Текст книги "The Best and the Brightest"

Автор книги: Susan Wright

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“Hi,” Reoh said, edging his wrinkled nose past the door. “Can I come in?”

“I was wondering when you’d visit,” Starsa told him. “I have to thank you for getting me into medical.”

Reoh grinned shyly. She was struck by how it lit up his face. “You were pretty angry at first.”

“I didn’t realize how bad I was. I was wound so tight I was hardly sleeping. These hormones,” she said, shaking her head. “You had to go through this when you were twelve years old? That’s so young.”

Reoh swallowed as if she had asked an awkward question, but she was used to that. “Bajoran puberty lasts several years and isn’t as . . . dramatic as yours.”

“I’ll be glad to get it over with.” She looked down at her chest. “I’m developing, aren’t I?”

Reoh turned beet‑red. “Uh, I think I’ve got to go.”

Starsa laughed as he ran out of the room, but later she felt awful for making him uncomfortable. She started to cry about it and couldn’t stop. Eventually a nurse noticed and gave her another hormone shot. Starsa fell asleep feeling lost and alone.

“Our doctors believe Starsa should be returned to her homeworld for treatment,” Admiral Brand explained to Nev Reoh. “Her body is reacting abnormally for her species, and they believe it is due to the environment.”

“It will take several weeks for her to get home,” Reoh said, already thinking about how to accomplish whatever was necessary as fast as possible. “Will she be all right until then?”

“With treatments and environmental adjustments to her quarters, Starsa should arrive fine. But the doctors say it will be emotionally as well as physically difficult for her. They recommend that someone accompany her.” Admiral Brand smiled slightly. “Starsa asked if you could go with her.”

“Me?” Reoh asked, feeling very much the odd choice.

“She says you are one of her first friends here on Earth. You are also the one who alerted us to her problem. We could arrange to have your classes taken by the other professors, if you would agree to go.” Brand spread her hands on her desk. “It would take you at least six weeks, maybe longer.”

Reoh already knew it would take longer, because he would have to stay to make sure Starsa was recovering. “I’ll do it. When do we leave?”

*   *   *

Red alert klaxons sounded for the third time since they had neared Klingon territory and the supply lines passing through numerous inhabited sectors, including Bajor. Clearly, Klingon fingers were stretched toward Cardassia since the recent invasion.

As Reoh ran to Starsa’s rooms, he wondered what the alert was about this time. Last time it had been two jumpy Cardassian escort ships and an arms freighter passing through to refortify one of the border planets. The time before that, it had been a pleasure yacht that the Maquis had outfitted with a fairly hefty phaser capacity.

The U.S.S. Cochranewas only an Oberth‑class starship, one of the smallest Starfleet science vessels, but she had ably defended herself and given chase to the yacht. Yet other duties called, and their captain had been forced to transmit the Maquis ship’s last coordinates to Starfleet Headquarters.

The Oberthhad been ordered to transport dignitaries from the far reaches of the Federation back to Earth to discuss the Dominion and the new danger they posed to the Alpha Quadrant. Even before they left the Academy, Reoh had heard that Starfleet Command was concerned that shape‑shifters could have infiltrated the Federation High Command.

Then, hardly an hour ago, President Jaresh‑Inyo made an announcement about the bomb blast that had disrupted a major conference between the Romulan and Federation governments at Antwerp on Earth. It was the worst crime to occur on Earth in a century–twenty‑seven people were killed. President Jaresh‑Inyo had declared a planetwide day of mourning, but Reoh could read more than grief in the eyes of the Starfleet admirals, including Admiral Leyton, standing to one side of the president in his office.

Reoh was knocked off his feet as the Cochranewas hit by a phaser shock wave. His stomach clenched as body‑memories of the battle at Verdian III came back in a vivid rush. He could almost feel the disrupter blasts, over and over again. Then the panic of the saucer separation. And the crash, when he had screamed like he had never done before, certain he was going to die–

“There you are!” Starsa exclaimed, leaning out of her quarters, eyes wide with fright. “What’s happening? Who’s shooting at us?”

