Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

55

Eyeing the selection of fruits and nuts arrayed on the plate, T’Nel nodded in approval. They would satisfy nutritional requirements for the morning meal, she decided.

She placed the plate on a serving tray, which contained eating utensils, a woven cloth that would serve as a napkin, and a tall glass of spring water, and carried it out of the kitchen. As she did while performing this task each morning, she offered greetings to members of Sobon’s staff she passed while making her way to T’Prynn’s room. One or two were cleaning, and another tended to the large garden at the center of the house’s main floor. It was a routine that rarely varied, which was good. T’Prynn’s recovery would benefit from such structure, particularly when T’Nel returned to her own village and the patients and other work she had left behind in order to care for her sister.

For a moment, T’Nel considered the possibility that T’Prynn might choose to return to Ha’tren with her, at least for a time, but she just as quickly dismissed that possibility. If she was well enough to travel, one of the Starfleet security contingents that had remained on watch outside the village walls likely would take her into custody. While Vulcan had not disallowed her extradition from the planet, the government had elected not to interfere with the Kren’than community tenets regarding sanctuary and who was allowed to enter the commune. Instead, they had decreed that T’Prynn could be extradited upon Sobon’s agreement that her recovery was complete or if he revoked her status as living in asylum in the village. Since that time, the security details had been steadfast in their diligence, with teams arriving and departing via shuttlecraft at six-hour intervals throughout the period T’Prynn had spent under Sobon’s care. T’Nel knew of the charges Starfleet had leveled against her sister, just as she knew they had successfully convicted her former commanding officer of similar crimes. None of that was important to T’Nel; what mattered now was T’Prynn’s continued recuperation.

As she navigated the narrow corridor leading to the house’s bedchambers, T’Nel’s eye caught the open doors leading to rooms formerly occupied by the outworlders, Pennington and M’Benga. They were gone now, of course, having returned to Shi’kahr and secured transportation for the long voyage back to their space station. She missed her conversations with the Earth men. M’Benga, in particular, was a fascinating individual, a human who had dedicated a significant portion of his life to learning how to care for Vulcan patients. The doctor obviously had benefited from his time among Vulcans, and she had noted how he had easily adapted to life here in Kren’than. Though outworlders had never been allowed to reside permanently in communes such as this, T’Nel wondered if Sobon might not have made an exception for M’Benga, had the physician thought to ask. She thought not, recalling the other aspirations of which he had spoken during some of their talks. Still, T’Nel decided, it might have proven beneficial to have the doctor present as T’Prynn’s recovery continued.

She knocked at the door to T’Prynn’s room. When no response came, T’Nel listened for movement through the door and heard none. She knocked again, louder this time, and again there was no answer.

“T’Prynn,” she called out, loudly enough to be heard through the door. “It is I, T’Nel.” When there was no response this time, T’Nel opened the door.

T’Prynn was not in the room. Instead, Sobon lay on the bed, dressed in a simple white sleeping robe, his hands clasped across his chest.

“Good morning, my child,” said the elder Vulcan. “May I presume that the meal is for me?”

Curious about this odd development, T’Nel entered the room. “Forgive me, Healer Sobon, but I do not understand. Why did you not answer when I knocked on the door?”

“You asked for T’Prynn,” Sobon replied. “I am not T’Prynn.”

Setting the tray on the edge of the bed near Sobon’s feet, T’Nel examined the room. T’Prynn’s bed clothing had been folded and placed on the nightstand next to the bed, and an inspection of the wardrobe revealed that one of the soft suits T’Nel had brought for her was missing.

“Where is T’Prynn?” she asked.

Sobon rose to a sitting position, swung his feet over the tray, and lowered them to the floor, a maneuver of surprising agility for a Vulcan of his advanced years. “I do not know,” he said as he inspected the breakfast tray and decided on one of the fruit slices. Taking a bite, he nodded in approval. “The liral’s flavor is most robust this morning.”

“Healer Sobon,” T’Nel said, sensing the first hints of concern. “Is T’Prynn still in the village?”

“Again, I do not know, my child,” Sobon said, taking another bite of the liralslice. “Though, were I to engage in speculation, I would say that she has left.”

