Bloodthirst (20 page)

Sulu would have liked to discuss all this with Chekov, who sat next to him at the console, to see if the navigator had any insights or new information on the rumors. But the captain's dark mood had kept both of them silent.

And then McCoy had called the bridge. Sulu heard enough of it to know that Adams had been spotted in sickbay. Kirk left the conn in Spock's hands. The impassive Vulcan remained at his station, gazing serenely into his viewer at things Sulu could only guess at.

With the captain safely gone, Chekov shot Sulu a sideways look that the helmsman took as an invitation to talk. Sulu glanced apprehensively at the science officer's station. The Vulcan's hearing was sensitive enough to overhear them, no matter how softly they whispered, but Spock seemed far less likely to be irritated by it than the captain.

Sulu turned to face his friend. “So. Looks like we have an uninvited guest aboard. How long before you think we'll be turned around and headed back for Star Base Nine?”

The corners of the Russian's mouth crinkled upward, giving his broad, boyish face an impish look. “Five credits says I'll have a new course laid in before lunch.”

The helmsman considered it. “Why not?” He shrugged. “I've got nothing more exciting to look forward to.”

“Except maybe a visit from our friend Dr. Adams,” Chekov said mysteriously, his dark eyes acquiring the glint Sulu knew so well. Another Muscovite legend would soon be unleashed on an unsuspecting public.…

Sulu smirked skeptically. “I keep my door locked. Besides, what would Adams want with me?”

“The same thing he wanted from the people on Tanis, the same thing he wanted from the security guard.” He leaned closer to Sulu and hissed, “Your blood.”

“Come on, Pavel” Sulu laughed aloud in spite of himself, then looked guiltily around to see who had heard. Spock ignored them steadily, face still buried in the viewer; but Uhura glanced up from her communications console and gave Chekov a dirty look.

“Sorry.” Sulu smiled at her. She looked back down at her board without returning the smile; she was probably worried about Nurse Chapel and, like the captain, didn't appreciate humor at this particular time. Sulu forced the smile from his face and turned his attention back to the navigator. “For God's sake, Pavel, don't be so theatrical. We all know Adams is psychotic, but Security will find him”

“Security can do nothing about it,” Chekov intoned. It seemed to Sulu that his Russian accent was growing thicker by the second. “Security knows nothing about dealing with “he paused for effect—wampires.”

“Wampires?” Sulu felt entirely ignorant.

Chekov shook his head, irritated. “No, no, a
vampire
.”

“Oh. You mean a vampire.” Sulu frowned. “I think I've heard of them. Isn't that a type of Terran bat that lives in South America?”

The stocky young man turned away, disgusted. “I'm not talking about bats.” Then, with sudden inspiration, he fumbled under the collar of his tunic. “Here.
This
is what I'm talking about.” He drew out a gold crucifix on a heavy chain.

“Pretty.” Sulu gave a soft, low whistle. “But not exactly regulation. Where'd you get that?”

“A family heirloom.” Chekov held it up by the chain so that the cross dangled hypnotically in front of the helmsman. “Very useful against wampires.”

“Bats?”

“The undead. Creatures who return from the grave to drink the blood of the living.”

Sulu shook his head and grinned broadly down at his console. “Pavel, I swear. Sometimes you're too much. I can never tell when you're serious.”

“I
am
serious,” Chekov said, slipping his crucifix back under his gold tunic, but the storyteller's gleam was still in his eyes. “Whoever is bitten is doomed to become a wampire as well. You'll see, Sulu. You'll come back to me for help.”

Sulu just shook his head and grinned. Behind them, Uhura made a clicking sound of disgust. Spock continued to stare impassively into his viewer.

“Adams stole one of these portable transfusion units and some drugs.” Hands trembling slightly, McCoy displayed the object to Kirk and Tomson in the outer room of sickbay. “Don't worry, we're safe in here. The lab report says the virus can only be spread through direct contact.”

“That's a relief.” Kirk studied the doctor with concern. It hadn't really been necessary for the captain to come down to sickbay for the second time that day—but Kirk wanted to see how McCoy was holding up after Chapel's death. The doctor looked as if he had barely managed to pull himself together, and exuded a faint aroma of bourbon. In the next room, the life-support equipment hummed softly in Chapel's darkened isolation unit.

