A contest of principles, p.10
A Contest of Principles, page 10
“My poor child! I sensed your tribulations across the palace.”
Bilis entered behind Vumri, a trifle sheepishly. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but the Lossu would not be denied.”
McCoy could already see how Vumri could steamroll over the attendant. Heck, he was half-relieved by the healer’s arrival as well. Avo was in a bad way; if Vumri could actually help her, he wasn’t about to stand in her way.
“Child, why did you not summon me at once?” Vumri shook her head sadly before turning to dismiss McCoy and the others. “Leave us.”
“No,” Avo said weakly. “Don’t send them away.”
Vumri frowned. “But, child, you require care, not company. You are in no state to entertain guests.”
“I don’t care.” Avo’s face and voice were taut with pain, but she held her ground. “Let them stay.”
“Very well, child.” Vumri peered back over her shoulder at her unwelcome audience. She regarded them coldly. “Keep back and do not interfere.”
Wouldn’t dream of it, McCoy thought. He made a deliberate effort to keep what he’d already heard about Vumri from coloring his own first impressions of her. She wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome wagon, but then again, she had a suffering patient to tend to, so she could be forgiven for prioritizing Avo’s care over any social niceties. Lord knew he could also be brusque and impatient when it came to anything getting between him and a patient in need. He stepped back to give her more room to work.
“Watch this,” Rayob whispered to him. “You may find it of interest.”
Vumri ignored them as though they weren’t there, focusing on Avo instead. “Give me your hands, child.”
Avo was in no position to reject the healer’s ministrations. Complying, she held her trembling hands out before her; along with her general tremors, her fingers jerked and twitched randomly. Vumri grasped Avo’s hands with her own. She tilted her head back and commenced a low humming that seemed to emanate from deep within her. The hum gradually rose in pitch and volume, becoming more of a trill. The atonal chant set McCoy’s teeth on edge, yet seemed to genuinely soothe Avo. Her face and form relaxed visibly; her breathing grew deeper and more regular. Her eye stopped blinking.
Well, I’ll be, McCoy thought.
He put away his hypospray for the time being, watching in fascination as the healer worked her magic on the apparently responsive patient. McCoy was not a big believer in faith healers in general, but he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes. He wondered what the science was behind Vumri’s gift. He was tempted to try to scan her with his tricorder as well. As a doctor, he was always intrigued by the medical practices of unknown races and cultures. He was not so closed-minded as to think that the Federation knew everything there was to know about healing.
The trilling trailed off and fell silent. Vumri took a deep breath, as though she had just exerted herself, and spoke gently to Avo.
“There now, child. Better now?”
“Yes, Lossu,” Avo conceded. “Thank you.”
“You know I am ever at your service. Perhaps next time you will not hesitate so long before calling for me.” She released Avo’s hands, which no longer appeared to be twitching. “Sleep now. Regain your strength.”
“Maybe just for a moment…”
Drained by her experience, Avo drifted off. McCoy had to admit that she looked much more comfortable than before. He was grateful on Avo’s behalf. It was hard to begrudge Vumri her intrusion if it meant that the princess got some much-needed relief.
Vumri turned away from the dozing royal. “She will rest now… and feel much restored when she wakes.”
“For a time, that is,” Rayob said.
“True, but when the Yiyova needs me again, I shall be there for her.” She faced her rival confidently. “You may rely on that, majordomo.”
The enmity between them was palpable. McCoy tried to lighten the atmosphere.
“That was quite impressive,” he said sincerely. “Tell me, how did you acquire your talent for healing?”
“It is a gift,” she replied, “granted but to a few.”
That meshed with what Rayob had told him prior to leaving the suite, that Ozalor had a long tradition of mystic healers said to be born with exceptional abilities, identified by such signs as Vumri’s unusual eyes. They were exceedingly rare, but well documented in the planet’s history and folklore, with the former perhaps hopelessly entangled with the latter. A recurrent genetic mutation, McCoy speculated, or a recessive trait that manifested only infrequently? Beings with special abilities beyond those of other members of their species were not without precedent in the universe. Even on Earth, some humans had significantly higher esper ratings than average.
