Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

12

“Commodore Reyes, through conscious thought and deed, willfully allowed a member of the press to become aware of classified information. In doing so, and by further allowing that journalist to publish a story containing this information, he violated Starfleet regulations. Worse, his actions carry with them the possibility of placing innumerable innocent lives at risk, to say nothing of the unrest and even panic he may well have inflicted upon countless citizens throughout the Federation and beyond.”

Her words echoing within the chamber that served as the courtroom facility assigned to Starbase 47’s contingent from Starfleet’s Judge Advocate General Corps, Captain Rana Desai paced a circular path around the witness stand at the center of the room. It consisted of a lone empty chair sitting on a compact square dais, with a high backrest and a biometric computer interface. The chair was positioned so that it faced the judge’s bench, a raised, curved desk designed to seat four board members, standard procedure for Starfleet court-martial proceedings.

Pausing in her rehearsed remarks, Desai stared at the bench and tried to imagine the faces of the officers who would make up the board. With each of them ranked commodore or higher and with line experience as starship captains, as well as commanding officers of their own starbases or Starfleet ground installations, Desai knew that she would not be able to rely on cold, hard facts to make her case. These would be men and women who had lived the same life as Diego Reyes and had experienced many of the same challenges and dangers that filled the commodore’s personnel file. They would be fair and just, but not to the point of favoritism or vindictiveness. Whatever fate they might decide for Reyes, it would be in keeping with both the letter and the spirit of Starfleet regulations. Her job would be to present her case in such a fashion that the board members would feel no recourse but to decide in her favor.

Piece of cake, right?

“Captain Desai?”

Hearing her own name snapped her out of her reverie, and she turned to see the room’s only other occupant, Lieutenant Holly Moyer. One of the junior officers assigned to her JAG office, the auburn-haired young lawyer was seated in a chair positioned against the room’s left wall. She regarded Desai with an expression of concern.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?”

Desai blinked away the last vestiges of distraction that had claimed her for a moment. “Yes. Sorry, Lieutenant. I was…thinking about something else for a minute there.” Clearing her throat, she resumed her circuit around the witness stand. “Now, then, where were we?”

“Inflicting panic upon the citizens of the Federation and beyond,” Moyer replied, looking down at the data slate resting in her lap and her copy of Desai’s opening statement. “Before we move on to the next part, I think we should revisit this piece. If you’ll permit me, ma’am, it seems too general and maybe even a bit melodramatic.”

Desai offered an appreciative nod after a moment. “You’re right. We need to be more explicit here. A nondescript threat sounds like fear mongering or just plain pandering. Make a note to append highlights from some of the information we’re starting to get from various colonies. How some of them are reconsidering their decisions to proceed without Federation or Starfleet aid, the couple that have already pulled up stakes and evacuated, that sort of thing. Nothing too sensational—that they’re taking these actions is enough without having to embellish things.”

Moyer nodded as she made the notations. “What about that incident with the Klingon ship and the colony on Lerais II? Should we bring that up?”

“Not during opening statements,” Desai countered. “It has nothing to do with our case. If it comes up at trial, we’ll deal with it then. Otherwise, let’s keep it focused.” There was enough to consider and address as she continued the effort to shape her trial strategy. Clouding the central issue with unrelated details and irrelevant tangents would only bog her down rather than give her the momentum she would need to see this through.

Moyer said without looking up from her notes, “The section where you describe the specific charges is good, but I wonder if you might change the order? Move the disobedience and conspiracy, and build up to his release of the classified data.”

