Identity theft, p.23
Identity Theft, page 23
Ryjo’s throat tightened. Had Tovar and the others been beamed away in time, or were they also headed back to the bottom of this hellish sea? If they had even survived the shuttlecraft’s collapse.
“Enterprise!” he hollered. “Please tell me you’ve got them!”
A tingling sensation washed over him as a transporter beam cut off his pleas by breaking him down into atoms.
* * *
“Captain!” Spock said urgently. “Wexx’s internal pressures have peaked. The super-eruption is almost upon us.”
“Damn it.” Kirk pounded a fist into his palm. Had they run out of time after all, and with their shields down no less? He stabbed the intercom button on his armrest. “Scotty! Do you have them?”
The engineer replied from the transporter room, where he was personally operating the control console. “Everyone from Copernicus is safe, Captain. Locking onto Chekov as we speak.”
Kirk exchanged a worried look with Spock, whose furrowed brow and grave demeanor fully conveyed the extremity of the moment. The danger was not lost on the rest of the bridge crew as well; Kirk could virtually feel the tension in the air. Uhura had a hand to her earpiece, listening intently. Miller wiped perspiration from his brow while muttering darkly in Pennsylvania Dutch. Novak’s hand hovered over the shield controls. Everyone in earshot knew just how close they were calling it.
“Scotty?” Kirk asked.
“Chekov aboard, Captain. A bit muddy, but—”
That was all Kirk needed to hear.
“Raise shields!” he ordered. “Get us out of here. Full impulse!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Miller and Novak said, almost in unison.
The ship took off at a steep angle that tested the ship’s inertial dampers, climbing out of the atmosphere through sulfurous yellow skies that quickly thinned. Pressed into the back of his chair by the sudden acceleration, Kirk peered anxiously at the viewscreen, seeking the welcome vacuum of space. If they could just leave the self-destructing moon behind before—
“Wexx is erupting,” Spock said loudly. “All hands, brace for impact.”
A titanic roar, exceeding the detonation of Earth’s legendary Krakatoa in volume, accompanied a shock wave that struck the Enterprise with a force many orders of magnitude beyond the volcanic plume that rattled the ship earlier. The bridge tilted upward to an almost ninety-degree angle before righting itself. Lights flickered and warning klaxons sounded. A standing yeoman, who had not had time to secure herself, slammed into the protective rail around the command pit and tumbled over it, even as the moon-shaking blast hurled the Enterprise out and away from Wexx.
Or whatever was left of it.
Twenty-Nine
“The sheer quantity of ash, smoke, and other particulates produced by the super-eruption pose an even more formidable challenge to our long-range sensors,” Spock reported, “but by my estimates, approximately 3,450 cubic kilometers of materials were ejected during the event, and the climactic blast was on the order of more than one million megatons.”
Kirk listened to Spock’s summary in the Enterprise’s main briefing room, where they were meeting with the rescued Yarfites. Also in attendance was Ensign Welles, filling in for Yeoman Munro, who was currently resting in sickbay after her nasty tumble on the bridge during their narrow escape from Wexx. Doctor McCoy, happily back where he belonged, had assured Kirk that she would make a full recovery. Meanwhile, Kirk’s own ankle was starting to feel better as well.
“So you’re saying there’s little chance the Stellar Gale might have survived?”
Fressa, her injured arm in a fresh, more lightweight sling, looked stricken by this assessment. Along with her two companions, she had been provided with clean coveralls tailored to fit Yarfite proportions. Kirk had also tactfully arranged to have levitating seats on hand so the short-statured rescuees could sit comfortably at the conference table without any loss of dignity, just as he had the last time the Enterprise had hosted a delegation of Ithenites.
“That would be extremely unlikely,” Spock said. “If the wreck in question had indeed rested somewhere on Wexx, perhaps at the bottom of the sea, it is almost surely lost now. A pity; it would have been a find of significant historical interest.”
“That’s it then.” Fressa’s jowly face fell. She fumbled plaintively with her vaporizer, which Kirk had strictly forbidden her from using anywhere except in the privacy of her guest quarters. “We’ve lost our ship and the treasure.”