The deck jolted again. “That feels like a phaser hit. The shields are trying to absorb the shock.” Reoh pushed Starsa back inside her quarters, heading toward the couch. “Better sit down and hang on.”

“Will the shields hold?” she asked. “Who is it?”

Reoh was already activating the screen to see outside the ship. “It’s Klingon. No, there’s two of them.”

Starsa was gasping in shock. Reoh had never seen her so frightened before. She had always been the soul of courage, without a thought of failure or defeat.

The Cochranewas hit again, and they were thrown back against the couch as the valiant ship maneuvered.

Starsa clutched his arm. “Are we going to die?” she whispered.

“Eventually,” Reoh had to admit. “Maybe not right now.”

It might have been callous, but it did make Starsa stop and think instead of sending her into hysterics. Reoh knew part of her problem was the unstable hormone fluctuations, but her emotional reaction was very real.

She hunched down in the couch, wrapping her arms around her legs, her ruddy hair spreading against the back cushion. “I never thought about it before,” she admitted, her voice husky, as if everything inside of her was twisted tightly closed. “Everyone is going to die. I’m going to die. You are.” She flinched as the shields took another hit. “I haven’t seen my family in so long.”

Reoh took her hand, realizing how inevitable that fear was. “I lost most of my family early. Maybe that’s why I can’t ever forget about death. I think it’s why I failed as a Vedek. What is faith next to that? Nothing you can say or do can avert it.”

“So what do you do?” Starsa asked, hanging onto his hand for dear life.

“I try to do the same thing youalways did. Just go on. In spite of everything.” He squeezed her hand. “Only now, I hope you give us a break and don’t tempt fate so much.”

She blew out her breath, shaking her head at the very thought of some of the things she had done in the recent months. It was only when she leaned her head against his shoulder that he realized how close they had gotten in the past weeks. He had always had a special, protective feeling for Starsa. Yet how easy it was to reassure her, how naturally he put an arm around her shoulders.

He didn’t move until long after the jolting stopped and she fell asleep on his shoulder.

Starsa felt better the moment they beamed down to Hohonoran on Oppalassa. Treatments began at once, and she was required to stay in the medical center while her hormone levels were adjusted and her transition into maturity could proceed at a more steady pace.

After a few days, she hacked into the medical computers and accessed her file. It was remarkably easy after the challenge of Starfleet computers. She read that her doctors were surprised by the onset of her puberty, having believed she would be able to complete the course at the Academy and return to Oppalassa before her transition. Starsa didn’t care, even though she was young to mature for her kind. It seemed right to her–she’d been through a lot in the past four years. She should be an adult.

Starsa read everything in her file, then closed it back up like she’d never been there. She wasn’t even tempted to mess with the medical computer, but she had to laugh at her log‑skipping virus that had lasted for almost four years. Because of her illness, her practical joke hadn’t even been discussed at the Academy. She wondered if it would fade into the past or be dealt with when she returned. Perhaps they figured it was bad enough punishment to have to repeat this semester’s work during the summer.

She had hardly closed her tricorder when Reoh appeared. He smiled, then stepped over some animal trinkets on the floor. “Oops, almost stepped on your frog.”

“Everyone keeps bringing them to me,” she explained, gathering up the small animal androids that her people loved to give as gifts. Mostly she was getting Earth animals, and everyone seemed so pleased they could offer her a “remembrance of Starfleet.” She didn’t have the heart to tell anyone that frogs and mice didn’t exactly fill the hallways at the Academy. She held up a giant‑sized tick before tossing it to him. “Don’t ask what that one is.”