“Ramp up for a big finish?” Desai asked, unable to mask the wry grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. Shrugging, she added, “It’s not a bad idea, actually, especially since I expect those two charges to be either dismissed or at least lessened.” The conspiracy charge would be hard to press, given that her investigation had failed to reveal a single other soul aboard the station who might have known about Reyes’s decision to give journalist Tim Pennington such free rein. The disobedience charge would come down to a discussion about whether Reyes believed the orders he had flouted were legal, ethical, or moral. This, of course, would solicit questions about the identities of other, superior officers who may well have issued unlawful directives with respect to Operation Vanguard. Desai suspected that the board members would want to avoid wading into that particular quagmire, not because they were interested in supporting any kind of cover-up but rather because it would detract from the purpose for which they had been assembled. Desai knew it was possible that further legal proceedings would be launched against other officers, but only after the final disposition of Commodore Diego Reyes was determined.

Therefore, she decided, the charge of releasing classified information to the public, and making it stick, was where this case would be won or lost.

“Okay,” Desai said, “we’ll rework that section, too, but I want to be careful during that part. No overwrought theatrics and just enough fire and brimstone to hammer home the point without overdoing it.”

From behind her, another voice called out, “But it’s the fire and brimstone that makes these things interesting.”

There was no mistaking the speaker, and Desai turned in that direction to see Ezekiel Fisher watching her from the rear of the courtroom. Occupying one of the chairs against the back wall, Vanguard’s chief medical officer slouched in his seat, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was—as he always seemed to be—stroking his thin, gray-peppered beard. Glancing at Moyer, Desai was certain that the lieutenant’s expression of surprise mirrored her own. Neither woman had heard him enter the room. How long had he been sitting there?

How the hell does he always do that?

“Fish,” Desai said, employing the nickname she knew he hated and tolerated only from her, “you really shouldn’t be in here.” Making her way around the witness stand toward him, she realized how sharp her words may have sounded. With a smirk, she added, “How did you get in here, anyway? Were you some kind of ninja in a past life or something?”

Shrugging, the doctor replied, “I was a ninja in a past life. Don’t worry, I’ve only been here a minute or so. I managed to miss the rest of your fiendish plot to overthrow the universe, or whatever the hell it is you two are doing in here.”

Desai released a humorless chuckle. “Okay, so you’re not spying for the other side. Why areyou here? Isn’t there a baseball game or a chess match or a couple of kids playing hide-and-seek you could be cheering on somewhere?” She indicated the courtroom with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

His features taking on an expression of feigned shock, Fisher replied, “Are you kidding? Two opposing sides taking the field of battle, each armed with skills and healthy doses of guile and grit, facing off in the ultimate showdown of good versus evil, with the fate of a man’s very life at stake?” He waved away Desai’s suggestion. “All we need is for that boatload of Orion pirates to lay odds and take bets, and we’re set.”

When Desai laughed this time, it was from deep within her, and she felt the stresses of the day lift from her shoulders, if only for a moment. “Thanks. I needed that. Now, why did you really come down here?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” Fisher replied.

Something in his voice and the look in his eyes told Desai he would prefer to have the rest of this conversation in private. She looked over her shoulder, a nod to Moyer enough to tell the lieutenant that Desai needed a minute alone with the doctor. Fisher waited until the younger officer departed the room before saying anything else.

“How are you holding up, Rana?”

“Fine,” Desai replied, hoping her response sounded more truthful to her friend than it did to her own ears.

Fisher’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he regarded her. “Uh-huh.” He lifted his right leg until it was parallel to the floor. “And if you pull this leg, it plays one of those fancy piano numbers I always hear coming out of Manón’s.” Rising from the chair, he stepped forward and placed his hands on Desai’s arms. “This is me talking, kid. It’s okay to let the shields down.”

Reaching up to pat his right hand, Desai replied, “I’m dealing with it as best I can, Fish. I don’t really have a lot of choice in the matter.” The truth was that she had been expecting something like this to happen, had even been planning for it, to face head-on the prospect of Diego Reyes, her lover, standing trial. That said, it still was taking every scrap of willpower and determination not to succumb to the overwhelming need either to run to Reyes and hold on to him for support or simply to crawl under her bed and wait for all of this to pass.