Vumri had questions of her own.
“Who are you,” she demanded of McCoy, “and what are you doing here?”
Again, McCoy was hesitant to spill all the beans before he fully grasped the possible repercussions. “Doctor Leonard McCoy.” Phony whiskers or not, he figured there was little chance of pretending to be a local. “As you can probably tell, I’m not from these parts.”
“A foreign doctor… in the Yiyova’s chambers no less.” Her gaze drifted to the briefcase containing his medical gear, having no doubt taken note of his hypospray earlier. “I suspected as much.”
“The good doctor is here at my request,” Rayob stated.
“On whose authority?” she challenged him.
“My own, naturally.”
Vumri was unimpressed.
“We shall see what our sovereign says about that!”
Nine
Braco
Scintillating blue steam rose from vents in the sauna floor as Spock took advantage of the hotel’s amenities for reasons of his own. The chemically generated mist contained a mild astringent that had a bracing effect upon his bare skin. Although Vulcans had evolved in a much drier environment, he found the saturated warmth not unpleasant, reminiscent of the more popular tropic biomes on Illami IV. As it was extremely late into the night, the sauna was occupied only by Spock and a solitary Tellarite merchant snoring on the opposite side of the circular chamber, his porcine form largely obscured by the swirling vapors. Spock sat patiently on a concrete bench, his back against the wall, his modesty and dignity protected by a towel.
He hoped this excursion would not be in vain.
Footsteps slapped against the damp tile floor. A figure in a hooded bathrobe slipped into the sauna. Steam veiled their identity, but the timing was encouraging. The newcomer sat down beside Spock and spoke in a low voice that was nonetheless perfectly audible to the Vulcan’s keen hearing.
“Waiting long?”
“No more than seven minutes, sixteen seconds,” Spock replied.
“That long, eh?” D’Ran Colc chuckled as he shed his robe. “Sorry for the delay, but I couldn’t exactly stroll right through the lobby to get here. A contact on the housekeeping staff snuck me into the building, then slipped me a guest pass to the sauna. The whole rigmarole took a little longer than anticipated, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Understood,” Spock said. “I appreciate the need to be circumspect.”
He had reached out to the reporter via a confidential tip line on the Bracon news network Colc worked for, employing his Starfleet communicator rather than the hotel computer terminal in order to avoid alerting the Tranquility Bureau to his efforts. Subsequent communications with Colc, arranging this clandestine meeting, had been done via an encrypted frequency. The hotel sauna had been selected as a suitable meeting spot since it provided a reasonable expectation of privacy while not requiring Spock to exit the hotel or for Colc to brave the troopers guarding the penthouse suites. Not even Wibb’s security detail had felt obliged to join Spock in the sauna.
“And I appreciate you contacting me in the first place,” Colc said, arranging his towel.
“With all due respect to Chief Inspector Wibb,” Spock said, “I am in need of alternative sources of information about the affairs of your world. You appear to be well informed on such matters.”
Colc nodded. “Not to brag, but I have my sources, in both high and low places.”
“And are they reliable?” Spock asked.
“More so than the ‘official story’ sometimes. You just have to remember, everyone has their own agenda.”
“And what is your agenda, Mister Colc?”
“Me? I just like to find out for myself what’s going on, then get the real story out.” He shrugged. “Just naturally nosy, I guess.”
“Chief Inspector Wibb is not an admirer of your particular brand of journalism,” Spock observed.
“You don’t say,” Colc said sarcastically. Rather than being offended, he seemed distinctly pleased by Spock’s remark. “The way I see it, a reporter who doesn’t irk the Powers That Be isn’t doing their job right. Folks like Wibb always want to control the narrative being fed to the public, so pests like me are bound to rub them the wrong way. We’re the tribbles to their Klingons.”