Nev Reoh seemed uncomfortable. “The Cochraneis returning through this system day after tomorrow. They called to let me know, in case I was ready to return. You’re doing fine now, so I thought–”

“You’re leaving without me?” she asked, forgetting about the trinkets that were milling around in the basket at the foot of her bed. “You can’tleave without me!”

“You want me to stay? But you have your family here–”

“It will only take a few more weeks of treatments,” she assured him. “Maybe less. Can’t we go back together? It’s such a long trip. . . .”

Slowly, Reoh said, “I would have to ask Admiral Brand for an extension of my leave.”

Starsa put the lid on her trinkets to keep their noise muffled. “It would save Starfleet from having to send two ships for us.”

“That’s true,” Reoh agreed, but he was busy looking at the tick, its legs methodically moving even though it was upside‑down.

“And I think I can get you a private room,” she told him, watching him closely. “I’ve felt bad about squeezing you in with everyone.”

“I don’t mind sharing with your cousins,” Reoh denied. “They’re very nice boys.”

“And it doesn’t rain here all the time,” she assured him. “It should clear up in a few days. And I’ll be able to go home while I finish the therapy. There’s lots of things we can do then. Go to the simu‑races, and the sky‑dive. Or if you’re feeling stuck in the city, there’s a big parkland between Hohonoran and Swin, only an hour away. You feel like you’re in Yosemite in Earth . . . almost.”

“It’s not that I’m bored,” Reoh tried to explain. “But you’ve got everyone you need here with you–”

As if on cue, Starsa’s sister and her spouse appeared in the doorway, calling out greetings. Starsa hugged her sister, but she was trying to see Reoh, who was strategically trying to slip away. “Call the superintendent,” she urged him, over her sister’s shoulder. “Find out, okay? It would mean a lot to me.”

Reoh nodded uncertainly, holding up the tick before placing it on his empty chair. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Don’t rush off,” her sister protested. “I’ve been wanting to meet Starsa’s caraposa. Sit down and join us.”

Starsa felt the heat rush to her face as Reoh stammered and excused himself, saying, “I’m sorry. I have to send an important communiquй.”

Starsa mumbled good‑bye, but she didn’t know where to look. No wonder he wanted to get away! Why hadn’t she realized what her family was doing? They had picked up on her feelings for Reoh and assumed that he returned her admiration simply because he was such a truly good and kind man. She was a fool! After so long at the Academy, she hadn’t counted on the subliminal sensitivity the Oppalassa had for one another, developed from being forced to live on top of one another for centuries. When she realized she loved Reoh, she took it for granted, so they did, too.

Her sister touched her hand. “What’s wrong, Starsa?”

“He might have to leave,” she told her, knowing it was useless to lie about her feelings.

“I hope not. You’d miss him terribly.”

Starsa nodded, unable to say a word. The question was–would Reoh miss her?

It took a few days, but Reoh finally received a message back from Admiral Brand’s assistant, assuring him that he could stay on Oppalassa for an additional few weeks. Reoh got the distinct feeling that his request was the least of their worries.

He was watching Starsa’s other sister, Maree, trying to get food into her two boys. They were nearly as big as Reoh, but acted like ten‑year‑olds, poking at each other instead of eating. Reoh sat in the only other chair in the room, trying to stay out of the way. He preferred this room to the bedroom because it had a window overlooking the living towers of Hohonoran, marching down the steep hillside.

“Hello, everyone!” Starsa sang out, as she came through the door.

“Starsa!” the boys called out, scrambling up to hug her. She laughed and tipped her basket of trinkets over, letting the rodents and bugs crawl on the tiled floor.

“What are you doing home so soon?” her sister asked.

“They kicked me out. Mom stopped by and fetched me.” Starsa pointed upward. “She took my stuff up to their rooms. I guess I sleep there, but I thought the boys would like the trinkets.”

She left them shouting over the intricate constructs, coming towards Reoh. “Hi.”

“I’m glad they released you,” he said, not sure what to say. Her body had changed in only a few weeks. It was a subtle difference, but a vital one. She even moved differently, more smoothly, like everything now fit together properly.

