Identity theft, p.2
Identity Theft, page 2
“Well, Ensign?” Kirk asked.
“Just as anticipated, Captain. Scans confirm that these weapons, although fashioned to resemble Voyzr technology, undeniably incorporate Klingon components and materials.” He switched off the tricorder. “I can explain in much more detail if you like. Why, the krogium particle injectors alone—”
“Maybe later,” Kirk said, smiling. “Rest assured, General, Marshal, this evidence—and more—will be made available to you, for your own people to examine to your satisfaction, although I can guarantee you that we would not make such a claim if we weren’t prepared to back it up. Isn’t that right, Mister Chekov?”
Chekov grinned. “Aye, Captain. Beyond a doubt.”
“Hold on,” Akton said. “You said both rifles are of Klingon manufacture? Ours and theirs?”
“No.” Zavetta shook her head. “That can’t be true.”
“I’m afraid so,” Kirk said. “The Klingons have been surreptitiously providing both sides with arms and other resources, the better to prolong your war and destabilize your world. A divided Voyzr is a weaker, more vulnerable Voyzr, and one far less likely to join the Federation should you ever care to do so at some point in the future.” His voice grew more somber. “Make no mistake. The Klingons didn’t create your war, let alone the deep divisions that led to it; those are indeed Voyzr’s problems to deal with. But they have taken advantage of the conflict, stoking your respective war machines to create ever more carnage, casualties, and hostility.”
Chekov looked on in admiration as his captain swept a steely gaze over the abashed commanders. Kirk wasn’t pulling any punches.
“So the question is, General, Marshal: How much longer are you going to let them get away with it?”
Two
Personal log, Commander Pavel Chekov, Stardate 8676.3: When I last visited Voyzr, as a green young ensign, the planet was in the grip of a bitter civil war. Now, twenty years later, a united Voyzr is celebrating two decades of peace, and the Enterprise-A is en route back to the planet to take part in the twentieth-anniversary festivities, including the opening of the Federation’s first official embassy there, at the personal invitation of former Field Marshal Zavetta, who is now the current chief executive or regnant of the planet. She is expected to personally attend the embassy opening, which I anticipate will be rather more hospitable than that besieged control room so many years ago.
A medical emergency, however, threatens to delay our arrival…
“What can you tell us about this pandemic on Tykona, Bones?”
Chekov listened intently, taking notes on a data slate, as Kirk held a meeting of senior officers in the ship’s primary conference room, while Mister Scott held down the fort on the bridge. Also in attendance were Spock, McCoy, Sulu, Uhura, and a new yeoman whose name Chekov couldn’t immediately recall. Was it just him or were the yeomen really getting younger every year? The former, no doubt.
“They’ve had a nasty outbreak of Empusan Fever on Tykona’s northeast continent,” McCoy explained, “which they’re ill-equipped to deal with. Fortunately, the Federation has some newly developed medicines and technology that should make a difference there. We just need to deliver them, stat.”
Chekov mentally reviewed what he knew of Tykona, a fiercely independent world with a somewhat prickly relationship with the Federation. Colonized generations ago by refugees from a far-off planetary disaster, the now-thriving world had since become a haven for both genuine refugees (who provided most of the planet’s workforce) as well as wealthy exiles fleeing political reversals, wanted criminals, interstellar fugitives, and such. Portions of the planet were purported to have become glitzy urban playgrounds for the upper crust: luxury hotels, seaside resorts, theme parks, and so on. Tykona notably had no extradition treaty with the UFP or any other galactic powers, nor any formal relationship with the UFP.
“It’s unusual for Tykona to request the Federation’s assistance, isn’t it?” Chekov asked.
McCoy shrugged. “A plague is a plague, I guess. And I like to think that Starfleet isn’t going to let politics get the way of providing humanitarian aid during a major health crisis. Not when there’s something we can do to help.”