“But we still have our lives,” Dipelly reminded her. She had shed her neck brace after receiving a follow-up examination aboard the ship. “Once again, Captain, we’re very grateful for that and deeply regret the loss of your shuttlecraft.”
Fressa eyed Kirk worriedly. “Er, we’re not going to be billed for that, are we?”
“Not to worry,” Kirk said. “We don’t charge for saving lives.”
Starfleet Command wasn’t going to be pleased at having to replace Copernicus again, only a couple of years after the Sybok affair, and Kirk didn’t like being short-handed in terms of shuttlecrafts, but this was simply the cost of business as far as he was concerned. They had a duty to respond to distress signals and render whatever necessary aid they could, even if that meant sacrificing some valuable hardware once in a while.
“That’s very good of you,” Fressa said, visibly relieved. “Please don’t think me ungrateful, Captain. We wouldn’t be here if not for you and your valiant crew.”
“We’re happy to have been of assistance,” Kirk said. “I’m just sorry we couldn’t salvage your ship as well.”
Chances were, the Whilom was nothing but a smoking crater now, or else buried beneath tons of molten lava. Not that, according to the landing party, it was ever going to fly again anyway.
“But what’s to become of us now,” Bwoj fretted, wringing his paws. “Where are we to go?”
Good question, Kirk thought, which was one of the reasons he’d convened this meeting. “As it happens, we’re due at Voyzr shortly. Our schedule is tight”—too much so, after their extended detour to Wexx—“so there’s no time for any additional stops or side trips along the way, which means you’re our guests until we reach Voyzr, at which point you can disembark there, or we can drop you off at the nearest starbase after we’ve concluded our business on Voyzr. If you’re in need of further shelter or transportation, there are staff and facilities at most starbases that can help you get back on your feet again and safely back to Yarfa.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Fressa said, “but that won’t be necessary. We’re not entirely destitute. I still have favors I can call in, contacts throughout the sector, and untapped resources put aside for emergencies. Just get us to Voyzr and we’ll be back in business in no time.” She turned to Dipelly. “Isn’t that so?”
“Absolutely, Skipper. In fact, I’ve been thinking. Remember that junked Izarian freighter a certain former business associate was hawking in Asteroid City not too long ago? As I recall, that could probably be made spaceworthy again without spending too many credits, or maybe we could cut a deal to get any vital parts or repairs in exchange for just a modest slice of the proceeds of our next expedition, whatever that might be.”
“About that,” Kirk said, both amused and curious, “what do you have in mind now that the Stellar Gale is presumably lost for good? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Well…” Bwoj glanced around, his gaze lighting briefly on Ensign Welles and a potted fern in the corner before lowering his voice. “You ever heard of the Lost Scepter of Null-Zero?” Canine eyes gleamed with excitement as he hurried on without waiting for a reply. “Story goes that, roughly five centuries ago, a notorious master thief heisted a priceless relic from the hidden burial vault of a proto-Nausicaan priest-king. The thief, known only as ‘the Primrose Phantasm,’ was reportedly captured and executed by a royal death squad or a rival cult of interplanetary freebooters, depending on which account you choose to believe, but the Scepter was never recovered. Legends persist that she hid it in somewhere in the Yannah Belt, but I’ve long wondered if perhaps that was deliberate misdirection, and she actually stowed it in the last place anyone would ever expect.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I take it your recent mishaps have not discouraged your zeal for such quixotic ventures. Nor persuaded you to take up less hazardous pursuits?”
“You underestimate the thrill of the quest.” Fressa chortled, her chops quivering. “Treasure-hunting is in our blood, Mister Spock. It’s what keeps our hearts pumping.”
“Even when it nearly stopped those hearts permanently?”
“No risk, no reward, I always say.”
“And that goes for all of you?” Kirk asked. “No offense, Mister Bwoj, but my understanding is that you appeared rather disenchanted with treasure-hunting while trapped on Wexx.”
