A contest of principles, p.29
A Contest of Principles, page 29
“Understood, Captain. Don’t let me detain you.”
Kirk glanced at the wreckage of the hover truck. “Mister Sulu,” he began.
“Already on it, Captain,” Sulu said. “We’ll have those unsightly reminders carted away before the hour is out.”
“Very good, Lieutenant.” He knew he could count on Sulu to get the job done; the sooner the bisected truck was removed from sight, the better. He stepped away from Bloj and flipped open his communicator.
“Kirk to Enterprise. New orders. We’re tripling security at as many major polling centers as we can manage. Beam down every hand on every shift available; the Enterprise can get by on a skeleton crew for the duration of Election Day if it has to.”
“Aye, Captain,” Mister Scott replied promptly; Kirk had left the engineer in command of the ship. “It may take some creative shuffling, but we’ll muster as many able bodies as we can spare, even if it means double shifts for all concerned. What’s a little overtime when there’s a world at stake?”
“My thoughts exactly, Mister Scott.” Kirk was going to owe his crew some serious shore leave when this mission was over, but that was a debt to be paid another day. “Meanwhile, Lieutenant Uhura, can you please get the word out, through every planetary media and on every emergency channel, that the situation here has been contained, that security at the polls has been reinforced, and that we and the local authorities are doing everything possible—and then some—to ensure the safety of all eligible voters.”
“Understood, Captain,” Uhura responded. “Consider all frequencies opened. We’ll do what we can to get the message across.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Kirk wondered if it was worth delivering a global address himself or if it would be better to enlist Vokite dignitaries to assure the population that voting remained safe across the planet. Perhaps Dare could draft a high-ranking member of the executive committee? Or Sergeant Myp could speak on behalf of the Civic Security forces? If she wasn’t too busy keeping the peace, that was.
“Excuse me, Captain,” Uhura said. “Commissioner Dare just hailed me from sickbay. She says she needs to speak to you… urgently.”
Uh-oh, Kirk thought. This can’t be good.
“Patch her through, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir. Over to you.”
Only a moment passed before Dare’s voice replaced Uhura’s. Her anxious tone instantly brought Kirk to red alert.
“Kirk? We have a big problem… with VP-One.”
Thirty-Four
Ozalor
“Attention, Starfleet vessel! You are violating Ozalorian space! Turn back immediately!”
The command issued from the shuttlecraft’s control panel as Copernicus sped toward Ozalor, ignoring all warnings from the planet, which was the only Class-M world in the sparsely populated system. Ozalor’s sister planets and their moons were inhospitable to humanoid life, so Copernicus had passed only a handful of scattered planetary habitats and space stations on its approach to Ozalor, which was nevertheless guarded by an impressive array of security satellites and scanners. Absent a cloaking device, which were off-limits to Starfleet vessels, there was no way to arrive at the planet undetected, forcing Spock to resort to another form of subterfuge.
“This is the Starfleet shuttlecraft Copernicus,” he responded, “making an emergency landing. We were thrown off course by a pulsar compression wave and are rapidly losing power and life-support. Requesting landing coordinates.”
In truth, any damage to the shuttlecraft was mostly simulated or cosmetic. A controlled fuel leak, along with deliberately random fluctuations in their ion trail and power signatures, produced the appearance of distress to standard scans. A brief detour through the corrosive outer atmosphere of a gas giant had also yielded a degree of decorative scoring to Copernicus’s outer hull to provide visual corroboration to their claim.
“Attention, Copernicus,” a harsh voice replied. “Permission to land is denied. Reverse course and come no closer to Ozalor.”
“We’re getting company, Mister Spock,” Godwin shouted from the passenger compartment, where her seat was rotated toward an auxiliary instrumentation panel, which was patched into the shuttlecraft’s sensors. “I’m picking up three Ozalorian fighters on an intercept course for us.”