“Quite so,” Kirk agreed. “I am concerned, however, about how this detour might affect our mission to Voyzr. Not that a genuine medical emergency doesn’t take priority over an embassy opening, but this diplomatic breakthrough has been decades in the making and could be the first step to Voyzr ultimately joining the Federation someday. Plus, the regnant did invite the Enterprise and its crew specifically.”
That was because of Kirk’s historic role in bringing peace to the planet, Chekov knew. He flattered himself that he and Sulu and the others had played some small part in that long-ago turning point as well. Chekov briefly regretted that Brenda Cassidy would not be joining them for the festivities on Voyzr, but she had retired from Starfleet years ago. Last he’d heard, she was breeding pedigreed sand bats on an agricultural colony in the Manark system.
“It shouldn’t take too long once we get to Tykona,” McCoy said. “Just a day or two to instruct the planet’s public-health officials on how to properly administer the treatment, then we can be on our way again.”
“What about transit time?” Kirk asked. “To and from Tykona?”
Sulu started to open his mouth, but Spock answered first. “By my calculations, there should be sufficient time to detour to Tykona and still arrive at Voyzr in time, assuming there are no additional delays.”
“Definitely,” Sulu confirmed. “We’re going to be calling it a little closer than before, but we have some wiggle room. Not a lot, though, so I recommend increasing speed from warp six to warp seven, at least once we leave Tykona.”
Kirk nodded. “Or maybe even before then. Let me consult with Scotty on just how far we should push the engines to complete both missions in a timely fashion.” He turned to Uhura. “Once we adjourn, inform Voyzr of our side trip to Tykona. Assure them that we’re still on track for the celebration roughly two standard weeks from now.”
“Aye, sir,” she said. “I’ll transmit a message via subspace relays.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Kirk settled back into his seat. “So, it’s settled then. Tykona first, then on to Voyzr with all due speed.”
Chekov leaned back in his seat as old memories resurfaced, shaking off the dust of time: a cramped control room. Sizzling energy blasts. A devilishly tricky control panel…
“Voyzr again,” he said. “Hard to believe that it’s been nearly twenty years since that mission.”
A lot had changed since then. That pioneering five-year mission had passed into history. Spock had died and been reborn, and the original Enterprise had gone down in flames, only to be replaced by a brand-new ship. On a personal level, he’d moved onto the Reliant for a time, during the ill-fated Genesis mission, only to wind up back where he belonged, here on the Enterprise. Well, an Enterprise, anyway.
“And that it’s taken all this time to finally get an embassy there,” Sulu said. “Even after we intervened way back when.”
“These things take time,” Kirk said. “The Voyzr needed to get their own house in order before they could focus on interstellar relations. Generations of strife and division can’t be swept aside overnight; indeed, I gather the peace process provoked at least one failed coup attempt on the part of die-hard war hawks not long after we departed Voyzr the first time around.” He shook his head sadly. “When war is all you’ve ever known, peace can be an alarming prospect, I suppose.”
“Illogical,” Spock observed, “but true nonetheless.”
“More’s the pity,” McCoy said. “You’d think we’d have learned better by now.”
“Every civilization must evolve at its own pace, Doctor,” Spock said. “In its own time.”
Hence the Prime Directive, Chekov thought. As frustrating as that can be sometimes.
“As for the embassy,” Kirk said, “my understanding is that the optics there were dicey for a long time. Given the way the Klingons and, yes, the Enterprise stuck their noses into Voyzr’s affairs before, it was not politic for the new ruling coalition to embrace otherworldly alliances too eagerly. It was only a generation ago, after all, that the Voyzr fought a war over the pros and cons of a global government; establishing closer ties with an interstellar Federation was not a controversy that Voyzr was eager to ignite, not in those fragile early years of peace and reconciliation.” Kirk paused to take a sip of coffee before continuing. “Meanwhile, the Federation adopted a wait-and-see attitude toward Voyzr, preferring to let matters there stabilize before moving too quickly to cement relations with the planet and its government.”