“I made them send me home,” she told him in a confidential voice. He could smell her skin, she was so close. “I want to have some fun with you.”

Reoh swallowed, not sure how he could tell her his doubts. The way her sister smiled over at them made it clear. Starsa’s entire family was acting like they were pledged to each other. He wasn’t sure how they had formed that mistaken impression, but he could find no polite way to correct them.

“Let’s go on the balcony,” Starsa suggested over the squeals of her nephews.

Outside they heard the din of the city noises, and the low percussion sound of a pneumatic drill, digging the support posts for yet another tower just uphill. But the balcony offered a liberating view of the city, nearly 180 degrees of shimmering forcefields that encased the towers. Reoh moved carefully, barely able to see the rainbow edge of the forcefield at the edge of their balcony. He couldn’t get used to not having a railing.

Starsa went right to the edge, of course. He smiled, glad to see a bit of her fearlessness had returned. He would hate to have her forever bowed down by the loss of her innocence.

She checked to be sure her sister couldn’t hear. “I heard about the failure of the power grid on Earth. And the declaration of martial law. They think there’s an invasion force coming, don’t they?”

“They’re preparing for it,” he agreed, not expecting this.

Looking over the city, she asked, “Are you leaving on the Cochrane?”

Reoh hesitated. “I probably should, Starsa.”

“Why?”

He was glad she was still looking away from him. She was notoriously blunt, but this could stretch even her limits. “Because of what your family thinks. You know, that caraposastuff.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t acting as shocked as he thought she would. “That bothers you?”

“Uh, I thought it would bother you.”

She shyly smiled. “I don’t mind it. It’s just my busybody family.”

“Really?” Now he didn’t know what to think.

“I know this wasn’t your idea, Reoh. It was thrust on you. You only meant to be sweet, bringing me home and taking such good care of me along the way. They don’t understand that’s just the way it is in Starfleet. We take care of each other.”

“Yes, we do.” He kept thinking Starsa didn’t understand what was happening, which was not an unreasonable assumption when it came to her. Yet she basically said she didn’t care if her family called him her “boyfriend.”

As if that wasn’t enough, Starsa grinned at him. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”

Nev Reoh felt the tightness in his stomach ease. He never wanted to leave Starsa behind. He wouldn’t be comfortable unless he could personally make sure she got back to the Academy safely. But Starsa was offering him more–or at least it seemed that way. If he stayed, he’d have a few more weeks here and the trip back home to find out how she really felt about him.

“If you’re sure,” he said, waiting for her nod. “Then I’ll stay.”

“Good!” She beamed at him, then faced the city again, as if those brief words had settled everything to her satisfaction. “But what if the Dominion invades Earth? What will we do then?”

Reoh turned to face her homeworld. He had a lot to see in the next few weeks. He wanted to find out everything there was to know about Oppalassa.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “There’s hundreds and hundreds of starbases, and hundreds of starships. Even if the Dominion attacks Earth, we’ll always have Starfleet.”

Epilogue

“WHERE’S MY TRICORDER?” Starsa called out.

“Check the black bag,” Reoh replied from the other room. “I can’t figure out this Cardassian replicator . . . and the vent is stuck closed in the bedroom.”

“Just be glad we got a posting together,” Starsa told him, going in to put her arms around him.

“Not many people want to be on DS9 right now,” he reminded her.

They stood arm in arm, looking out the eye‑shaped window in their bedroom as the wormhole opened up. They both held their breath until a Starfleet runabout appeared.

“Probably Lieutenant Dax,” Reoh said, “with those samples. I should go help her–”

“I’m going to call my family after I check in with O’Brien,” Starsa interrupted. “They’re less than a week away. Maybe some of them can come visit?”

Reoh laughed on his way out of their quarters, remembering how he had been thrown headfirst into Starsa’s family months ago when they were first getting together. “Sure, why not? Have them all come.”