Well, you can’t do the former,she chided herself for what felt like the hundredth time, and there’s no way in hell you’re doing the latter. Stop whining, and do your job.

“I know that look,” Fisher said, squeezing her arms in his gentle yet reassuring hands. “You just kicked yourself in the ass, didn’t you?”

Desai laughed again, pulling away from her friend before reaching up to wipe the lone tear she felt in the corner of her eye. “Yeah, I sure did. I was probably overdue for that, anyway.” Releasing a tired sigh, she looked up once more at Fisher’s weathered visage. “How is he, Fish?”

“About the same, I suppose,” Fisher replied, offering another shrug. He indicated the courtroom with a nod of his head. “Ready to get on with it. He’s resigned himself to whatever happens. I don’t think he gives a damn about himself, but he’s sure as hell worried about you.”

She nodded. “I’m worried about him, too.” She and Reyes had agreed not to see each other until after the trial. Now more than ever, their personal relationship could not be allowed to interfere even to the slightest degree with her carrying out her duty. Anything less would invite scrutiny and accusations of misconduct, which would do nothing except make the case against Reyes that much stronger. She knew the only way to see him was to get this unpleasant business over with, as soon as possible.

So, get on with it.

To his credit, Fisher said nothing as she once more waged this battle within herself, waiting in respectful silence until she once more found her bearing. Drawing what she hoped was a cleansing breath, Desai reached out and patted Fisher’s chest.

“I should probably get back to work.”

A small smile broke through Fisher’s veneer of calm and poise. “Me, too.” He began crossing the room, then stopped and turned back to her. “By the way, I lied before. I heard most of your opening remarks. If you’re worried about not being taken seriously at the trial, don’t be. Just do what you’re supposed to do, and you’ll be fine.”

Desai regarded him with a fresh look of uncertainty. “Even if it means nailing his ass to the wall?”

Moving toward the exit once more, Fisher did not pause as the doors opened for him. “If that’s your job, then yes,” he said as he left the room. “Diego would expect nothing less.”

“Damn you,” Desai called out as the doors closed behind the doctor. “I knew you were going to say that.”

13

Sunrise on Cestus III.

Standing in the expansive courtyard that was the center of the newly established Federation outpost on this world, Captain Daniel Okagawa drank in the crisp morning air, which contained none of the humidity that would saturate it later in the day. The temperature was cool but not uncomfortably so, and there was a serenity in his surroundings that reminded him of camping trips he had taken with his father. An early riser since childhood, Okagawa had always enjoyed mornings and the brief periods of tranquility they offered before the day’s business took over. He looked to the sun, which was just beginning to peek above the mountain range bordering the colony’s eastern flank, casting long shadows across the courtyard and the dozen or so free-standing buildings scattered within it. A mix of Starfleet personnel, civilian colonists, and contracted engineering and colony support staff moved between the various structures and the ring of buildings positioned just inside the tall, reinforced thermoconcrete wall forming the settlement’s perimeter.

“I’ve been meaning to mention, Commodore, that I find the wall to be an interesting design aesthetic,” Okagawa said to his companion, Commodore Howard Travers, as the pair emerged from the colony’s administration building. “You don’t typically see that sort of thing anymore.”

“Call me outdated,” Travers said, smiling as he placed his hands on his hips. “It reminds me of a castle or forts the army built to protect settlers pushing across the American frontier in the 1800s. That appeals to the kid in me, I suppose.” When he smiled, Okagawa could see a hint of mischief in the commodore’s eyes. Travers was a tall, thin man, who seemed almost to be swimming in his gold Starfleet uniform tunic. His blond hair moved a bit thanks to the gentle breeze coursing over the compound, and his smile reminded Okagawa of the Cheshire cat.

“Truth be told,” Travers said as they walked farther out into the courtyard, “I didn’t have much input into the colony’s design. When I was first told I’d be leading it, I met with the designers to go over the construction blueprints, and they’d already been working with the general layout. Constructing the buildings and living quarters into the base of the wall itself offered a better degree of protection from the weather, particularly the sand storms we’re liable to get.”