“A prudent approach,” Spock said. “There was no guarantee that the peace might not collapse and Voyzr fall back into conflict or disorder. As with that attempted coup you referenced before.”
“Not to mention a certain hostage crisis earlier,” McCoy added. “Can’t really blame the higher-ups at the UFP for wanting to maintain a discreet distance from Voyzr after that whole mess. Bound to be some lingering hard feelings there.”
Chekov recalled that McCoy had been the one to treat the traumatized hostages after they were rescued. Small wonder he’d still be acutely conscious of the human consequences of that incident.
“Indeed,” Kirk said. “All the more reason that the Voyzr are to be congratulated for making their hard-earned peace stick for close to two decades now. And past time to let bygones be bygones.”
“Well, I’ll take a gala celebration over a hostage crisis any day,” Sulu said, grinning. “If nothing else, this excursion to Voyzr is bound to be less tumultuous than our last visit there.”
Don’t jinx us, Chekov thought, his Slavic temperament asserting itself. “One can only hope.”
“Speaking of which, Mister Chekov,” Kirk addressed him. “Where do we stand regarding security at the embassy opening?”
“Erring heavily toward caution, Captain. Given the planet’s history.”
As the ship’s security chief, Chekov was determined that nothing go wrong on this vital goodwill mission. With the civil war still in living memory, it was inevitable that some festering tensions and divisions remained, so security needed to be tight, just in case. The big anniversary celebration, including the return of Captain Kirk and the Enterprise, had been long planned and announced, which meant that, for better or for worse, any would-be troublemakers had had plenty of time to hatch their plans.
“The authorities on Voyzr are claiming the lead on security issues, naturally, and are taking every precaution to lock down the embassy, the capital, and the planet itself during the festivities. Planetary defenses will be on high alert, watching for any unauthorized spacecraft, beam-downs, and shuttles. Traffic to and from high-value targets, most notably the new embassy, will be monitored closely. VIP guest lists and press credentials will be scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb, and armed security officers, including the regnant’s personal bodyguards, will be on hand to keep watch over the proceedings, in conjunction with the embassy’s own security staff.”
Kirk nodded. “And on our end?”
“I am already in touch with both the Voyzr and Federation officials managing security for the event,” Chekov reported, “and expect such communications to increase as we draw nearer to Voyzr, physically and chronologically. Rest assured, Captain, I fully intend to keep my eyes out for any potential security breaches… or worse.” He cracked a smile. “No assassins, saboteurs, or suspicious stowaways will be tagging along on my watch.”
“Good to know,” Kirk said. “Keep me informed of any issues that may arise.”
“Absolutely, sir. You can count on me.”
Three
“So, any big plans for shore leave?”
Nurse Simone Tovar, only recently assigned to the Enterprise, chatted with Chekov in sickbay as she prepared to vaccinate him against Empusan Fever in preparation for the ship’s imminent arrival at Tykona. Since their mission to the planet was primarily Doctor McCoy’s show, the captain had offered shore leave to crew members whose services were not required by the medical stopover, including members of the bridge crew. Given all the crew had been through since their last shore leave on Arcadia Zenith more than a month ago, Kirk’s offer had been widely appreciated.
“Nothing in particular.” Chekov sat atop a biobed in the sterile examining room, his legs dangling over the edge. “Sulu and I are probably going to check out the sights in Yoshpur City. There are supposed to be some nice restaurants, night spots, and recreational activities by the waterfront. Not to mention some ambulatory coral reefs just offshore.”
“So I hear.” She approached with a hypospray, which she pressed against his jugular. Chekov tensed involuntarily; over the course of his Starfleet career, he’d had more than his fair share of unwanted trips to the sickbay. “Relax,” she assured him. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Sure enough, however, only a slight tingling sensation accompanied the distinctive hiss of the hypospray. He had to admit that the devices were much improved since his early days in Starfleet, when the tingle was closer to a sting. He resisted the temptation to gingerly touch the injection site anyway. He wouldn’t want the nurse to think he was too phobic about such things.