Ensign Jayme Miranda kicked open the door to her room–finally, after four years of quads, it was private! She did a little hop‑skip as she entered, tossing the stack of transport containers containing her growing medical disk library on her bed.

She flung open the curtains, and breathed deep of the mild Paris weather of late summer. The comm beeped before she could fall on the bed and relax.

“Hello!” she called out.

“Hi, Jayme,” Moll said even before her image had fully appeared. “Welcome to your new place.”

“Moll! You look great.” Jayme sat up on her knees, pleased that her first call had come from Moll.

“I just got back from dinner. You’ll never guess with who.”

“Did you already get back to DS9?” Jayme guessed the answer, as Moll knew she would. “How are Reoh and Starsa? What a couple, eh?”

“They’re happy. It makes me wish I could see you,” she added wistfully.

“Ten weeks,” Jayme told her, “Midterm break, unless you get sent back to Earth before then.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Enor agreed. “I can’t tell you how proud I am. The first Miranda to ever be accepted to Starfleet Medical.”

“Watch out, galaxy!” Jayme agreed. “Here I come.”

Bobbie Ray Jefferson walked along the line of young humanoids, sniffing slightly as he eyed each one. “I’ve never seen such a . . . puny lot of new cadets.” He didn’t mention the fact that this was the first lineup of cadets he had everseen. It was his first year teaching Self‑defense 101. But these cadets didlook much smaller than those he remembered from his first year, though that had been four years ago.

Bobbie Ray sneered at each one as he swaggered by. “You do what I tell you, and by this time next year, nobody in ten solar systems will be able to touch you. You want that, don’t you? Don’t you?!”

“Yes, sir!” they shouted as one.

Such bright and eager faces, the best and the brightest from all the Federation planets. Bobbie Ray showed his teeth in a grin. This was going to be interesting.

Read on for an excerpt from

Vulcan’s Forge. . . .

VULCAN'S FORGE

by

Josepha Sherman and Susan Shwartz

Please turn the page for asn excerpt from

Vulcan's Forge . . .

Intrepid II and Obsidian,

Day 4, Fifth Week, Month of the Raging Durak,

Year 2296

Lieutenant Duchamps, staring at the sight of Obsidian growing ever larger in the viewscreen, pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Would you look at that. . . .”

Captain Spock, who had been studying the viewscreen as well, glanced quickly at the helmsman. “Lieutenant?”

Duchamps, predictably, went back into too‑formal mode at this sudden attention. “The surface of Obsidian, sir. I was thinking how well‑named it is, sir. All those sheets of that black volcanic glass glittering in the sun. Sir.”

“That black volcanic glass is, indeed, what constitutes the substance known as obsidian,” Spock observed, though only someone extremely familiar with Vulcans–James Kirk, for instance–could have read any dry humor into his matter‑of‑fact voice. Getting to his feet, Spock added to Uhura, “I am leaving for the transporter room, Commander. You have the conn.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited to see her seated in the command chair, knowing how important this new role was to her, then acknowledged Uhura’s right to be there with the smallest of nods. She solemnly nodded back, aware that he had just offered her silent congratulations. But Uhura being Uhura, she added in quick mischief, “Now, don’t forget to write!”

After so many years among humans, Spock knew perfectly well that this was meant as a good‑natured, tongue‑in‑cheek farewell, but he obligingly retorted, “I see no reason why I should utilize so inappropriate a means of communication,” and was secretly gratified to see Uhura’s grin.

He was less gratified at the gasps of shock from the rest of the bridge crew. Did they not see the witticism as such? Or were they shocked that Uhura could dare be so familiar? Spock firmly blocked a twinge of very illogical nostalgia; illogical, he told himself, because the past was exactly that.