T’Nel looked through the window toward the village’s front gate and saw a Starfleet shuttlecraft, fifty meters beyond the perimeter wall and sitting on a patch of flat ground. Outside the shuttle, three humans in Starfleet uniforms milled about. “Are the Starfleet officers aware of this?”

“I suspect not,” Sobon said, reaching for another piece of fruit. “While their sensor equipment can monitor biological readings and determine the current location of each of the village’s residents, they are not so sensitive as to be able to distinguish between individuals. I imagine T’Prynn was aware of this when she asked me to stay in her room last night as she prepared to depart and to remain here until you arrived this morning.”

For the first time, T’Nel felt genuine emotion stirring within her. Training suppressed it, of course, but it was there. “Healer Sobon, do you mean to say that you assisted T’Prynn in a bid for her to escape the village?” How was such a feat even possible, given her sister’s compromised condition? Had she progressed more rapidly than she had allowed others to believe?

Was it her imagination, or did she see the ghost of a smile on Sobon’s face? “T’Prynn did not discuss her evening’s agenda. She asked only that I remain here.” After a moment, he added, “However, upon returning to my study, I expect to find several items missing, such as a small rucksack, a vessel for carrying water, a portable hand lamp, and perhaps one or two maps. An inspection of the kitchen may reveal that several days’ worth of dried fruits and vegetables is gone as well.”

Her eyes narrowing as she comprehended the true scope of Sobon’s words, T’Nel said, “I do not believe Starfleet will view that as plausible deniability, Healer.”

“That is Starfleet’s concern,” Sobon countered, “not mine.”

“How would she even be able to leave the village undetected?” T’Nel asked, confused. “Surely, she could not get past the Starfleet security team.”

He rose from the bed, and his withered hands smoothed wrinkles from his robe. “You seem to forget, my child, that T’Prynn is a formidable Starfleet officer in her own right, as well as an intelligence officer. It seems logical to conclude that she possesses the knowledge and skills to deal with such obstacles. Now, if you will excuse me, I must proceed with my own schedule for the day.”

With a final glance out the window, T’Nel turned back to the elder Vulcan. “I do not understand. Where would she go?”

Almost to the door, Sobon stopped and turned back to face her. “T’Prynn seeks answers to many questions. Perhaps she decided that now was a good time to search for those answers.”

“Once Starfleet discovers she’s missing,” T’Nel replied, “she will be considered a fugitive. Any opportunity for leniency in the face of the charges against her will be lost.”

“I have no reason to believe that T’Prynn is unaware of that, T’Nel,” Sobon said, “but you know as well as I that she would never allow that to impede her, and you also know that whatever it is she has decided to do, she will only be satisfied by doing it on her own. That has always been her way.”

Indeed,T’Nel mused. T’Prynn never had allowed anything to interfere with her pursuit of whatever goal she had set. Now that she had emerged from the ordeal that had consumed her for so many years, it was logical that T’Prynn would set new goals, which remained known only to her.

Sobon exited the room, leaving T’Nel alone. She stared out the window beyond Kren’than’s confines, her gaze taking in the panoramic view that was offered by the surrounding L-langon Mountains. Somewhere out there, she knew, was her sister, pursuing a new journey she believed she could undertake only on her own. Would she return? T’Nel could not be certain, of course, but she considered it unlikely. That, she knew, also was T’Prynn’s way.

Peace, my sister, for you have earned it,T’Nel thought. Peace and long life.

56

Komoraq cursed the droning dirge of the alarm Klaxon as it echoed through the narrow corridor leading to the M’ahtagh’s bridge. His heavy boots clanging against the metal deck grating, he bared his teeth and growled at those few subordinates standing between him and the hatch leading to the ship’s command center. Not wanting to risk incurring their captain’s wrath, they pushed themselves against angled bulkheads or plunged into open service crawlways to clear a path for him. The pressure hatch’s massive doors parted at his approach.

“Silence that insufferable baby wailing,” Komoraq snarled as he stepped onto the bridge, on his way to the captain’s chair at the center of the room. “Report!”