Especially when that nurse was Simone Tovar.
Truth be told, he’d been hoping Tovar would be on duty when he reported for his mandated booster shot. A statuesque brunette with lustrous black hair and striking dark eyes and lashes, roughly Chekov’s own age, she had caught his attention almost as soon as she had boarded the ship a few weeks ago, although he hadn’t had much of a chance to make her acquaintance until now.
“There now,” she teased. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Perfectly painless, as promised. Clearly I am in good hands.”
“We aim to please. Now lie down while I look over your vital signs, just to see if you can expect any side effects. A routine precaution.”
“Certainly.”
He stretched out on the biobed, determined to be nothing less than cooperative, while she studied the diagnostic display screen mounted on the bulkhead behind the bed. A crisp white uniform, adorned with a caduceus emblem in lieu of a Starfleet delta, flattered her figure. Matching earrings displayed red crosses against a white background, which Chekov recognized as a vintage medical symbol from Earth’s history. Exchanging the hypospray for a data slate, she compared the readings on the screen to whatever was displayed on the slate.
“Any wooziness? Light-headedness?” she asked. “Chills? Muscle spasms?”
“None of the above,” he reported, although part of him almost regretted that some trivial symptom wouldn’t require him to linger longer in sickbay, under Nurse Tovar’s tender care. “Everything in order?”
“So it seems.” Her gaze shifted between the slate and the display screen. “All readings conform with your baseline vitals, taken at your last physical.”
“Which is a good thing, I assume?”
“Not to worry,” she said, smiling. “You’re fit as a fiddle as far as I can tell.” She scrolled through the records on her slate. “I must say, though, you have quite the ‘colorful’ medical history. Just in the last decade-plus alone, you’ve been zapped by an alien probe, mind-controlled by a parasitic eel, and required emergency brain surgery… in the twentieth century no less!”
She shook her head in amazement.
“All in the line of duty.” He wondered, hopefully, if he should be encouraged that she had been motivated to take a closer look at his file, or was she just being thorough? Enjoying her attention, he was grateful that, being assigned to sickbay, she was not directly under his command, thereby avoiding any impropriety should he attempt to pursue his attraction to her, provided she was interested. “Never know what you’re going to run into out on the frontier.”
“No doubt.” She switched off the monitor and indicated that he could sit up now. “Frankly, I’m impressed that you’re as fit as you are, considering your exploits.”
“I owe it all to clean living,” he joked, “and the medicinal benefits of fine Russian vodka, of course.”
“Da, tovarich,” she answered, a smirk lifting her lips. “But not too clean, I hope.”
Was she flirting with him, or was that just wishful thinking on his part? It had been a while since he had tried his luck romantically. A long-distance romance with a roving holo-journalist had eventually run its course months ago, not long after he returned to Earth following the Genesis affair, while a weekend fling on Argelius had blazed brightly but all too briefly. As far as he knew, Simone Tovar was also single at present. Were his rusty sensors indeed picking up some genuine chemistry between them?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought. “I don’t suppose you have plans for shore leave?”
Sulu would surely forgive him for seizing an opportunity to get to know Tovar better.
“I wish! But I’m going to be busy assisting Doctor McCoy on Tykona. No shore leave for me, I’m afraid.”
“Of course. I should have realized.” He hastily charted a new course. “But after Tykona, what is your social calendar like, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all,” she replied, to his vast relief. “Barring any unexpected Romulan attacks or exotic viral outbreaks, I should have some off-duty hours up for grabs.” She treated him to a welcoming smile. “Doctor McCoy may play the curmudgeon sometimes, but he’s no slave driver.”
Chekov was glad that the diagnostic monitor couldn’t betray his rush of excitement. That she had not immediately raised her shields emboldened him, suggesting that perhaps he wasn’t entirely misreading her flirty bedside manner.