Spock sensed an increased tension in the atmosphere aboard the shuttlecraft. He could not fault his human companions for their anxiety; they were all in very real danger.
“This is Copernicus,” Spock said. “We do not have sufficient power to reach any other safe haven. We must land or perish.”
A fighter ship became visible through the forward ports. Its streamlined contours were designed for rapid atmospheric ascents into space. All three fighters registered on the shuttlecraft’s sensor display as well. Preliminary scans detected fully armed weapon batteries. Spock considered raising the shuttlecraft’s blast shutters, but feared that might be taken as girding for combat.
“Weapons locked on us,” Godwin reported.
Levine swallowed hard. “Mister Spock?”
“Stay on course, Lieutenant.”
Spock was gambling that the Ozalorians would not fire upon Copernicus and thereby risk war with the Federation. Keeping their distance from the UFP was one thing; shooting down a ship in distress was rather a more drastic response. It was difficult to calculate the probabilities involved with any degree of accuracy, due to the scarcity of data, but the fact that Chapel and Levine had not been killed by the original ambushers factored into Spock’s considerations. If Ozalorian officials were indeed behind McCoy’s abduction, they appeared to have avoided killing any Federation citizens to date. Spock hoped they would show similar restraint now.
Then again, there had been fatalities several years ago, the last time Starfleet had attempted to make contact with Ozalor…
“Copernicus to Ozalorian defense forces,” he said. “Please scan our vessel. You will see that our shields and weapons are inoperative. We pose no threat to your world or people. This is strictly an emergency situation. I repeat: this is an emergency. Our lives are in immediate jeopardy.”
Silence ensued as the fighters remained in formation, poised to fire upon the shuttlecraft from above, below, and behind. Spock waited tensely for Ozalor to respond to his urgent appeal.
“Maybe they think that’s not their problem,” Levine worried aloud.
“Possibly,” Spock said, “but I prefer to think that high-level discussions are being conducted in great haste at this very moment.”
Scanning all standard frequencies, he attempted to pick up any transmissions between the fighters and the planet, but found himself unable to eavesdrop on any relevant exchanges. All military communications were heavily encrypted, as was to be expected. He made the effort anyway, if only to occupy his mind as they awaited the Ozalorians’ next move.
“Attention, Copernicus. You are ordered to land at the designated coordinates, where you will immediately surrender your crew and vessel. Our Defense interceptors will escort you down. Any deviation from the prescribed fight path will result in the immediate destruction of your ship.”
“Acknowledged,” Spock said, “and affirmative.”
Levine sighed in relief, his reaction echoed by similar responses in the passenger compartment. He wiped his brow as he adjusted his heading to comply with the landing coordinates transmitted by the Ozalorian authorities.
“Looks like they blinked after all, Mister Spock.”
“I prefer to think that they made the logical choice,” Spock replied. “An encouraging development.”
“Well, don’t feel too encouraged,” Levine said. “Let’s not forget that these same ‘logical’ folks very possibly kidnapped Doctor McCoy, and stunned Christine and me while they were at it.”
“I am unlikely to overlook that,” Spock assured him, “although they may have had what they deemed logical reasons for doing so, at least from their perspective. That does not excuse their actions, but, given a choice, I would prefer to deal with rational adversaries rather than the alternative.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Levine said.
In any event, all was proceeding according to the plan they had devised en route to the system. Even if they had been able to somehow touch down on Ozalor undetected, they could hardly search an entire planet for McCoy with only one slim lead to go on. Given that said lead pointed to McCoy being held by a member of the royal court, Spock had concluded that their best chance of locating him was to be taken into custody by the Ozalorian government as well. The challenge now was to ensure that they weren’t simply put on the next ship back to Braco… or confined elsewhere.
“Time to beat ourselves up a bit more?” Levine asked. “To support our sob story?”