Standing at the console positioned along the left bulkhead, Lieutenant Kalorg, one of the M’ahtagh’s weapons officers, replied, “Federation starship has just entered sensor range, Captain. It’s on an intercept course, traveling at high warp. Sensors indicate that it is a Constitution-class battle cruiser. At its present rate of speed, it will be in our weapons range in less than two kuvits.”

“Raise shields,” the captain ordered, “Place weapons on ready status.”

Had Starfleet somehow determined the location of the Earther his wife held beneath the planet’s surface? Pondering his options as he stroked his beard, Komoraq’s first instinct was to engage the Federation ship in battle. There would be some controversy, of course, raised mostly by clueless, whiny bureaucrats back on the homeworld. It would pass, particularly when it came to light that the Federation vessel had intruded in space claimed by the empire. The Earther government, with no stomach for confrontation, would happily accept that explanation, content to dishonor those who might die in battle for the sake of protecting their own worthless hides.

“You say the ship is on an intercept course?” he asked.

Nodding, Kalorg said, “Yes, Captain, though their weapons do not appear to be activated.”

Perhaps this Earther captain has courage his leaders lack,Komoraq mused. Intrigued by this notion, he turned to his communications officer. “Open a channel, and hail them.”

At the communications station, Lieutenant Mondol replied, “Yes, Captain.”

“Vessel closing to weapons range,” Kalorg reported.

When Mondol turned back to face Komoraq, his expression was a mask of uncertainty. “I have received a response, sir.”

Komoraq scowled. “What is it?”

“The vessel’s captain has suggested that you engage in disrespectful acts with your mother, sir.”

It took an additional moment for the response to register, after which Komoraq ground his teeth together, uttering a low, ominous growl. “Target that vessel, and prepare to open fire.”

“They are activating their energy weapons!” Kalorg called out. “They’re firing!”

An instant later, Komoraq felt the deck tremble beneath his feet and listened to the protests of the angled support struts along the bridge’s perimeter. Most of the energy from the attack had been absorbed by the M’ahtagh’s shields, but that did not discount the possibility of damage. “Report,” he ordered.

“Minor power loss in the starboard deflectors,” replied Kalorg. “The enemy vessel is coming about, altering its course.”

“Onscreen!”

Komoraq watched as an image of the small, streamlined vessel sailed past on the viewscreen, the imaging software rendering the Starfleet ship’s gleaming hull in sharp relief against the utter darkness of space behind it. At this distance, he was able to discern the vessel’s hull markings. Whoever commanded the ship did indeed possess great courage. That, or he was simply insane.

“Fire!” Komoraq shouted. “Aim to disable only!”

To his left, Kalorg said, “They are accelerating to warp speed, Captain.”

“Helm, lay in a pursuit course,” Komoraq barked. Whereas his initial thought had been to carve the Federation ship into slivers of smoldering metal, all he wanted now was to stare the vessel’s master in the eyes. “Have security ready a boarding party. I want to hold that captain’s beating heart in my hand.” He felt the vibrations in the deck plating as the M’ahtagh’s warp engines engaged and the stars on the main screen stretched into multihued streaks. “Match its course and speed.”

Komoraq watched as the ship on the screen grew larger with every passing moment. The Earther captain now seemed content to run like a whipped targ.What was to be gained from such a strategy?

The warbling alert tone from Kalorg’s station gave him his answer, as the Starfleet ship seemed to vanish from the viewscreen.

“What?” Komoraq said, straightening in his chair.

“Captain,” the weapons officer shouted, his tone one of surprise. “They dropped out of warp, changed course, and are now heading for the planet!”

All around her, Atish Khatami heard the Endeavourgroan in protest as the starship dropped out of subspace. In front of her, Neelakanta’s fingers danced across his helm console. Without any further instructions from Khatami, the ship lunged once again to warp speed, making the shift so quickly that the captain felt herself pushed into the back of her chair as the inertial dampening systems struggled to compensate for the rapid changes.

Mog’s going to kill me if I wreck his pretty ship.

“Time!” Khatami called out.

“About fifteen seconds,” replied Klisiewicz from the science station. “The Klingon ship is changing course to intercept and accelerating. All weapons are armed.”