“That was before you saved us,” Bwoj replied. “True, I may have expressed some misgivings before, but I was under severe emotional duress. Now that the crisis is past, I can think more clearly, and I’m convinced that the Scepter is out there, just waiting to be found on—”
He caught himself before saying too much.
“Fascinating,” Spock said, bemused.
“Well, we wish you luck in all your future endeavors,” Kirk said, “and I couldn’t be more pleased that all concerned have been recovered from Wexx without serious loss of life or limb. A most satisfactory outcome.”
“Very much so.” Dipelly glanced around the briefing room. “Speaking of which, Captain, where are Commander Chekov and the others? I was hoping to thank them again now that we’ve all had a chance to recover from our ordeal.”
“I’m sure you’ll have your chance on the way to Voyzr,” Kirk said. “At the moment, however, I believe they’re enjoying some well-deserved rest and recreation.”
* * *
“To the Copernicus. May she rest in peace.”
Glasses clinked as Ryjo, Tovar, and Sulu toasted the deceased shuttlecraft that had briefly sheltered them from the volcanic furies of Wexx. They shared a table on the fringes of the Enterprise’s impressive botanical garden, which boasted an abundance of lush, multicolored flora from all across the quadrant. Panoramic viewports offered a view of distant stars, while an artificial breeze wafted gentle fragrances along the many leafy paths winding through the garden. A freshwater stream fully stocked with a wide variety of tropical fish gurgled softly in the background. A convenient snack bar provided both drinks and refreshments. A pleasant change, Ryjo had to admit, from the hellish moonscape they had just escaped. Starfleet certainly took good care of its people.
“A shame the good doctor couldn’t join us.” He sipped on a White Russian for the sake of his cover. Disturbingly, he was starting to develop a taste for them. “I gather he’s busy tending to all the crew members who got knocked about by the shock wave?”
Ryjo himself had been thrown from the transporter pad almost immediately upon being beamed back to the Enterprise. For a few moments there, he thought he’d been rescued just in time to go down with another ship.
“So he says.” Tovar put down the Finagle’s Folly she’d promised herself before. The dark green beverage was said to pack quite a punch. “But if you ask me, he’s just delighted to be back home in sickbay. Not that he’d ever admit it.”
“At least he cut you loose to unwind a little.” Sulu treated himself to a Risan mai tai, garnished with fresh fruit. “Despite all the bumps and bruises filling sickbay.”
“Nothing he can’t handle with an assist from the beta and gamma shift nurses,” Tovar said. “And after what we went through on that rescue mission, he can hardly begrudge me some much-needed down time. He’s a doctor, not an ogre.”
“We can all use a break,” Sulu said. “I don’t know about you two, but I feel a lot more human now that I’ve had a warm meal, a sonic shower, and a good night’s sleep.”
“I know what you mean,” Ryjo said, although “feeling human” was still not a phrase that sat comfortably with him, even if it did technically apply at present. But not for too much longer.
Their fellow crew members—no, he corrected himself, Sulu’s and Tovar’s fellow crew members—were also milling about in the garden this afternoon. Many of them swung by to congratulate the trio on their death-defying escape and express relief at their continued well-being. The warmth and sincerity of their sentiments were hard to resist. Ryjo caught himself basking in the camaraderie, envying Chekov the tight bonds between Kirk’s people.
Too bad he had to betray them…
“Sure you don’t want a sip?” Tovar offered him a taste of her Folly. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Well, if you insist.”
Careful, he thought. He had to keep his wits about him, especially in front of Sulu and where Tovar was concerned. Now that they’d escaped from Wexx, he needed to focus on his mission once more. Then again, he didn’t want to appear suspiciously antisocial. Staying in character required a certain degree of congeniality.
The drink had a definite kick to it, leavened by a sweet, spicy flavor he couldn’t quite place. He could all too easily see it loosening his tongue, dangerously so, if he overindulged.
“Very nice.” He pulled back, withdrawing his lips from the edge of the glass she was holding out to him. “As I understand it, Finagle was actually born in a Russian colony on Grushenka V…”
“Is that so?” Sulu chuckled. “Next you’ll be insisting that Finagle is actually short for Fingalski.”
