Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice (30 page)

Through the circular porthole in the airlock door, she could see the gantry coming ever closer. A fat umbilicus emerged from one section and reached out toward the hatch. Vale stepped back and waited.

“Is she insane?” She turned toward the sound of the voice and found that Atia had followed her down to the docking level. Farther away, just out of earshot, two of
Lionheart
's security officers stood waiting and watching.

“Are you asking me?”

“The question is asked of
me,
” retorted the first officer. “With no lack of healers and doctors to hand, there would be ease in finding one to speak to the matter.”

“I guess it wouldn't look good for me to be declared unfit for command on my first time in the center seat, would it?” She kept her tone light, but Atia didn't share it.

“To Jaros II, that the crew were willing to accept, but now this? You speak with known criminals, talk to me of secret messages that leave no trace. Now this? Our ship damaged, our status unclear? What must I think?”

“There's a good reason for everything I am doing, Commander. You have to trust me on that.”

The other woman held her silence for a moment. “That becomes more difficult with each passing hour. Rank demands obedience, and it is given.” Her eyes flashed. “But to a point. Only to a point.”

Vale folded her arms. “You'll let me know when you reach it, right?”

Atia gave a slow nod. “Distance falls short, Captain. But I will see you to discernment.”

With a heavy thud, the umbilicus locked onto the
Lionheart
's hull, and the airlock doors retracted into the walls. Vale looked out into a space formed from laser-cut rock and drab gray thermoconcrete. A thin, sandy-haired man in the uniform of a Starfleet commander stood on the other side of the doors, a hawkish cast to his face. A knot of security troopers, each armed with a phaser rifle, stood around him. They held their weapons down, but there was nothing accommodating about it.

Vale didn't wait to be asked. She strode through the hatch, leaving Atia behind, and set foot inside the asteroid base, her boots ringing on the metal deck. The air and light inside the facility had a peculiar, dense quality that immediately felt oppressive.

The guards moved to raise their weapons, but the
officer shook his head. “Commander Christine Vale,” he said, and she knew it was the same voice she had heard over the comm. “I was warned that you might show up here.” He had a tense manner. Vale guessed he didn't want to be in this situation any more than she did.

I can work with that,
she thought. “Does my reputation precede me?”

“It's not meant as a compliment.” He frowned. “I'm Commander Chessman. I'm in charge here.”

“And where exactly
is
here?”

“The designation of this facility is classified.” Chessman turned and gestured to a group of officers in engineering tunics, each of them carrying equipment cases and tricorders. “Here's how this is going to work. My team is going to board your ship and help your crew get it operational again. When that's done, you're going to turn around and leave here. All mention of this facility will be erased from your logs, and your crew will not discuss it or anything seen here, under penalty of court martial. Is that clear?”

“You seem to have it all worked out,” Vale replied. “It might have been easier just to fly us straight into the sun.” She threw out the harsh retort just to gauge Chessman's response, and he reacted with a flash of shock and dismay.

“If that's a joke, then it's in very poor taste,” he replied. “You've put me in a difficult situation, Commander Vale. I don't know what you think you're doing, but you've compromised our security here, and that's going to have serious repercussions.”

“No doubt.”

Chessman stood aside as the engineering team boarded, a handful of the security guards following,
some remaining on the dock. “At no time will any member of the
Lionheart
's complement be allowed to leave the vessel. Anyone who does will be placed under arrest.”

Vale held up her hands and made a show of looking down at her feet. “Whoops. Does that mean you're going to throw me in the brig now? Forgive me, Commander, but you don't seem like the type to be a jailer.”

“I didn't take this assignment by choice,” he snapped. “Believe me, Commander Vale, guarding a rock in the dark is not how I intended to spend my career. But I have my duty, and I take it seriously.”

“Clearly,” she pressed.

The other officer's reserve finally broke. “What the hell are you doing, Vale? I could have you and your entire bridge crew in deep lockdown just for knowing this place exists! I would be in my rights to send you back to the nearest starbase in irons, so don't test my patience. How did you even get the coordinates for this system?”

“Does that matter now?” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “All you need to know is that I'm here under orders from Admiral Riker at Starfleet Command. And I want to see Julian Bashir.”

“Who?” Chessman was good, she had to give him that. His denial was almost believable.

“How about this,” she continued, “how about we both stop playing games and talk to each another like two officers?”

He was silent for a moment. “We were told you might come here,” he said, at length. “A priority holocomm message from Earth, no less. They said you are acting outside of orders. That your judgment may be unsound.”

“What do you think?”

“You appear to have sabotaged your own ship to get here, Commander.” Vale didn't react, but she made a note not to underestimate the man. “That doesn't exactly seem like well-balanced behavior to me.”

“You wouldn't have let us dock any other way.”

He fell silent again, musing. “What do you want with . . . that detainee?”

“You've spoken to him.”

Chessman shook his head, and he looked away, troubled. “No one has spoken to him. We were given strict orders to confine him but not to engage with him.”

“Orders from whom?”

“The Federation Council. After what happened to President Bacco and then that business with the Andorians, it seemed . . . unusual. But understandable.”

Vale saw the flash of doubt in Chessman's eyes. She got the sense that this was a man unhappy with the lot he had been given, pushed by duty and oath to do something he was not ready to ignore. She took her second risk that day. “I think you're going to let me talk to Bashir, Commander.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“Because I think you want to know why he's here as much as I do.”

*  *  *

Keru pawed at his beard, and it did little to hide the tired scowl behind it. “Another signal from Starfleet Command,” he said, showing the padd in his hand. “They're asking for
Titan
's destination and intentions.” He paused. “Well, less asking, more
demanding
.”