It was going to be close, Khatami knew. Very close. She was not a fan of reckless tactics like the one she and her crew were attempting. Constitution-class starships were not constructed for such maneuvers, even though Mog had assured her that the Endeavourwas more than capable of meeting the challenge. Despite her chief engineer’s confidence, Khatami still harbored visions of the ship shearing apart around her.

Of course, taunting a Klingon ship commander would not normally be considered a prudent course of action, either, but doing so had worked to perfection, drawing the enemy vessel away from its position and allowing the Endeavourto approach the planet.

“Closing to transporter range,” Neelakanta reported from the helm. On the main viewer, the blue and brown sphere that was Mirdonyae V grew larger with every passing second. Somewhere down there, if Carol Marcus and the Tholian Nezrene were correct, Lieutenant Ming Xiong awaited rescue.

“Coordinates verified?”

Klisiewicz replied, “Verified, Captain. The best we can do is put them down near the entrance to the artifact site.”

Damn it.

“Dropping to impulse,” Neelakanta reported. “Now.”

Once more, the Endeavourtrembled around her as the ship fell out of warp space, the image of Mirdonyae V filling the viewscreen.

“Lower shields,” Khatami ordered. “Transporter room, energize!” Even as she spoke the words, she began mentally ticking off the precious seconds required to complete the process of sending her people down to the surface.

“Captain!” Klisiewicz shouted. “They’re here!”

Over the intercom, Khatami heard the voice of the chief on duty in the transporter room as he reported, “Transport complete, Captain!”

“Shields!” she ordered. “Helm, bring us about!” They had delivered their package. Now, they needed to stall for time, and the only way to do that was to smack the Klingon commander once more across the face.

Come and get me.

Feeling the grip of the transporter beam release her, Lieutenant Jeanne La Sala took stock of her surroundings, her phaser rifle aimed ahead of her as she searched for threats. For a brief moment she thought she sensed a hint of dizziness, but she dismissed it as being her imagination, the odd sensation conjured by the decidedly unorthodox method employed to transport her and her five-person team down from the Endeavour.

Not my first choice, that’s for sure.

With sensors unable to penetrate the Shedai construct from orbit, it fell to a landing party with boots on the ground to search for the missing Lieutenant Xiong, who, according to Dr. Carol Marcus, had been brought to this planet following his capture on Erilon. La Sala was fuzzy on the details, but as she understood it, the industrious young lieutenant had found some covert means of signaling for help, even going so far as to use the Klingons and the Shedai equipment to assist him in the effort.

Finding the planet on which Xiong was being held had been the easy part. Actually finding and rescuing him was another matter altogether. First, there was the Klingon battle cruiser in orbit above Mirdonyae V, the captain of which likely would have something to say about the Endeavourswooping in and taking the captive. Captain Khatami was currently addressing that issue, leaving La Sala and her security team to search for Xiong and deal with any Klingons who might be down here with him and who, La Sala suspected, would be equally resistant to the idea of a rescue operation.

That’s why we brought presents,she thought, hefting the stock of the phaser rifle to her right shoulder. Studying the area, she noted that the terrain looked almost exactly as described by the transporter chief just before the landing party beamed down. Rolling hills covered with all manner of trees and other vegetation presented a deceptively tranquil setting, but La Sala knew that danger lurked nearby, perhaps beneath her feet, perhaps even ready to appear from the very air.

Focus, Lieutenant.

Looking to one of her team members, Ensign Paul Simpson, she indicated the tricorder in the man’s left hand. “Anything?”

“I’m picking up power readings,” Simpson said as he studied his readings. “Three hundred meters ahead.” He pointed toward the black onyx façade set into the side of a nearby hillside. “In there.”

“Once more into the breach, as they say,” La Sala replied. It was not hard to remember her previous encounters with the Shedai or their technology, months earlier on Erilon. The first of those missions had ended with the tragic death of her former captain, Zhao Sheng, as well as several other very good people, some of whom she had called friends. The Endeavour’s second visit had nearly resulted in utter catastrophe, with their mysterious Shedai adversary almost succeeding in destroying the entire planet. Though Captain Khatami had assured the crew that the Shedai were not a threat on this occasion, that did not stop La Sala from constantly scanning the surrounding terrain, searching for any sign of the crystalline monstrosities she and her people had fought on Erilon.

