.

“Come with me, T’Prynn,” T’Nel said.

T’Prynn turned her gaze back to where Sobon and Sten remained locked in their odd embrace. Sten’s every attempt to break the elder’s grip went unheeded, with Sobon’s body shifting in and out of phase and not allowing any of Sten’s blows to land. “Dashaya-Ni’Var-kashkau-Veh-shetau-Sten,”the healer repeated, his tone carrying more force this time. The crimson energy field that had enveloped them both now seemed to stretch, as though trying to pull away from Sobon’s body and taking Sten with it. The younger Vulcan screamed in protest, and now his hands found purchase around Sobon’s throat. For a moment, it appeared that Sobon’s body would shift again, freeing itself from Sten’s grip, but both Vulcans instead remained in place.

“What’s happening?” T’Prynn asked, her hands reaching up to press against her temples as she felt something pulling against her own consciousness.

“Sobon is separating Sten’s katrafrom yours,” T’Nel replied, “but he is growing fatigued. Sten is still very powerful.”

T’Prynn watched as Sobon faltered for the first time and dropped to one knee, though his hands remained fixed on Sten’s face. Sten stumbled forward, trapped in his opponent’s grip even as his own hands seemed to tighten around Sobon’s neck. Sobon’s only reaction was to keep repeating the strange phrase in that incomprehensible Vulcan dialect. Each time he spoke the words, Sten’s body spasmed in obvious pain, but he did not weaken. Likewise, T’Prynn also felt something reaching into her, as though trying to extract something from the depths of her being.

“He needs help,” T’Prynn said, shaking T’Nel’s hands from her and rising to her feet. Sunlight glinted off metal to her right, and she turned to see Sten’s lirpalying in the sand. With no idea what she might do next, she ran to the weapon and hefted it, feeling its comforting weight in her hands.

Ahead of her, Sobon continued to recite the strange incantation, the blazing red energy field stretching and twisting as it moved around him and Sten. Sobon removed his left hand from Sten’s face, extending it over his head, and the field followed it. This time, Sten’s body also seemed to elongate, as though bonded to the energy field the elder had conjured. Summoning whatever energy drove him, he pulled himself from Sobon until they were connected only by the fingers of the older Vulcan’s right hand, and when he turned, his eyes fell upon T’Prynn. She felt his rage pulsing through her, forcing its way into her, but she ignored it as she stepped closer and with a single thrust drove the lirpablade into Sten’s chest.

Sten’s body convulsed, his face contorting into an expression of terror and agony. He reached for the lirpa,hands wrapping around the staff in a feeble attempt to extract the blade, but his fingers slid uselessly along its length. He went limp, but instead of his body falling to the sand, it was drawn into the crimson energy field Sobon still commanded. The field traveled along Sobon’s body and down the length of his left arm, before leaping from the Vulcan’s fingertips and disappearing as though it had never existed.

The wind stopped. The sand settled. Even the sun seemed to dim. Of Sten there was no trace. Only Sobon stood before her, his expression one of calm and welcoming, before he, too, vanished before her eyes.

She felt T’Nel’s hand on her arm as her sister said, “You’re free, T’Prynn.”

Pennington watched as Sobon’s body jerked, the red hue of the vre-katrabeneath his left hand pulsing with ever-growing fury. Sobon’s breathing had become shallow and erratic, and M’Benga stepped closer to gauge his condition. His fingers twitched on T’Prynn’s face, and Pennington was sure he heard the healer mumble something in ancient Vulcan.

Then the vre-katrawent dormant, the pulse fading to nothingness just as Sobon opened his eyes, drawing a deep breath.

“Healer Sobon,” M’Benga said, stepping closer. “Are you all right?” Without waiting to be asked, the doctor reached for a carafe of water and poured some of its contents into a glass, which he handed to the Vulcan.

Stepping around the bed, Pennington watched as T’Nel opened her eyes, pulling her hands from T’Prynn’s face. Unlike Sobon, who appeared on the verge of collapse, she looked visibly shaken but otherwise unaffected. “T’Nel?”

She reached up to wipe some of the perspiration from her forehead. “I am uninjured, Mr. Pennington.”

“Did it work?” he asked, his eyes moving from her to T’Prynn to Sobon and the vre-katraand back again. “What the hell happened?”

“T’Prynn and Sten are no longer linked,” Sobon replied, his hand hovering over the vre-katra,which appeared now to be nothing more than an inanimate hunk of glass or crystal. “All that he was is now contained within.”

Pennington scarcely dared to believe what he was hearing. “That’s it? It’s over?”

Standing over T’Prynn and doing his best to judge her condition without benefit of his medical equipment, M’Benga said, “She doesn’t appear to be in her coma any longer. Her respiration and heart rate are elevated. If I had to guess, I’d say she was in a self-healing trance.”

“You are correct, Doctor,” T’Nel said. “She’ll remain that way while her mind adjusts to Sten’s absence. There’s no way to know how long this healing might take. She could awaken tomorrow, or days or even weeks from now.”

“Will she be okay when she wakes up?” Pennington asked.

Sobon shook his head. “There is no way to know. She may have suffered damage during the Dashaya-Ni’Var.We will know when she awakens.”

Looking to M’Benga, Pennington could see his friend struggling to remain silent, no doubt frustrated at being unable to utilize any of his modern equipment. It was likely that he could ascertain T’Prynn’s condition and likelihood for recovery within seconds.

“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” he asked.

Sobon was, as expected, impassive as he sipped his water. “We wait.”