“Affirmative.” Spock had been reluctant to inflict significant damage on Copernicus before receiving the go-ahead to land, but it was now necessary to ensure that their cover story stood up to a close inspection of the shuttlecraft by the authorities on the ground. Operating the instrument panel, he increased the fuel leak so that they would retain just enough power to land safely, then deliberately induced power surges to burn out select circuits and systems, including the phasers, deflectors, and air-filtration mechanisms. Warning lights flashed as gauges tipped into red zones. The smell of burning circuitry confirmed that any Ozalorian investigators would indeed find evidence of damage. Acrid white fumes polluted their air supply, which remained sufficient to sustain them until they reached the surface. Spock’s stomach experienced an acceptable level of nausea as the artificial gravity shorted out. Unhappy noises from the passenger compartment made their way to the cockpit.
“Careful there, Mister Spock,” the pilot said. “We don’t want to overdo it.” He coughed on the smoke. “We still have to land this bird.”
“I assure you, Lieutenant, our systems are degrading at a calculated rate. Despite any temporary discomfort, we will reach our destination before our situation becomes critical.”
“Good to know, sir, as long as we don’t cut it too close.”
Flanked by its military escort, Copernicus touched down at a military base on the very continent said to house the Yovode’s primary residences. This was not a lucky accident; Spock had deliberately seen to it that their initial approach vector was directed toward the hemisphere and landmass where McCoy was most likely to be found. Daylight shone through the ports as armed soldiers in tan uniforms swarmed the grounded shuttlecraft, their disruptor rifles aimed at Copernicus.
“Exit the shuttle with your hands up!” an amplified voice blared from outside. “Surrender yourself to custody without delay!”
“Welcome to Ozalor,” Levine muttered. He shut down what little power remained to their engines. “Now what, Mister Spock?”
“One step at a time, Lieutenant. We have successfully arrived at our destination. Let us now discover the lay of the land.”
They exited the shuttle, possibly for the last time, into warm summer weather. Taciturn soldiers confiscated their communicators and other gear, while other soldiers rushed into Copernicus to secure it. Glancing up, Spock spied the interceptors returning to base. He wondered if their pilots were as relieved as he was that Copernicus had not been fired upon.
Unlikely, he estimated.
A ground vehicle conveyed the landing party to a nearby compound, where they were escorted at disruptor-point to an office where a uniformed officer scowled at them from behind a large wooden desk. A clerk sat off to one side, transcribing the meeting. A framed portrait of the Yovode was displayed prominently on one wall. The officer did not rise to greet them.
“I am Colonel Jaresi, the commander of this base, and I was having a perfectly decent morning before you decided to make my day a lot more complicated.” She swept her disapproving gaze over Spock and his companions. “Which of you is in charge?”
Spock stepped forward. “I am in command of this mission and take full responsibility for our arrival here.”
The colonel nodded. “Go on.”
“I am Commander Spock, first officer of the Starship Enterprise. We were on a routine scientific mission, observing a previously unrecorded micropulsar, when we were thrown off course by an unexpected gravimetric burst and found ourselves in a dire situation. We appreciate your hospitality in allowing us to make an emergency landing.”
“You’re welcome,” she said dryly, “but you might want to temper your gratitude. You’re prisoners, not guests. Just because we chose not to blow you to atoms doesn’t mean we appreciate the Federation dropping in on us out of the blue.”
“Understood,” Spock said. “We are grateful nonetheless.”
She snickered at the sentiment. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of treatment are you expecting?”
“That remains to be seen,” Spock said. “I am naturally aware that the Federation has no formal relations with your world, but I would hope that you would find a way to notify Starfleet of our whereabouts and condition.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she warned. “Anyway, that’s not my call. You bunch are a political hot potato that I intend to hand off as soon as possible. It’s up to the diplomats and bigwigs to figure out what to do with you.”
“I see,” Spock said. “In that case, perhaps we can take the matter up with a certain Count Rayob? I believe he is your monarch’s personal majordomo?”
