A contest of principles, p.28
A Contest of Principles, page 28
Spock did not relish hypothesizing about McCoy being killed, but the possibility could not be discounted. Who knew how far the kidnappers might go to avoid being exposed, particularly if Ozalor’s royal family was in danger of being implicated?
“Do you wish that on your conscience, Mister Colc?”
“That’s not fair, Spock! Since when do Vulcans resort to emotional blackmail?”
“To the contrary, I am simply pointing out the logical consequences of alerting McCoy’s kidnappers to our efforts before we have safely recovered him. If you reveal in advance that we are aware of Rayob’s possible involvement in the scheme, then you might as well warn the kidnappers that we are heading to Ozalor in search of McCoy.”
The ensuing pause lasted long enough that Spock checked to make sure the connection had not been lost. Indicator lights confirmed that the transmission was still operational, even if it was growing weaker as Copernicus neared the outer borders of the solar system.
“All right, Spock,” the reporter said finally. “You win… for the time being. I’ll give you the chance to confirm that McCoy is on Ozalor, but understand that I’m not going to sit on this story indefinitely.”
“Acknowledged,” Spock said. “I can hardly expect you to.”
The lag between their exchanges was now at least three seconds long. Static impaired communication, and Spock was forced to boost the signal simply to respond.
“We are exiting communication range,” he informed Colc. “We will contact you again on this frequency after the completion of our mission.”
“If you complete your mission,” Colc said, his voice fading out. “And don’t forget, you still owe me that interview with V’sta—”
Any further words were lost to static.
Levine looked at Spock from the helm of the shuttlecraft. “Do you want me to turn back so you can try to pick up the signal again?”
“That will not be necessary, Lieutenant.” Spock switched off the speaker, his business with Colc concluded for the present. “Continue on course to Ozalor.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Copernicus left Braco’s system behind, accelerating across the void toward Ozalor. The shuttlecraft crossed the dark alone; on Spock’s orders, Galileo was headed back to the Enterprise to report on the status of the search. Spock judged it imperative that Captain Kirk be made aware of recent developments. If Copernicus and its crew did disappear, along with McCoy, at least Kirk would know where and why.
“That reporter was right about one thing,” Levine said. “We can’t expect Ozalor to roll out the red carpet for us. What are we going to do when we get there?”
Spock consulted the astrogator.
“By my calculations, we have approximately forty-five hours to figure that out.”
Thirty-Three
Vok
Kirk was impressed by the turnout.
It was election eve and throngs of Vokites were already lining up by the hundreds to vote in the state-of-the-art polling center now occupying a vast public square in the middle of the capital city. Floodlights mounted to the surrounding buildings illuminated the crowded plaza. Harmless red laser beams cordoned the teeming voters into discrete lines that wound back and forth in front of rows of voting booths waiting to be activated at dawn. Tanaka had demonstrated the voting process to Kirk the day before, during a final round of inspections. Fully automated, the two-step procedure first confirmed the voter’s identity via a genetic scan before admitting each individual, one at a time, into a private booth whose tinted walls protected the secrecy of their vote, which was transmitted directly to the master satellite orbiting high above Vok via secure emitters built into the roof of each booth. The voter then exited out the back of the booth, freeing it up for the next citizen. This particular center featured roughly four dozen booths; similar complexes had been set up all across the planet.
“Looks like a busy day ahead,” Kirk observed.
“You can say that again,” Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu said. “Haven’t seen lines like this since the Narzan Combo’s farewell concert.”
Their vantage point was an empty marble pedestal that had once belonged to a toppled statue of a hero of the old regime. Roughly two meters tall, the pedestal offered the two men an elevated view of the proceedings. Kirk had drafted Sulu to oversee operations at this site; with the Enterprise locked in a standard orbit overhead, no fancy piloting was required, so Kirk had judged Sulu’s talents were better put to use on the planet’s surface for the duration of the election. Beyond being a first-rate helmsman, Sulu’s natural leadership abilities made him one to watch—and rely on.