“An inventive analogy,” Spock said. Certainly, Colc’s unspecified sources had been reliable enough to alert the reporter to McCoy’s abduction despite the Bureau’s best efforts to contain the story. “Are you willing to share the identity of your sources with me?”
“Not on the first date,” Colc quipped. “But you offered to exchange information with me, so let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Spock nodded. “What do you already know about my colleague’s abduction?”
“Ah, so there was a kidnapping!” Colc said, his eyes lighting up. “Tell me more.”
“And what data do you have to offer in exchange?” Spock asked.
“Uh-uh,” Colc said. “You go first.”
“Very well.”
Spock saw little point in haggling since he had no actual secrets to conceal. “I cannot help but note, however, that you appear to have no recording device on your person.”
“Just this one here.” Colc tapped his temple. “Obviously.”
Spock allowed that the reporter was the best judge of his own memory. He glanced cautiously at the Tellarite, confirming that the fellow was still snoring obliviously, before briefing Colc on the particulars of the case.
“Approximately four days ago, by your time, the Enterprise received a report of a medical emergency on your planet…” He related what he knew of the ambush in the mining camp and McCoy’s apparent abduction. “In response, Captain Kirk dispatched me to Braco to find and recover Doctor McCoy.”
“Leonard McCoy, you say.” Colc listened intently. “What can you tell me about him?”
“His professional career and accomplishments are a matter of record,” Spock stated. “You should have no difficulty researching his background.”
“Count on it,” Colc said, “but what can you tell me about him as a person, his personality, his likes and dislikes? Does he have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Pets?”
Spock frowned. “I fail to see how that is relevant to his disappearance.”
“My readers aren’t Vulcans. They’re going to want a humanoid interest angle as well.”
“I am not comfortable discussing the doctor’s personal life and predilections,” Spock said. “If you must paint a portrait of him, let me merely state that McCoy is a man of great integrity and feeling, a dedicated healer, and an undeniable asset to Starfleet.”
“Friend of yours?” Colc pressed.
“I consider him such,” Spock said, faintly embarrassed by the admission, “but I would prefer to discuss his possible whereabouts.”
“All right,” Colc said with a sigh. “Guess you can only squeeze so much warm and fuzzy stuff out of a Vulcan. Maybe I can get more personal info on McCoy later, perhaps from one of your colleagues.”
“Possibly,” Spock said. “We shall see.”
“Let’s table that for now, then,” Colc said. “So where does the official investigation stand? Hard to get any info out of the Bureau when they won’t even admit that an incident occurred.”
Spock sympathized with the reporter’s difficulty. “Chief Inspector Wibb can be less than forthcoming, but at present his investigation seems focused on one specific radical organization, the United Bracon Front.”
“Figures.” Colc appeared unsurprised. “Chances are, the Bureau would want to blame the UBF even if they weren’t responsible, just to give them an excuse to crack down even harder on anyone remotely associated with the group. In fact, I’ll lay odds that’s the tack they’ll take once the news finally goes public.”
“What is your opinion?” Spock asked. “Could there be any validity to Wibb’s suspicions?”
“It’s not impossible,” Colc said. “The UBF has never targeted neutral parties before, but they have been known to kidnap establishment politicians and bigwigs to secure the release of political prisoners, funds for their operations, and other concessions. Officially, the Bureau has a strict policy of not negotiating with terrorists, but private firms and wealthy clans have quietly paid out, or pulled strings, to get their people back.” Colc adopted a more sympathetic tone. “If it’s any consolation, the hostages are generally returned unharmed.”
The “generally” in that statement concerned Spock. “And have any such hostages been killed?”
“Not that I know of, but I suppose it could have been hushed up. I don’t pretend to know everything.”
Ironically, Colc’s admission of fallibility engendered more confidence than Wibb’s unshakable certainty. The reporter struck Spock as a valuable guide to the finer points of Bracon society and politics.