Okagawa nodded in agreement, having already experienced one of the milder storms that had pushed through the area several days ago. “I’d be lying if I said I wanted to hang around long enough to see one of the nastier storms pop up.”

“And I’d be lying if I said I was happy to see you go,” Travers replied, pausing to offer morning greetings to a woman walking past them, whom Okagawa recognized as one of the civilian contractors assigned to help with establishing the colony. “We couldn’t have accomplished as much as we did in such a short time without your people, Daniel.”

Smiling with unreserved pride, as he often did whenever his crew’s efforts were praised, Okagawa offered a congenial nod. “That’s very kind of you to say, sir. They’re not the most by-the-book bunch you’ll ever meet, but they’re second to none if you want something built, rebuilt, torn apart, or augmented to within an inch of its life.”

It was true that the complement of technical specialists from Starfleet’s Corps of Engineers currently assigned to his ship, the U.S.S. Lovell,was as eclectic an assemblage of unorthodox officers Okagawa had ever encountered. Indeed, upon first being notified that he would be placed in command of the all-but-ancient Daedalus-class vessel and its crew of engineers, his first reaction had been to verify that he was not being punished for some as-yet-unexplained transgression. Okagawa had believed the entire Daedalusclass was retired from service decades earlier, after a long and proud operational record as the workhorse vessels of a still-burgeoning Starfleet in the mid-to late twenty-second century. He was surprised to find not one but three such ships on active duty, all of them assigned to the Corps of Engineers.

Travers laughed at Okagawa’s remark. “You’re not kidding. That talented band of tinkerers is something else. I know coming here is more than a bit off the beaten path with respect to your other assignments, but I hope you won’t mind if I ask for you and your crew by name the next time we need this kind of help.”

“It’ll be our pleasure, Commodore,” Okagawa replied. The Lovelland its crew had arrived at Cestus III sixteen days earlier, under orders from Starbase 47’s interim commanding officer, Jon Cooper, and in response to a request submitted by Travers for such assistance. The Cestus star system actually resided just beyond the boundaries of the Taurus Reach and, as such, would normally fall outside the area of responsibility overseen by Vanguard and the ships assigned to the space station. Still, the need for the type of specialized assistance the Lovell’s engineering contingent could provide had been legitimate.

Travers said, “Even colonies at the far end of nowhere need running water and functioning toilets. Sure, we could’ve gotten the kinks worked out and taken care of all of the ‘settling in’ adjustments on our own, but it would’ve taken months to iron everything out.”

Okagawa smiled at that. The Lovell’s crew had certainly done its share of diagnosing and correcting problems in much of the outpost’s essential infrastructure, including irrigation for the agricultural center and supplying water for the more than five hundred people living within the compound itself. They also had found several deficiencies in the colony’s central computer and communications systems, including more than a few issues with the systems that would oversee defense. “Well,” he added, “we both know that location is precisely why Starfleet made sure we were the ship sent out here.”

Cestus III’s location, with its proximity to Klingon space, made the planet an important asset with regard to Starfleet monitoring of Klingon ship movements. With the Klingons paying heightened attention to the Taurus Reach, it was all but certain that vessel traffic would come from this general direction. Positioning an observation outpost here strengthened the ability to provide early warnings in the event of increased activity that might prove dangerous to Federation interests in the region. The planet’s location and apparent value in the larger intelligence and defense hierarchy would make it a tempting target, and Starfleet had already factored that into the travel routes for starships assigned to patrol the sector. That was reassuring, Okagawa thought, particularly if the unthinkable occurred and the Klingons—or some other, yet-unknown enemy—decided to come calling.

Hearing approaching footsteps, Okagawa turned to see a member of his crew, Ensign Jeffrey Anderson, walking toward him. The captain knew from experience that the younger man was not a morning person, even without the ensign’s red-rimmed eyes accentuating that fact.