McCoy was waiting for him, for once silent on the subject of “having my molecules scattered all over Creation.” With the doctor were several members of Security and a few specialists, such as the friendly, sensible Lieutenant Clayton, an agronomist, and the efficient young Lieutenant Diver, a geologist so new to Starfleet that her insignia still looked like they’d just come out of the box. Various other engineering and medical personnel would be following later. The heaviest of the doctor’s supplies had already been beamed down with other equipment, but he stubbornly clung to the medical satchel–his “little black bag,” as McCoy so anachronistically called it–slung over his shoulder.

“I decided to go,” he told Spock unnecessarily. “That outrageously high rate of skin cancer and lethal mutations makes it a fascinating place.”

That seemingly pure‑science air, Spock mused, fooled no one. No doctor worthy of the title could turn away from so many hurting people.

“Besides,” McCoy added acerbically, “someone’s got to make sure you all wear your sunhats.”

“Indeed. Energize,” Spock commanded, and . . .

. . . was elsewhere, from the unpleasantly cool, relatively dim ship–cool and dim to Vulcan senses, at any rate–to the dazzlingly bright light and welcoming heat of Obsidian. The veils instantly slid down over Spock’s eyes, then up again as his desert‑born vision adapted, while the humans hastily adjusted their sun visors. He glanced about at this new world, seeing a flat, gravelly surface, tan‑brown‑gray stretching to the horizon of jagged, clearly volcanic peaks. A hot wind teased grit and sand into miniature spirals, and the sun glinted off shards of the black volcanic glass that had given this world its Federation name.

“Picturesque,” someone commented wryly, but Spock ignored that. Humans, he knew, used sarcasm to cover uneasiness. Or perhaps it was discomfort; perhaps they felt the higher level of ionization in the air as he did, prickling at their skin.

No matter. One accepted what could not be changed. They had, at David Rabin’s request, beamed down to these coordinates a distance away from the city: “The locals are uneasy enough as it is without a sudden ‘invasion’ in their midst.”

Logical. And there was the Federation detail he had been told to expect, at its head a sturdy, familiar figure: David Rabin. He stepped forward, clad in a standard Federation hot‑weather outfit save for his decidedly non‑standard‑issue headgear of some loose, flowing material caught by a circle of corded rope. Sensible, Spock thought, to adapt what was clearly an effective local solution to the problem of sunstroke.

“Rabin of Arabia,” McCoy muttered, but Spock let that pass. Captain Rabin, grinning widely, was offering him the split‑fingered Vulcan Greeting of the Raised Hand and saying, “Live long and prosper.”

There could be no response but one. Spock returned the salutation and replied simply, “Shalom.”

This time McCoy had nothing to say.

It was only a short drive to the outpost. “Solar‑powered vehicles, of course,” Rabin noted. “No shortage of solar power on this world! The locals don’t really mind our getting around like this as long as we don’t bring any vehicles into Kalara or frighten the chuchaki–those cameloid critters over there.”

Spock forbore to criticize the taxonomy.

Kalara, he mused, looked very much the standard desert city to be found on many low‑tech, and some high‑tech, worlds. Mud brick really was the most practical organic building material, and thick walls and high windows provided quite efficient passive air cooling. Kalara was, of course, an oasis town; he didn’t need to see the oasis to extrapolate that conclusion. No desert city came into being without a steady, reliable source of water and, therefore, a steady, reliable source of food. Spock noted the tips of some feathery green branches peeking over the high walls and nodded. Good planning for both economic and safety reasons to have some of that reliable water source be within the walls. Add to that the vast underground network of irrigation canals and wells, and these people were clearly doing a clever job of exploiting their meager resources.

Or would be, were it not for that treacherous sun.

And, judging from what Rabin had already warned, for that all too common problem in times of crisis: fanaticism.

It is illogical, he thought, for any one person or persons to claim to know a One True Path to enlightenment. And I must, he added honestly, include my own distant ancestors in that thought.

And, he reluctantly added, some Vulcans not so far removed in time.