Dropping Rayob’s name was a calculated risk, but Spock deemed it worth taking as long as he stopped short of actually accusing the majordomo of kidnapping McCoy. Rayob was their only lead after all, so Spock desired to make contact with the man sooner rather than later.
The name certainly caught Jaresi off guard, although she maintained her professional composure. “As it happens, Count Rayob is retired.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. It seemed that Colc’s intelligence was out of date.
“Recently retired?”
“Very recently.” She regarded him suspiciously. “How is it you know of Rayob?”
“My father is Sarek, a Vulcan ambassador of considerable experience. He has spoken of Rayob in the past.”
The latter was an utter fabrication, but Spock hoped it was a plausible one. Considering their strained relationship, he was uncomfortable invoking his father’s name and reputation, yet locating McCoy necessitated working their way up Ozalor’s political food chain to the royal court, and Spock suspected, albeit reluctantly, that the son of a prominent ambassador might carry more weight, and pose more of a diplomatic challenge, than a mere Starfleet officer, particularly in a hierarchical monarchy. Ironically enough, he concluded, their covert mission required them to attract as much attention as possible from the planet’s ruling class. This was counterintuitive, but true regardless.
“Your dad’s an ambassador?” Jaresi sighed. “Terrific. Could this day get any more delightful?”
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” Spock said.
Although far weightier matters were at stake, he could not help hoping, purely on a personal level, that word of his ploy would not reach his father. That would be… unfortunate.
Let us hope McCoy appreciates the lengths I’m willing to go on his behalf.
“Inconvenience is an understatement.” Jaresi rose from her chair and started toward a side door marked “Private” in Ozalorian script. “Wait here while I knock this upstairs… way upstairs.” She nodded at the guards and clerk. “Keep a close watch on them and get their full names and ranks.”
She exited the office, leaving Spock and the others standing. Chapel quietly turned toward Spock. “I take it… your father… was unaware that Rayob had retired?”
“So it seems,” Spock stated. He wondered if the majordomo’s retirement was related to his recent visit to Braco.
“Quiet!” a guard ordered, curbing any further discussion. “Speak only when spoken to.”
Spock complied with the guard’s request. He waited patiently for 45.37 minutes before Jaresi returned. “Good news,” she announced, “for me, that is. You’re being taken off my hands and none too soon.” She addressed her soldiers. “We have our orders. Ship them off to the Summer Palace and be quick about it.”
Spock took note of their destination. “Palace?”
“You heard me,” the colonel said. “The Yovode wants to see you… personally.”
“We are honored.”
She shrugged. “Better hope he feels the same way.”
Thirty-Five
Ozalor
Their audience with Salokonos, Yovode of Ozalor, was a private one, with only a handful of the monarch’s advisors in attendance, along with a number of vigilant guards. Count Rayob, whose image Spock had previously familiarized himself with, was not present, confirming what they had heard at the Ozalorian military base about his retirement. Spock regretted that their chief suspect in McCoy’s kidnapping was absent, but he could hardly complain about meeting with Salokonos himself. The question was, how much did the planet’s ruler know about the abduction?
“As we were losing power rapidly, we had no choice but to make an emergency landing on your world,” Spock said, repeating their cover story yet again. He refrained from mentioning McCoy to avoid revealing their true agenda prematurely. The faked emergency had gotten them to the royal court; Spock now intended to “play it by ear,” as Captain Kirk might say, until he had a better sense of how to proceed. Years of serving under Kirk had taught Spock the value of improvisation. He hoped this lesson would serve them well on Ozalor.
Salokonos regarded the prisoners from an elevated seat. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. A series of quartz bands girded his arm; Spock understood from his studies that each ring signified the sovereigns who had come before Salokonos, along with one band for the present ruler himself, so that the Yovode wore an entire dynasty on his person. Not unlike the way a tree’s age can be gauged by the rings of its trunk, Spock reflected.
“I am not aware of a micropulsar in our proximity,” Salokonos said, “nor are my scientists.”