“They’ve been waiting a generation to be heard,” Kirk said. “Small wonder they’ve been queuing up for hours, even though the polls don’t open until sunrise.”
Sulu surveyed the crowd. “What do you think, Captain? Should we anticipate trouble?”
“Nothing we can’t handle, I hope.”
Given the rising tensions engendered by the election, and particularly after the tumultuous events triggered by the staged assassination attempt, Kirk was taking no chances. Both Starfleet security and Vokite peace officers were out in force. Every building overlooking the plaza was on lockdown for the next twenty-two hours, which was the length of a Vokite day. Marksmen equipped with phaser rifles were stationed on rooftops and balconies just in case things got hairy. Kirk hoped they wouldn’t be needed, that Election Day would not be marred by violence, but better safe than sorry. Borrowing a compact pair of Starfleet-issue binoculars from Sulu, Kirk glanced up at a fifth-floor balcony across the way, where he spied Chekov carefully keeping watch over the square. The high-powered phaser rifle gripped by the vigilant young Russian was possibly overkill, but part of Kirk still worried that such strenuous measures might not be enough. Even with his security teams supplemented by the likes of Sulu and Chekov, a single starship could not police an entire planet.
If only, he thought.
Speaking of police, it occurred to him that he had no idea where Sergeant Myp was stationed at present, since it had been some time since they had last touched base. He could only assume that wherever on Vok she was this election eve, she had her hands full, as did Tanaka, whom Kirk had last seen fussing over some last-minute computer run-throughs. Kirk suspected they were all going to need plenty of coffee before this contest was decided.
“FRAUD ELECTION! FRAUD CANDIDATE!”
Loud chanting disturbed the cool spring night. Turning the binoculars toward the clamor, Kirk spotted a group of troublemakers raising a ruckus in line. Telltale silver epaulets marked them as Gogg supporters, as if their bellicose slogans didn’t make that clear.
“PRUP IS A PUPPET! PRUP IS A PUPPET!”
Sulu gave Kirk a worried look. “Captain?”
Kirk debated his options. The chanters’ obstreperous display was surely making the other voters in line uncomfortable and approached active intimidation, but intervening too aggressively might ignite an even more serious disturbance. This warranted judicious handling lest he make a volatile situation worse. He removed a handheld loudspeaker from his belt.
Figured I was going to need this.
“Attention,” he addressed the assembled voters. “I’m going to have to ask some of you to be less vocal when it comes to expressing your views. I realize many of you have strong opinions about this election, but this is neither the time nor the place for rallies and demonstrations. Please be considerate of your fellow citizens and keep your voices down.”
“You can’t silence us, Starfleet!” another Gogg partisan shouted back only a few meters away. “Mind your own filthy Federation business!” He started up another chant: “Ceff surrendered! Gogg won! Ceff surrendered! Gogg won!”
His cohorts took up the chant, even louder than the other group.
“CEFF SURRENDERED! GOGG WON!”
“Pipe down!” Kirk adopted a sterner tone. “You’re all here to vote in the morning. I don’t want to have to remove anyone from the line, but I’m not going to allow anyone to create a disturbance. Am I understood?”
“Understand this!”
The same loudmouth reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a translucent globe similar to the one thrown at the force field at Doctor Ceff’s rally. Kirk had since learned that this was in fact a commonplace agricultural product used to fertilize fields. He drew back his arm as though to hurl it at Kirk—who didn’t give him a chance.
You just crossed the line, mister.
Kirk drew his personal phaser. An azure beam stunned the would-be globe thrower with pinpoint accuracy. He slumped against his cohorts, who barely caught him in time to keep him from crashing to the tiled floor of the plaza. The fertilizer globe slipped from his fingers to splatter against his boots. Gasps erupted from startled Vokites on both sides of the electoral divide.