“What precisely is the agenda of the United Bracon Front?”
“Well, if you ask them, they’re all for an independent Braco, divorced from our ancient ties to Vok and Ozalor. They want our feuding interstellar siblings to mind their own businesses and keep their hands off Braco, so we can sort out our differences on our own.” He snorted quietly, as though skeptical of the notion. “They also consider the so-called ‘Provisional’ Government a joke that has gone on way too long. They want a permanent Bracon government, minus outside interference, as opposed to a compromise coalition that has worn out its welcome.”
“And what are your views on the subject?” Spock asked.
“I’m a reporter,” Colc said. “I’m all about facts, not issues.”
“But are you not concerned about the effects your stories may have on current events?” Spock said. “Science tells us that observing a phenomenon often affects the same. You must be aware that you may sometimes make news by reporting news, therefore becoming part of the story.”
This dilemma was not academic for Spock. Although rescuing McCoy was his foremost objective, he was acutely aware that his mission could have political ramifications throughout the sector, perhaps even affecting the crucial election on Vok. For that reason, he intended to tread carefully. It worried him that Colc might be more cavalier in his approach.
“You’re a scientist, Mister Spock, right?”
“That is correct,” Spock said.
“So you get where I’m coming from,” Colc said. “Scientists and reporters, we’re a lot alike. We follow the facts wherever they lead, even if that’s not always pretty. We’d rather discover the truth than settle for a comforting illusion.”
Spock pondered the comparison. “Some would argue that scientists should give great thought to the consequences of their discoveries and bear the responsibility thereof. Look at Landru, Oppenheimer, or Subimore.” He assumed Colc was knowledgeable enough of galactic history to grasp the references. “Perhaps the same might apply to journalists?”
“That’s big-picture stuff.” Colc flicked some sweat from his brow. “I’ll leave that to the historians, philosophers, and academics to debate. Me, I’m just a workaday newshound, bouncing from story to story while trying to get my facts straight as best I can.”
“I’m afraid I do not have the luxury of dismissing the big picture,” Spock said. “My duty to Starfleet precludes that.”
He wondered if trading information with Colc was indeed a prudent move. Could he trust this journalist to report what they uncovered in a responsible manner?
“Look at it this way, Mister Spock,” the man said. “One way or another, this story is going to break. Wouldn’t you prefer that I got it right?”
“You make a valid point,” Spock said. “Inaccurate data too often leads to erroneous conclusions, resulting in negative consequences.”
“See!” Colc said, grinning. “I knew we’d end up on the same page. So what else do you need to know from me?”
Spock chose to proceed with their arrangement for the duration.
“What do your sources tell you about whether the United Bracon Front is responsible for McCoy’s abduction?”
“To be honest, I’m having trouble getting a straight answer,” Colc said. “I’m not going to lie. I’ve got some contacts with ties to the UBF, but I can’t get anyone to confirm that they’re holding a Starfleet officer prisoner. Some deny it vehemently, others act like they have no idea what I’m talking about, while others just clam up if I start pushing too hard. Hard to say who is on the level.”
“What of the group’s leader, one Hynn V’sta?” Spock asked. “Do your contacts include her?”
“I wish!” Colc said. “I’d sell an organ to get a face-to-face interview with her, but she’s deep underground these days, now that she’s Public Enemy Number One as far as the Bureau is concerned.” He chuckled. “V’sta’s not going to show her face to anyone outside her inner circle, let alone yours truly. I’d have an easier time getting a private audience with the Yovode of Ozalor.”
Across the chamber, the Tellarite stirred, belched, then ambled out of the sauna on his bare hooves, leaving his towel behind. Spock was grateful for the concealing steam as he waited for the Tellarite to fully exit their presence.
“I need to speak directly to someone affiliated with the radicals,” Spock said. “Can you arrange a meeting with one of your more reliable contacts?”