“I’m looking for them, too,” said Ensign Hammond, another survivor of those battles. After a moment, the younger man forced a smile. “I suppose we should be happy that we’re just dealing with Klingons this time.”

“Yeah,” La Sala replied, frowning at the poor attempt at humor. “Okay, let’s get on with this.” With the barrel of her phaser rifle leading the way, La Sala took point and started toward the entrance to the centuries-old Shedai artifact. “Follow me.”

The muzzle of the disruptor loomed in Xiong’s vision, looking like a massive, toothless maw as its owner jammed it in his face.

“Move!” shouted the Klingon guard, using the weapon to indicate where Xiong should go. Raising his hands, the lieutenant followed the guard’s instructions and moved toward a far corner of the chamber, stepping away from the polished black computer console and around the crystalline pedestal, which at the moment was not cradling the strange Shedai artifact. Another guard, this one only slightly smaller than his hulking companion, aimed his own disruptor at Tasthene, ordering the Tholian to join Xiong.

“What is happening?” Tasthene asked.

Xiong shook his head. “I don’t know.” One moment, he and his Tholian companion had been working, just as they had done for however many days or weeks the pair had been prisoners of the Klingons. The next, one of their guards, the larger one, had received some kind of alarmed message via his communicator. Whatever the Klingon was told, it had set him on edge, and the next moments were spent with Xiong wondering when and if the excited guard would shoot him in the head.

“Quiet!” the guard snarled, baring his teeth at Xiong.

From somewhere beyond the chamber, he heard the muted reports not of a Klingon’s disruptor weapon but of what he was certain was a Starfleet phaser, its deep warbling echoing in the crystalline corridors. It was accompanied by another and yet another, then answered by a chorus of disruptor fire.

They’re here!

Feeling his pulse quickening in hope and anticipation, Xiong could not help smiling as he realized the true nature of the cacophony unfolding outside the chamber. Somehow, someone had received the message he had embedded in the test carrier signals generated by the mysterious Shedai artifact and its unprecedented access to the primeval technology. Given the limited time he had been allowed to work with the strange crystal, he was certain his plan was a long shot, as likely to be discovered by Lorka or Captain Komoraq as by anyone who might be in a position to attempt a rescue operation.

The other guard moved toward the chamber’s entrance, searching for the source of the commotion. His companion, with his weapon still trained on Xiong and Tasthene, nevertheless directed his attention toward the doorway. Xiong considered making a move for the weapon, but there was no way he could physically overpower a Klingon soldier.

Tasthene had other ideas.

Emitting a disturbing string of high-pitched shrieks that succeeded in startling the guard, the Tholian abruptly surged forward, raising his upper appendages. Before the Klingon could react, Tasthene closed the distance and promptly drove his right spearlike arm into the guard’s chest. The Klingon howled in terror and pain as the arm pushed through his back, spraying pinkish-red blood across the ground and the wall behind him. Using his left arm, Tasthene jammed it upward until the point penetrated the Klingon’s head just beneath his jaw, and the Tholian pressed forward, driving the pointed end through the top of the guard’s skull. The Klingon went limp, still impaled on Tasthene’s crystalline arms as his disruptor fell from his hand.

Startled and even horrified at the scene, Xiong still was able to pull himself together long enough to scoop up the weapon, the disruptor feeling large and ungainly in his hand. He heard heavy footfalls running toward him and looked up to see the other guard an instant before a burst of energy sailed past his head, chewing into the stone wall behind him. He flinched at the attack, ducking to his left even as he held his captured disruptor in both hands and fired. The single burst caught the Klingon in his chest, pushing him back and off his feet. He struck the edge of the computer console before falling lifeless to the ground, a massive smoking hole in his torso.

