Bloodthirst (31 page)

Assuming, of course, that the R-virus works similarly to its mutated form.
The alternative made McCoy shudder.

They passed sickbay, the flashlight skimming over the open door, the dark stains on the floor. A few paces beyond sickbay, Spock stopped. McCoy just caught himself in time to avoid running into him.

“The vault,” Spock said. The light focused on a heavy metal panel built into the bulkhead. Next to it was a code panel.

Talkative, aren't you?
McCoy suddenly missed Stanger; at least the joking would have helped to ease the tension. And no point at all in teasing the Vulcan when he got this way. He stood silently while Spock punched in the code, and tried to prepare himself for the rumble as the seal opened and the heavy metal wall slid upward.

Nothing happened.

Are you sure you entered the right code?
McCoy almost said, but stopped himself in time. Ridiculous question to ask a Vulcan.

But it must have occurred to Spock, too. He entered the code again, then turned, frowning, to the doctor.

“Either Adams gave us the incorrect code, or”

“Or the computer system is down, for some reason,” McCoy finished helpfully.

Still frowning, Spock took the communicator from his belt. “Spock to
Enterprise
.”

“
Enterprise
. Kirk here. Any problems?”

“Apparently so, Captain. The vault refuses to open.”

There was a pause as Jim considered the same possibilities McCoy and Spock had. “Any chance of getting through it with the phasers?”

Spock studied the wall thoughtfully, then answered, “Possibly. The metal appears to be a beryllium alloy, though it is impossible to estimate its thickness. I would expect, however, that burning through it would take considerably more time than we had planned.”

Great
, McCoy thought dismally.
Just great
.

Another pause. “We're keeping an eye out for anyone,” Kirk said finally. “If anyone approaches, we're beaming you up immediately. Is that understood, Spock?”

Without the body, McCoy understood, and looked up at the Vulcan's face. But Spock remained impassive. “Understood, sir.”

“Kirk out.”

Spock put the communicator back on his belt.

“Well,” McCoy said with asperity, “I suppose it could have been worse.”

Spock raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“At least one of us wore a phaser.” The doctor spread his hands out to show his belt, on which there were various medical items, but certainly no phaser. He hated wearing them, and certainly had no intention of using one.

Besides, who was he going to shoot at down here? The corpse?
(Don't even think it”)

“It will slow us down somewhat,” Spock admitted, “but will not prevent success.”

“Strange definition of success,” McCoy muttered under his breath. Spock opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. A curious expression crossed his face.

McCoy frowned, puzzling over what had distracted him, until he heard it, too: the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor.

Good God, Sepek made it out.

But it sounded like more than one person.

Next to him, Spock tensed, his hand reaching for the phaser on his belt. McCoy would have liked to screw his eyes shut at that point, but instead they opened wider and wider until he could make out two figures in the shadows. Human men, apparently very much alive, and wearing Fleet uniforms. McCoy did not recognize the tall blond one. The other, dark and stocky, he had seen before, and he tried to place him.

The viewscreen in the conference room. McCoy gulped.

“Admiral Mendez,” Spock said politely, nodding as if he had just been introduced at a brass cocktail party. His hand stayed on his phaser.

But the blond man wearing a gold tunic already had his drawn.

“Please take your hand off your phaser,” the admiral said conversationally. He shone a flashlight inconsiderately in their faces. “Or I will give the lieutenant here the order to kill you. I take it you are Commander Spock, Kirk's first officer. We've been waiting for you gentlemen for some time.”

Spock slowly removed his hand from his belt.

“Well, isn't this all very cordial,” McCoy said nastily, squinting into the light. He'd been looking forward to the chance to be nasty to Mendez for some time, but had never expected to get the opportunity. “So you're the man responsible for the deaths on Tanis and for infecting our crew with the plague.”

He was too blinded to see Mendez's face, but he could hear the quick anger in the voice. “You have the wrong man, Doctor. Jeffrey Adams is the only person to blame.”

“You set him up,” McCoy countered.

“It was Adams who developed the R-virus,” Mendez answered invisibly, his voice ringing with hate, “and Adams who developed the H-virus.”