“Da. That goes without saying.”
The overhead lights began to dim, simulating twilight according to the ship’s internal clock. Artificial moonlight began to filter down from above. Tovar polished off her drink and rose to her feet. She smiled down at Ryjo and held out her hand.
“You know, it occurs to me that somebody still owes me a moonlit walk in the garden.” She glanced at Sulu. “If you don’t mind us leaving you to your own devices, Hikaru.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” He winked at Chekov as he leaned back in his chair, nursing his drink. “I’m fine where I am. Enjoy.”
Just my luck, Ryjo thought. Sulu knows how to take a hint.
Now what was he supposed to do?
Not that he wasn’t tempted to enjoy a romantic stroll—or more—with Simone Tovar. She was quite appealing for a human, and he was undeniably drawn to her, all the more so after their shared brush with death on Wexx. What’s more, his own future was growing shorter the closer they got to Voyzr and the fatal culmination of his mission. This might very well be his last chance to enjoy a woman’s tender embrace. Why shouldn’t he seize the opportunity before it was too late?
On the other hand, all his earlier reasons for keeping Tovar at arm’s length still applied. The closer he got to her, the greater the risk that she might see through his cover, endangering his mission. This undercover routine was tricky enough without trying to finesse a love affair on top of everything else. Plus, honestly, it didn’t feel right to romance Tovar under false pretenses. Assassinating an enemy leader for the sake of the cause was one thing; toying with Simone’s affections, setting her up for even greater heartbreak down the road, was something else altogether. He was an undercover operative, not a monster.
He couldn’t do that to her.
“Can I get a rain check on that?” He declined to take her hand, knowing full well just how badly this would go over. “I’m still feeling rather beat and that last drink has gone to my head. I think I’ll turn in early if that’s all right by you.”
Her stunned expression stabbed him in the heart. Her face hardened as hurt ignited into anger.
“Unbelievable! Just when I thought that we were finally… Tell you what, Commander, I’ve had quite enough of your mixed signals. Thanks for saving our lives and all, but don’t come looking for me the next time you decide to run hot instead of cold. I’m through.”
She turned and walked away.
“Are you kidding?” Sulu stared at him, aghast. “I mean, you know I have your back no matter what, but what the hell is wrong with you?”
Ryjo sighed.
“Trust me. It’s better this way.”
Thirty
You shudder as the eel wriggles its way up your cheek, leaving a slimy trail on your skin. It’s inside your helmet with nowhere to go except into your brain. You want to rip the helmet off and yank the pincered creature away from your face, but Khan’s people won’t let you. You can only suffer, your heart pounding in fear, as the eel burrows into your ear…
* * *
A chime brought Ryjo back to the present and himself. Starting, he woke to find himself at his desk in Chekov’s quarters, where he must have dozed off while reviewing the latest updates on the security arrangements for the embassy opening. No surprise there; he hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
Can’t imagine why, he thought. Given what lies ahead for me.
Trying to shake the ghastly dream/memory from his mind, he reached out and responded to the chime. “Chekov here.”
Uhura’s face appeared on the screen of his desktop computer monitor.
“Sorry to disturb you, Chekov, but we’re approaching Voyzr.”
“Thank you, Uhura. I will be ready.”
Signing off, he took a moment to gird himself for what was to come and recover from that all-too-vivid flashback to Chekov’s harrowing ordeal on Ceti Alpha V. That Chekov’s memories were already starting to filter into his own dreams was not a good sign. Doctor Morval had assured him that he would have time to complete his mission before the transference reversed itself, but perhaps she had miscalculated; this was an experimental technique after all. They might be calling it closer than anticipated.
Good thing we’re finally arriving at Voyzr, just in time.
Against all odds, his mission was finally near completion, provoking a complicated mix of emotions. He felt excited, resigned, anxious, and relieved all at once. On the one hand, he was about to strike a great blow in his father’s memory, despite the universe’s best efforts to derail him. On the other hand, he was about to die a murderer…