“It should facilitate the search,” Tomson said. “I'll let my people know they can forgo the field suits.”

“Oh.” McCoy rubbed his face as if trying to wake himself up. “By the way, I got the lab results on Nguyen and Lamia. They've both got a clean bill of health. Lamia's probably reporting for duty right now.”

“Great.” For a moment, Tomson seemed on the verge of smiling—but the uncharacteristic surge of warmth soon passed. “What about Nguyen? How's she recuperating from the wound?”

McCoy released a bone-weary sigh. “Physically, she's doing quite well. By tonight, she'll be able to return to her quarters. But she needs at least three days off duty especially considering her poor emotional recovery. The attack seems to have taken all the spirit out of her. Even after I told her the good news, she—well, she seemed relieved, but it didn't seem to cheer her up all that much. She's still depressed and I'm not sure what's at the bottom of it.” McCoy didn't seem to be doing all that well himself.

“Could I see her?” Tomson said suddenly. “I might be able to cheer her up some.”

The disbelieving look McCoy shot Tomson would have struck Kirk as amusing under less disheartening circumstances. Tomson, with her forbidding exterior, seemed more likely to depress the most manic of optimists. “All right,” McCoy said at last. “Guess it couldn't hurt.” He motioned Tomson to the back room. “She's through here. You can go on in—she's awake.”

Tomson disappeared through the doorway and McCoy turned to face Kirk. “That's all I know, Captain. I'll call you if anything happens.”

“What about that vaccine?”

McCoy shrugged as if it were just another nuisance to attend to. “We should be distributing it to the crew by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good.” Kirk did not turn to leave, but stood and stayed his ground, trying to think about how to broach the subject of Chapel.

The wall intercom whistled. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

He walked over to the bulkhead and answered it. “Kirk here. What is it, Lieutenant?”

Uhura's voice sounded perplexed. “Something strange, sir. Just a second ago, I picked up an unauthorized transmission from within the ship.”

Adams! But who was he trying to contact? “Location?”

“Tracing it now, Captain. But transmission has ceased. Whoever sent the signal may very well have moved to another part of the ship.”

“Nevertheless, call me here as soon as you have the location. Kirk out.” He switched off the intercom and turned back to McCoy.

“I guess you'll want to talk to Tomson about this.” McCoy turned, swaying a bit unsteadily, and began moving away. “I'll be in my office.”

“Bones”

The doctor stopped, keeping his back to the captain. “What is it?”

“I think you know.”

“I have no idea,” McCoy said hostilely, without turning around.

“Christine Chapel. Has there been any change?”

“Not yet.” McCoy tried to get past, but Kirk stepped forward to block his way.

“Doctor I hate saying this as much as you do.” It was true. Maybe he wasn't as close to Chapel as McCoy, but he felt her death keenly nonetheless. “Don't you think you owe it to her to let her go?”

He waited for the arguments McCoy would throw at him. That perhaps Adams could tell them something about the symptoms, that there were more tests to run on the virus. That perhaps it was some bizarre new effect of the disease they hadn't anticipated. Kirk had heard them all; he also knew the doctor didn't believe any of them himself.

But McCoy did not protest. Hoarsely, he said, “Just give me a little time, Jim.”

Kirk hesitated. “All right. A little time.” He let McCoy retreat to the dark safety of his office.

Lisa was riding a horse. She leaned forward in the saddle and put her hand on the animal's chestnut coat, feeling its strong, solid muscles rippling beneath her, breathing in its warm, dusty smell, along with the clean scent of Colorado air.

“Ensign?”

The horse stumbled. At the sound of Tomson's voice, Nguyen started and opened her eyes wide. She attempted to scramble to her feet, but gave it up quickly for an upright sitting position. Her head began spinning and she put a hand on it to make it stop.

“As you were, Ensign. Don't try to get up.”

The dizziness began to recede. “Lieutenant,” Nguyen said. “Sir. I didn't know you were coming.”