“Like I said, no disturbances.” Kirk seized the opportunity to lay down the law. “If you’re here to exercise your lawful right to vote, that’s one thing, but if you’re here to cause trouble and discourage your fellow citizens from voting, think again. We’re not going to tolerate that. No exceptions.”
His stern words drew some dirty looks and grumbling, but no one seemed inclined to test his patience any further. The stunned Vokite remained propped up by his allies, who tried to rouse him.
Give it an hour or so, Kirk thought. Chances are, he’ll regain consciousness in time to vote. Here’s hoping he has a better attitude by then.
Sulu whistled in appreciation. “I think they got the message, sir.”
“Time will tell.” Kirk lowered his weapon. He wondered if he should wait a bit longer before beaming back to the Enterprise to monitor the global situation from the bridge. He had wanted to get a firsthand look at the situation on the ground, and had gotten an eyeful, but he still hoped to leave this particular site under Sulu’s watch. He was needed elsewhere as well. “You’ve got this under control, Lieutenant?”
“As much as it can be, Captain,” Sulu said honestly. “Hard to say how long your lesson will linger with this crowd, considering the—”
Shouts of alarm, coming from the far end of the plaza, cut Sulu off. Crashing noises, along with the roar of a powerful engine, alerted Kirk to the source of the commotion: a speeding hover truck that had just smashed through the traffic barricades at an entrance to the square and was now accelerating toward the lines of voters and the polling booths beyond. Panicked citizens scrambled to get out of the vehicle’s way. Security officers shouted at the unseen driver, but the truck kept on coming.
It’s not out of control, Kirk assumed. It’s heading for the voters on purpose.
Phaser beams targeted the vehicle, although the frantic crowd surely obstructed the officers’ line of fire, whether they were on the ground or overlooking the scene from above. Crimson beams strafed the truck’s exterior, burning holes through its roof and hood, but failed to halt its momentum as it dipped onto the floor of the spacious plaza, tearing up the tiles as it barreled forward, a tinted windshield obscuring any glimpses of the driver, assuming the vehicle even had one; for all Kirk knew, the truck could be self-driving or operated by remote control.
Neatly organized queues dissolved into chaos as terrified Vokites scattered, ignoring the incandescent red cordons in order to keep from being run over by the oncoming truck. Most moved fast enough to make it, but Kirk saw one older gentleman freeze in the path of the threat as though stunned by the very sight. The man gaped helplessly at his impending doom.
“Move it!”
Without hesitation, Kirk sprang from the pedestal and dashed toward the transfixed Vokite, racing to get to him before the truck did. Kirk was closer, though, so there was just time enough to grab the older man and fling him forcefully out of the way of the scarred and smoking vehicle, which was now less than ten meters away and eating up the distance at a rapid clip. Kirk found himself standing between the truck and the endangered polling booths, which were quite possibly the truck’s true target. He reached for his phaser, which struck him as woefully inadequate to halt the motorized juggernaut bearing down on him. Armored plating could be glimpsed through gaps in its seared plastiform exterior; at best, his hand phaser could only turn the truck into a red-hot chunk of molten material before it plowed through him on its way to the voting complex.
Where’s a photon torpedo when you need one?
“Captain!” Chekov’s voice, artificially amplified, came from a nearby balcony. “Catch!”
Kirk looked up to see a phaser rifle arcing through the air toward him. Gravity delivered the weapon to his hands. He hastily switched the rifle to its highest setting and opened fire on the truck barreling toward him. A white-hot beam sliced the already-compromised vehicle straight down the middle from front to back, splitting it in two. The halves of the bisected truck broke apart, screeching past Kirk on his left and right, missing him by centimeters before skidding and sparking to a stop just short of the first row of booths.
Kirk gasped out loud, somewhat amazed that neither piece had grazed him. He took his finger off the trigger as Sulu rushed toward him.
“Captain! Are you all right?”