Riker sat on the edge of the table in his ready room
and listened to the Trill officer's report. “Send the same reply again. We're on a shakedown cruise, testing the new engine modifications from McKinley.”

“They're not buying that, sir,” Keru replied. “Clearly. The next message will be them telling us to return home.”

The admiral gave a wan nod. “Probably. Or a politely worded warning about another ship coming to ‘escort' us back to the nearest starbase.” He took the padd and scanned the text there. “It's not like the old days when captains had more autonomy. That would make it a lot easier. . . .”

“With all due respect, sir, nothing has been easy since you came back aboard.” The comment came out harsher than Keru had intended, and he knew it the moment it left his lips. Riker let it fall without comment. With Vale and Tuvok both off the ship, technically the role of executive officer would fall to the crew member with the next highest rank, but Xin Ra-Havreii wasn't about to leave his engine room for anything less than the heat death of the universe, and so Riker had put Keru into the role of temporary Number One. So far, the Trill was dealing with the job in the same dogged and sober manner as he treated
Titan
's security.

The intercom whistled, and Riker tapped the panel on his desk. “Go ahead.”

Lieutenant Rager's voice issued out.
“Admiral, contact has been made. I have Qo'noS on subspace.”

He nodded to himself. “Put it through, Sariel.” He got to his feet, and at his side, Keru stiffened. “Careful what you say,” Riker added. “He's a shrewd one.”

The viewscreen displayed a forbidding chamber made of dark, slate-colored stone. Riker saw braziers
burning in the background, casting pools of jumping orange light across the walls and the floor. A Klingon in full martial regalia and a heavy battle cloak dominated the scene; he measured Riker with his one good eye, the fire-glow illuminating the legacy of past battles written in the scars across his face.

“
Riker,
” he growled, “nuqneH?”

“Chancellor Martok,” Riker replied with a bow of his head. “Thank you for your time. Is this channel encrypted?”

Martok snorted.
“Of course it is, Captain. . . . No. Admiral now, isn't it? Tell me, does the rank weigh on you yet?”

“I'm bearing the burden as best I can.”

“As do we all. This day I find it cumbersome upon
my
shoulders. My rivals in the High Council posture and rattle their blades. . . . They seek out any instance of galactic unrest and look to turn it to their agenda.
” His expression darkened, and he pushed those thoughts away.
“It matters not. We speak of more important things; tell me, how goes the hunt?”
Martok didn't need to say anything else. He had been on Deep Space 9 to witness Nanietta Bacco's cold-blooded murder, and like all honorable Klingons, he had immediately offered his sword arm against the perpetrators of this act. Martok and the Empire had not always agreed with Bacco's policies, but they respected her as a valued ally; more than that, they had been offended by the cowardly way in which the brave woman had been struck down.

“That's why I'm contacting you, sir. Things have become complicated.”

The Klingon snorted.
“Track them, find them, kill them. There is no complexity in that, Admiral.”
Martok shrugged off his cloak and it fell to the flagstones with
a crunch.
“I will grant you some of my elite attack ships. Say the word. I will turn them loose and they'll bring you the heads of those motherless Tzenkethi
petaQ
in short order.”

Riker exchanged glances with Keru. “Starfleet appreciates the offer. But you should be aware that initial suggestions the Tzenkethi or the Typhon Pact were involved in the assassination may be wrong.”

“And who told you that? One of their so-called ‘ambassadors'?”
Martok spat on the ground.
“Every one of them competes with the others to tell the largest lies.”

He decided on a different tack. “Chancellor, I must be open with you. I didn't make contact on behalf of Starfleet. This isn't an official communication.”

Martok's manner cooled.
“Indeed? It was my understanding that you are Akaar's man now. What has that towering Capellan dog done this time?”

“Along with my new rank, Admiral Akaar has granted me some leeway to investigate the assassination,” Riker went on. “That's why I'm coming to you directly. I believe secret military actions are taking place under Federation auspices. Undertakings made without formal oversight or guidance, propelled by all the wrong motives.”

The Klingon gave a snarling grunt of derision.
“I find it hard to understand your kind, Riker. You are slow to anger, but you can fight with honor when the need is there. And yet, you must debate every drop of blood you spill, every sword drawn, and ship committed to the battle.”
He shook his head, his gray-streaked hair rattling against the pauldrons of his armor.
“Does it matter how that is done? You tell me your people seek the killers of President Bacco. Is that not to be lauded?”

“Not if it's done to serve an agenda instead of justice,”
Keru spoke up, unable to hold his silence any longer.

Riker eyed him. “My chief of security makes a good point, Chancellor. I'm sure you know full well that the need for revenge rings loudest. But it can be misused. And I won't stand by and let rights and freedoms be trampled under the guise of lawful conduct.”

Martok considered this, the thunder of his voice softening.
“I see why Akaar chose you. You speak truth, Riker. Sometimes the call of the blood burns strong, but a colder spirit and clearer eye are needed to guide the spear to its true target.”
A slow, predatory smile crossed the Klingon's face.
“So then. What do you want of me, human? I have had my fill of debate this day.”

“My ship is en route to your borders.” Riker glanced at one of the padds on his desk. “We'll be crossing into the Archanis Sector. I request your permission to proceed into Klingon space in order to pursue my investigation.”

“Archanis . . .”
Martok's scowl returned.
“You couldn't have chosen your destination more poorly. That sector is under the governance of one of my key political rivals. Shaniq, a general, as I once was . . . but his power flows from service with Imperial Intelligence and all their shadow warfare.”
The chancellor's lip curled.
“He is old and bitter and dangerous with it. If you seek to accuse him of something, I would know it now.”

“We know that a planet in the Nydak system is playing a role in all this,” said Keru, measuring each word. “If it is under this General Shaniq's jurisdiction, he may have important knowledge.”