“What’s that?”McCoy exclaimed suddenly. “Hebrew graffiti?”

“Deuteronomy,” Rabin replied succinctly, adding, “We’re home, everybody.”

They left the vehicles and entered the Federation outpost, and in the process made a jarring jump from timelessness to gleaming modernity. Spock paused only an instant at the shock of what to him was a wall of unwelcome coolness; around him, the humans were all breathing sighs of relief. McCoy put down his shoulder pack with a grunt. “Hot as Vulcan out there.”

“Just about,” Rabin agreed cheerfully, pulling off his native headgear. “And if you think this is bad, wait till Obsidian’s summer. This sun, good old unstable Loki, will kill you quite efficiently.

“Please, everyone, relax for a bit. Drink something even if you don’t feel thirsty. It’s ridiculously easy to dehydrate here, especially when none of you are desert acclimated. Or rather,” he added before Spock could comment, “when even the desert‑born among you haven’t been inany deserts for a while. While you’re resting, I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening here.”

Quickly and efficiently, Rabin set out the various problems–the failed hydroponics program, the beetles, the mysterious fires and spoiled supply dumps. When he was finished, Spock noted, “One, two or even three incidents might be considered no more than unpleasant coincidence. But taken as a whole, this series of incidents can logically only add up to deliberate sabotage.”

“Which is what I was thinking,” Rabin agreed. “‘One’s accident, two’s coincidence, three’s enemy action,’ or however the quote goes. The trouble is: Who isthe enemy? Or rather, which one?”

Spock raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “These are, if the records are indeed correct, a desert people with a relatively low level of technology.”

“They are that. And before you ask, no, there’s absolutely no trace of Romulan or any other off‑world involvement.”

“Then we need ask: Who of this world would have sufficient organization and initiative to work such an elaborate scheme of destruction?”

The human sighed. “Who, indeed? We’ve got a good many local dissidents; we both know how many nonconformists a desert can breed. But none of the local brand of agitators could ever band together long enough to mount a definite threat. They hate each other as much or maybe even more than they hate us.”

“And in the desert?”

“Ah, Spock, old buddy, just how much manpower do you think I have? Much as I’d love to up and search all that vastness–”

“It would mean leaving the outpost unguarded. I understand.”

“Besides,” Rabin added thoughtfully, “I can’t believe that any of the desert people, even the ‘wild nomads,’ as the folks in Kalara call the deep‑desert tribes, would do anything to destroy precious resources, even those from off‑world. They might destroy us, but not food or water.”

“Logic,” Spock retorted, “requires that someone is working this harm. Whether you find the subject pleasant or not, someoneis ‘poisoning the wells.’”

“Excuse me, sir,” Lieutenant Clayton said, “but wouldn’t it be relatively simple for the Intrepidto do a scan of the entire planet?”

“It could–”

“But that,” Rabin cut in, “wouldn’t work. The trouble is those ‘wild nomads’ are a pain in the . . . well, they’re a nuisance to find by scanning because they tend to hide out against solar flares. And where they hide is in hollows shielded by rock that’s difficult or downright impossible for scanners to penetrate. We have no idea how many nomads are out there, nor do the city folk. Oh, and if that wasn’t enough,” he added wryly, “the high level of ionization in the atmosphere, thank you very much Loki, provides a high amount of static to signal.”

Spock moved to the banks of equipment set up to measure ionization, quickly scanning the data. “The levels do fluctuate within the percentages of possibility. A successful scan is unlikely but not improbable during the lower ranges of the scale. We will attempt one. I have a science officer who will regard this as a personal challenge.” As do I, he added silently. A Vulcan could, after all, assemble the data far more swiftly than a human who– No. McCoy had quite wisely warned him against “micromanaging.” He was not what he had been, Spock reminded himself severely. And only an emotional being longed for what had been and was no more.

Назад к карточке книги "The Best and the Brightest"