“The H-virus"” Spock's deep voice was as calm and rational as if they were debating theory—was an accidental mutation.”

“No. Adams developed it to sell it to the Romulans.”

“That's
your
opinion,” said McCoy.

“Yes, that's my opinion. And I know Jeffrey Adams well.” Mendez's tone abruptly shifted to indicate that any discussion was at an end. “Your communicators, gentlemen. And your phaser, of course, Mr. Spock.”

Spock handed them over without protest, while the doctor scowled at him disapprovingly.

“You're going to give them over just like
that?”
he hissed.

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Spock asked mildly.

McCoy squinted blindly into the light. At the moment, he did not. Sighing, he held out his communicator. The blond lieutenant snatched it from his hand and began to frisk him.

“Hey,” the doctor complained, as the search proceeded roughly up his leg. “What is this? I'm not in the habit of carrying concealed weapons.”

Mendez did not answer. The lieutenant finished with McCoy and turned his attention to Spock. At the end of it, he reported back to the admiral. “They're not carrying. anything, sir.”

It was definitely not what Mendez wanted to hear. He turned impatiently to his prisoners. “All right, where is it?”

Was he asking about Sepek's body? McCoy glanced sideways at Spock. The Vulcan wasn't answering, so the doctor kept his mouth shut.

“The R-virus. Where is it?” Mendez took a threatening step towards them. “I assure you, I will do whatever's necessary to retrieve it.”

McCoy frowned. Maybe he wasn't looking for Sepek's body, but for something
else
.

He nodded to his aide, who raised the phaser and seemed to be very serious about firing it.

“There
isn't
any virus,” the doctor blurted.
Fine prisoner of war
you'd
make, McCoy
. “If there is, we don't know where”

The admiral's voice was filled with sarcasm, but beneath it, McCoy sensed, was desperation. “Then what are you doing on Tanis? Sight-seeing?” He nodded at the blond man. “Go ahead, Jase. Kill them.”

“Wait!” McCoy raised his hands in a don't-shoot gesture, aware of Spock's disapproving gaze on him. “We were looking for a body—a Vulcan researcher.” Hands still in the air, he turned to Spock. “What was his name?”

“Sepek,” Spock answered in a quiet voice, looking mightily disgusted at the doctor's cowardice.

“I'm afraid you're rather late for that,” Mendez said matter-of-factly. “His body has been destroyed.”

Spock closed his eyes.

Mendez moved closer. “The R-virus. This is the last time I'll ask.”

“But there isn't” McCoy began.

Angered, Mendez cut him off. “Do you think we're stupid? Adams is a sick and desperate man; I have no doubt that he told you about our agreement that if anything went wrong, he would preserve a sample at any cost and hide it on Tanis so that it could be retrieved. But he's hidden it too cleverly; we haven't been able to find it. And
you
know where it is.”

Spock and McCoy simply stared at him, unable to answer.

“We have weapons down here, do you understand? You both are willing to die nobly to protect your ship and your captain, but if you don't give me the virus, I'll blow the
Enterprise
out of orbit before I kill you both.”

“My
God
,” McCoy whispered, paling. There was no way to warn Jim.…

“We came to retrieve Sepek's body,” Spock said calmly, “and nothing more.”

The lieutenant glanced at his superior. “It almost sounds like they're telling the truth, Admiral.”

Mendez scrutinized them both for a moment, then an odd expression—regret? McCoy wondered—crossed his face. “I had hoped to avoid this,” he said heavily, and flipped Spock's communicator open.
"Enterprise
, come in, please.”

Kirk's voice, hot and strident. “Admiral, if anything has happened to my people”

“A commendable attitude, Kirk,” Mendez answered, quite serious. “Nothing has happened to your people. Nothing
will
happen to them if you do as I say.”

“Just like nothing happened to Quince Waverleigh.”

“I don't know anything about that,” Mendez snapped. “If you want your people to live, you'll stop with the accusations.”

There was a pause, and then Kirk said, grudgingly, “What do you want me to do?”

“The R-virus,” Mendez said. “You have it. I want it.”