“Good morning, Commodore,” Anderson said to Travers before turning his attention to Okagawa. “Captain, Commander al-Khaled asked me to let you know that all of our equipment has been beamed back to the Lovell,and most of our landing parties have returned as well. He and Lieutenant T’Laen are still in the computer center, working out a few stubborn bugs, but otherwise, he says we should be able to depart on schedule.”

Okagawa nodded at the report. “Thank you, Ensign.” To Travers, he said, “If anyone can figure out what’s got your computer in a bad mood, it’s T’Laen.” The young Vulcan lieutenant was an accomplished computer-systems expert, holding high proficiency and classification ratings on nearly every type of Federation computer hardware and system currently in use. As for Mahmud al-Khaled, the Lovell’s second-in-command and leader of the ship’s Corps of Engineer contingent, he was an accomplished specialist in his own right, a master of many technical disciplines that had proven invaluable on more than one occasion.

“By the way, Anderson,” Okagawa said, frowning a bit, “why didn’t you just beep my communicator?”

He watched as the ensign’s face reddened in apparent embarrassment. “Well, sir, thereby hangs a tale.” He reached to the small of his back with his left hand, retrieved his communicator, and held it—or, rather, what remained of it—up for Okagawa to see. “I had a bit of a problem earlier this morning.”

“What the hell happened?” Travers asked, his eyes wide with confusion as he beheld the bent and twisted outer casing of what once had been a standard-issue Starfleet field communicator. Its gold flip-top antenna grid was creased down the middle, and the sides of the unit itself also were curved inward, as though the device had been held in a vise.

“I happened, Commodore,” Anderson replied, holding up his empty right hand. “I’m still getting the hang of reflexive responses with this thing. It’s great if you want me to punch a hole in a wall for a new power conduit, but don’t ask me to hold eggs or shake your hand. At least, not yet.”

Okagawa said, “Ensign Anderson sustained some rather serious injuries during our time on Gamma Tauri IV. His arm is a bionic prosthesis.” To the casual observer, the synthetic replacement limb passed for the real thing. It was only upon close inspection that the arm’s artificial nature was revealed.

“Wow,” Travers said, nodding in appreciation. “Gamma Tauri IV. I’d almost forgotten your ship was involved in that.”

“I’d like to forget about it myself,” Okagawa replied. The incident was still fresh in his mind, of course, where he suspected it would remain for the foreseeable future. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to shrug off the troubling reminder of that tragic mission.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Anderson asked. “I’d like to see about replacing my communicator, along with…a few other things I oversqueezed last night.”

Unable to resist teasing the younger man a bit and anxious for some levity to lighten his momentarily darkened mood, Okagawa said, “Late night, Ensign?”

Anderson shook his head. “Long day that continued well into the night, sir. In fact, do I get to count today as part of yesterday, or do clocks just explode when you try to cram that many hours into them?”

“Feel free to avail yourself of your bunk as soon as Mr. al-Khaled says you’re done,” Okagawa replied. “It’s a long trip back to Vanguard, and I imagine everyone will be trying to catch up on missed sleep.” The crew had been working almost around the clock for two weeks, and he knew the strain was beginning to show. He had already fielded al-Khaled’s request for shore leave on behalf of the entire ship’s complement once the Lovellreturned to Starbase 47.

“Understood with utter exhaustion, Captain,” Anderson said, emphasizing his retort with a mock salute before turning to leave.

Turning back to Travers, Okagawa extended his hand. “Commodore, thank you for the hospitality. It’s too bad all of our hosts don’t have your manners.”

Travers laughed as he took the proffered hand and shook it. “If you like, I can come up with a few more things for your people to fix. I might even be able to keep you here for Saturday’s big cook-out.”

Patting his midsection, Okagawa replied, “A few more meals like what you’ve been feeding us these past couple of weeks, and I’ll have to put my entire crew on a diet.”