“Can’t complain.” Kirk lowered the rifle, his heart still racing like a runaway shuttlecraft. “Thanks to Chekov’s quick thinking.” He looked up at the balcony and gave the ensign a sincere thumbs-up. Chekov beamed back at him, looking both relieved and pleased with himself. “Remind me to cite him for thinking fast under pressure.”
“I’ll do that,” Sulu said, “and buy him a drink too.” He shook his head at what he had just witnessed. “What kind of maniac pulls a stunt like that?”
“See for yourself.”
They looked on as uniformed peace officers dragged a burly woman from the driver’s side of the halved hover truck. Silvery blond dreadlocks fell to her shoulders. Shining epaulets proclaimed her political allegiance unless this was yet another false-flag operation, which struck Kirk as unlikely now that Div was in custody awaiting trial. A tool belt jangling from her waist was swiftly confiscated by the officers. Although she appeared somewhat battered and disheveled, the driver remained defiant.
“No votes for the Puppet! Fight for the General!”
She kept shouting as the officers escorted her away. Kirk scanned the plaza, grateful not to see any actual carnage. Things could have gone a lot worse.
“Any casualties?” he asked Sulu. “Or reports of similar incidents?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Sulu consulted his communicator, as did Kirk. No urgent hails demanded their attention.
Not a coordinated attack, then, Kirk thought. Good.
Dozens of frightened Vokites were still fleeing the violated plaza, swarming the exits, while others hesitated at the periphery of the square, stalled by confusion and uncertainty. It seemed at first glance that nobody had been seriously hurt, only scared. Kirk was genuinely heartened by that, yet he feared that the incident had inflicted serious damage anyway. If the anonymous driver’s goal was to scare voters away from the polls, she may have already succeeded.
No, Kirk resolved. Not on my watch.
He handed the rifle to Sulu, trading the weapon for the compact loudspeaker he had employed earlier. He raised the device to his lips.
“Attention! Listen to me, everyone. This is Captain James Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. I know you must be frightened by what just happened, but our security measures worked. The threat has been neutralized and the polling center is undamaged. You can safely return to your places in line. Don’t let this one upsetting incident deter you from voting. You have the right to take part in this election. I repeat: the threat has been neutralized. Your safety is being protected.”
Kirk wondered if his words would be enough with the charred halves of the hover truck still in plain view. Could mere oratory overcome fear and intimidation? He wanted to think so, but he wasn’t so arrogant as to think he could turn the tide singlehandedly.
“The Starfleet captain is right!” a voice called out. “Don’t be afraid!”
The old man Kirk had rescued came forward, joining Kirk before the voting booths. His close brush with death had apparently not dampened his civic spirit. Kirk offered him the loudspeaker, hoping that the voice of an actual Vokite would carry more weight than that of a foreign starship captain.
“We can’t let anyone scare us away from voting,” the man exhorted his fellow citizens. “We’ve fought too long and too hard for this moment. If we falter now, if we let the bullies win, we might as well give up our rights for good!”
His passionate appeal did the trick. Murmurs of agreement rose from those remaining at the edges of the plaza, the voices swiftly growing in volume and intensity. Slowly, hesitantly, but in increasing numbers, people began to file back into the square, taking their chances for the opportunity to vote. Young people, old people, men and women, started lining up again.
How about that? Kirk thought, deeply moved by the sight. He was impressed and encouraged by the resolve of the would-be voters. Perhaps this contest of principles would not be decided by fear and deception after all. He turned toward the old man whose life he had saved—and who had possibly just helped save Vokite democracy as a result.
“Looks like they heard you loud and clear,” Kirk said, smiling. “I can’t thank you enough, Mister… ?”
“Bloj,” the man said. “You can call me Bloj.”
Kirk offered the man his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Bloj.”
“Likewise,” Bloj said. “And let me say, on behalf of my people, that I appreciate everything you and the Federation have done to ensure this election is a fair one.”
“We’re not done yet,” Kirk promised, freshly inspired to do his part. “If you’ll excuse me, Mister Bloj, I have duties to carry out.”