“Someone’s found us,” Xiong said, shaking off Tasthene’s horrific execution of the guard as he ran across the chamber to retrieve his tricorder. “We need to get out of here.” At the set of crates he had fashioned into a work area, Xiong moved aside one of the smaller containers and grabbed the set of tricorder data discs he had secreted there. The discs contained everything he had been able to record about his work here, including the progress he and Tasthene had made while working with the mysterious object from the sarcophagus. The information he had gathered would prove invaluable to Starfleet’s ongoing research of the Shedai.

Assuming that we can get it out of here without getting killed.

“Come on,” he said as he slung his tricorder over his shoulder. He turned to look for Tasthene, and his eyes widened. He was sure he felt his heart skip a beat as he beheld Lorka standing at the entrance to the chamber. She held a disruptor in her right hand, her arm extended to aim the weapon at Tasthene, who was backpedaling away from the Klingon woman. Still holding the disruptor he had taken from the dead Klingon guard, Xiong tried to bring it to bear, but he was far too slow.

Without saying a word, Lorka fired.

“No!” Xiong yelled, but it was too late. The single disruptor bolt struck Tasthene in his torso, and the Tholian’s spindly, crystalline body trembled as the energy blast enveloped him. His agonized wail echoed off the chamber’s smooth obsidian walls, only to be drowned out by the horrific sound of his entire body shattering. Xiong ducked behind one of the packing crates, throwing up his arms to protect his head as most of Tasthene’s environment suit disintegrated in an expanding mushroom of crystal fragments blown backward toward the room’s far wall.

His hands shaking at the image of Tasthene’s ghastly murder, Xiong peered around one side of the crate and saw Lorka stepping into the room, her disruptor moving in a lateral line across her body as she searched for him. She smiled in wolfish satisfaction as her eyes fell on him, and she aimed her weapon.

“Your usefulness is at an end, Earther.”

Lunging to his left, Xiong stood and brought up his own disruptor, turning it on Lorka. His shot was badly aimed, passing over her right shoulder. The Klingon did not flinch in the face of the attack, instead adjusting her aim. Xiong ducked, trying to avoid her shot, but then his ears rang with the high-pitched whine of a Starfleet phaser, and Lorka’s body was consumed for the briefest of moments by a cobalt-blue sphere of energy. She grunted in surprise before dropping limp to the floor, leaving Xiong to stare wide-eyed at his fallen adversary. Looking across the room, he felt a rush of relief as his eyes beheld Lieutenant Jeanne La Sala entering the chamber, her phaser rifle up and ready for another target. When she caught sight of Xiong, she smiled.

“You the one calling for a ride?”

For the first time in weeks, Xiong felt like laughing, though such thoughts faded as his eyes fell on the countless shards of crystal littering the floor, all that remained of his friend Tasthene.

“That’s me,” he said, his voice soft as he took in the sight of La Sala. Behind her, members of her security detachment entered the room, a couple of them taking up positions near the entrance to guard against unwelcome visitors. How long had it been since he had last seen her? The mission to Jinoteur, he now remembered. Her short black hair was matted to her head with perspiration, but that did not prevent the security officer from looking as radiant to Xiong as he recalled from their previous meetings. Gesturing toward Lorka, he asked, “She’s not dead, is she?” Even as he asked the question, he was disturbed by how much he wanted La Sala to tell him that the Klingon was indeed deceased.

La Sala shook her head. “Heavy stun. No killing unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Drawing a deep breath, Xiong ground his teeth. “If only the Klingons felt that way.”

“We’re not the Klingons,” La Sala said.

For all the good that does us.

He waved toward her phaser rifle. “What is it with you and that thing, anyway? Isn’t a Type-two enough?”

La Sala shrugged. “Unlike some people, I think size doesmatter.” She grinned, bobbing her eyebrows in suggestive fashion before nodding toward the corridor outside the room. “Clock’s ticking, Xiong. We need to get gone.”

“Okay,” he replied, turning to the exit. Then he stopped, seeing the packing crate and the now-sealed sarcophagus it contained. “Wait,” he said, pointing to the crate. “We can’t leave this.”

“No time for that, Ming,” La Sala said, worry in her voice.

Turning to look at her, Xiong said, “We can’t leave it. It’s important,Jeanne.”

Reluctantly, the security officer nodded. “Okay.”