“You're wrong, Admiral. The R-virus was destroyed by the decontamination system on Tanis.”

“You're a bigger fool than I thought if you believe that,” Mendez snarled. “And if you expect me to. You have Adams. By now, he's told you about the hidden sample. He knew I'd come looking for it
and
him, and he's told you where it is to try to protect himself.”

There was a pause on the other end of the communicator.

McCoy resolved never to volunteer for anything again that is, if he made it through this one. “Admiral,” Kirk finally said. His tone had changed abruptly, acquired a negotiating wheedle. “I have no way of knowing if that's true unless you give me five minutes to question Adams.”

“Take six,” said Mendez. “After that, your men are dead.”

How very generous of you
, McCoy wanted to add, but decided it would be better to hold his tongue.

“Captain.” Sulu in the background, his voice clear and urgent. “I'm picking up a slight distortion on the screen.”

“Magnify viewscreen.” A pause, then, in clipped tones, “Red alert. Shields up, helmsman.”

The klaxon sounded. “Aye, sir.”

“Kirk,” Mendez thundered. “Don't try it if you want your men to live.”

“I'm not trying to pull anything, dammit,” Kirk answered hotly. “We've got a visitor here. Expecting anyone?”

There was a snap as Mendez closed the communicator and lowered his light, and McCoy, the beam's image still imprinted on his retina, blinked sightlessly while a strong arm circled his neck and someone shoved a phaser into his back.

The doctor heard the whine of a transporter.
Well, hell, this is it.
Jim was taking an awfully big chance and beaming them up to the ship a bigger chance than McCoy would have taken. Mendez was certain to make good on his promise to kill them. McCoy braced himself and wondered detachedly what being dissolved by a phaser blast felt like. For that matter, could one be dissolved while caught in a transporter beam?

A technological double-whammy.
I always knew that damned transporter would get me someday.
He scrunched his eyes shut, rather uselessly because he couldn't see anything anyway. Either he would feel the phaser blast first, or the unpleasant moment of dizziness he always felt in the transporter beam. He was betting on the phaser.

But the dizziness swept him.
Bad enough to die without having to do it in the middle of a transporter beam.
He waited for the blast sure to follow, but none came. The whine reverberating in his skull ceased, the bright aura dissipated. The phaser was still pressing against his spine. The doctor tensed, expecting full well to find himself smack in the middle of a standoff, with himself and Spock the most likely losers. He expected to see the familiar interior of the
Enterprise's
transporter room, lined with the red tunics of the entire security force.

The room was crowded with security personnel, all right. But the uniforms were the wrong color, a matte silver mesh. McCoy blinked, stunned. By no means had he expected to find himself in the transporter room of a Romulan ship.

The grip on his throat loosened as the blond lieutenant fired his phaser, almost hitting one of the Romulan guards. It took McCoy less than a second to realize that every Romulan in the room was aiming a phaser directly at the lieutenant. What did it matter to them if McCoy accidentally got in the way? He took a deep breath and pulled down with all his strength.

It was enough to break free of the distracted lieutenant's grip. McCoy threw himself onto the floor and rolled. Even with his eyes screwed shut, he could see the blinding blast from the Romulan weapon, could feel the searing heat down the length of his back. He heard an excited yelp: Mendez. McCoy lay there, too stunned to move, until an incredibly strong grip pulled him to his feet. Spock, he thought at first, then opened his eyes to a collarbone covered by dull silver metal.

He almost looked behind him for the lieutenant, but stopped himself. There would be nothing left to see.

The man on the bridge's main viewscreen was long-faced, dark-haired, elegant. It was not just the upswept brows and ears that reminded Kirk of his first officer. There was something about the eyes, the bridge of the nose; he could have been Spock's second cousin.

“Captain Kirk,” he said politely and with supreme confidence, without the help of the universal translator. His accent was near-perfect; only a trace of too little aspiration in the
k
sounds, too much trill in the
r
, gave him away as Romulan. That, and the dull silver mesh uniform with the black sash at the shoulder. “I am Subcommander Khaefv.”