“I didn't know myself until a second ago.” Tomson found a chair and pulled it next to the bed. Seated, she was as tall as Nguyen was standing. “Dr. McCoy says you're recovering very rapidly.”

“Yes, sir.” Nguyen could hear the hesitation in her own voice. She was recovering, and it was a relief to be out of the isolation chamber but she could not bring herself to think about going back on duty. She wanted to stay alone, in sickbay forever, to daydream about Colorado. She didn't want to have to make the choice.

“He also says that you seem very troubled since the attack.” Tomson shifted in her chair as if what she were about to say made her uncomfortable. “I hope it's nothing serious, Ensign. I need you back.”

Nguyen did not answer. She did not want to come back. To say it was not serious would be lying.

“I've been watching you since you first came on board.” Tomson folded her long thin arms in front of her, forming a protective barrier against what she was saying. “I'll be honest. I didn't expect much from you at first. But you've turned out to be a fine officer. I've recommended you for a promotion. I don't do that for very many people. When it comes through, I'm going to make you my second-in-command.”

My God
, Nguyen thought with an overwhelming sense of revelation.
You mean she
likes
me? Suddenly
, the lieutenant's expression assumed a whole new meaning. Nguyen could actually see the concern hidden in those pale, narrow eyes. She'd always assumed from Tomson's demeanor that the lieutenant despised her. But then, the indications were that Tomson despised everybody. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she stammered. “But there's something—something you ought to know. I'm thinking of leaving the Fleet.”

“Oh?” The warmth fled from Tomson's expression, making it cold and mistrustful again.

Tell her you didn't mean it
, her mind argued.
Don't be stupid. Just wait till you're sure.

Nguyen was sure. She took a deep breath. “No. Not thinking. I'm positive. I'm leaving the Fleet.”

“When did you come to this decision?”

“A little while ago.”

“Nguyen” Tomson's voice was actually gentle. “The attack shook you up. That's pretty normal. I'm sure you'll feel different later. You just need to give it some time.”

Nguyen shook her head and was surprised to find that her voice did not shake at the thought of contradicting her superior. “No, sir. I've been thinking about it for a while. I—I've been invited to join a group marriage. I'm very fond of the people, but the rules are that I would have to leave the Fleet.” Immediately, she felt embarrassed. Tomson would not understand something like that. Tomson could understand nothing but duty and career. She braced herself for the ridicule that was sure to follow.

It did not come. “Ensign.” Tomson fixed her ice-blue eyes on Lisa's. “Do me a favor. Give it a week. Then tell me this again.”

“Sir, my mind's”

“Give it a week, Ensign.” Tomson's, gaze was piercing.

Nguyen sighed meekly. “Yes, sir.” But, she reassured herself silently, it wouldn't make any difference.

“The time is 0610.” The computer paused to raise the volume of its feminine voice by a decibel and then repeated its message: “The time is 0610.”

Stanger opened one eye a slit and fought to extricate himself from a confusing tangle of dreams. 0610. That meant that the computer had been trying to coax him from the bed for the past ten minutes, its volume steadily increasing until now it thundered in his ear.

“The time is 0611.”

“All right,” Stanger croaked, and the computer stopped, satisfied. His mouth seemed incredibly dry, as if he were hung over, but he had not been drinking. He pulled himself slowly to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. It took an exquisite effort: his arms and legs felt heavy, too heavy to move, and for a second he thought he was back on Vulcan for special training, in the extra gravity and thin air.

Once up, he sat on the edge, his heart pounding with the exertion. Bits and pieces of the dreams began to come back to him: the darkness that was Tanis, the eyes of Lara Krovozhadny that stared up blindly at him, her body draped with another corpse as if with a blanket. And then her face wavered and became Lisa Nguyen's. Startled, Stanger directed his flashlight up into Jeffrey Adams' pale, desperate face.…

The dreams had exhausted him. He sat with his head cupped in his hands and tried to decide if he were late. He wasn't; since the run-in with Tomson, he had taken care to set the alarm a half hour early. He was still twenty minutes ahead of schedule. From the way he was feeling, he needed it.