Yurnos
“You don’t think the smugglers might have a cloaking device, Mister Spock?”
Chekov and Spock had set up shop in the underground nerve center beneath the farmhouse, Jord having entered their biometrics into the automated security system. Galileo remained hidden in the nearby barn, where it would hopefully evade discovery for the duration of their mission. It occurred to Spock that a cloaking device would be convenient on undercover missions such as this one; alas, they were not standard issue on Starfleet shuttlecraft and were unlikely to ever become so.
“We cannot eliminate that possibility,” he replied, “but I strongly doubt it. A Romulan-quality cloaking device is vastly more valuable than a cargo of bootleg tea, as well as being far beyond the reach of a mere smuggling operation. They are advanced military technology, not something one expects to find at the disposal of tea smugglers.”
“I suppose,” Chekov said, “but then how are the traders getting the nabbia on and off the planet without being detected? We inspected the observers’ sensor equipment, and everything was in order. They should be able to detect any visiting vessels.”
His accent rendered that last phrase “wisiting wessels,” but Spock was well accustomed to Chekov’s occasionally Russian-flavored pronunciations. He barely noticed the peculiarity.
“That, Ensign, remains a puzzle to be solved.”
The whoosh of a concealed panel sliding open heralded visitors.
“Hello, down there.” Vankov descended the stairs, bearing a lightweight wooden carton, which he laid down on a counter. He paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow. “Took me the better part of the day, but I managed to obtain tea samples from pretty much every merchant in the province, to go along with the samples we provided you earlier. Thank goodness you only needed a pinch of each variety, or our household budget would be in tatters.”
Spock could tell from the man’s flushed features and sweaty aroma that he had indeed been out riding in the muggy weather for some time. He appreciated Vankov’s strenuous efforts on their behalf.
“A ‘pinch’ will suffice for our purposes,” Spock said. “I trust that you took note of where each sample was obtained and that they are each carefully labeled.”
“Naturally, Mister Spock, just as you instructed.” He gestured at his purchases. “See for yourself.”
Spock rose from his seat at the primary workstation to inspect the contents of the carton. As promised, the box was filled with several small paper envelopes, each of which had been labeled in a neat and legible hand. A robust aroma confirmed that the envelopes contained samples of nabbia tea obtained from a variety of sources. Vankov reached beneath his jacket to produce a written document, penned in parchment and rolled into a scroll. He handed the scroll over to Spock.
“I made a list of where each sample came from as well.”
Spock unfurled the scroll and examined the list, which appeared to be quite meticulous, even if he found the crude medium more inconvenient than quaint. It would be necessary to scan the document in order to transfer its content to the computer library. This was less than efficient, albeit unavoidable, considering the circumstances. He could hardly expect Vankov to roam the countryside with a data slate or tricorder in hand.
“Well done,” Spock said. “Let us hope your labors prove fruitful to our cause.”
Vankov looked pleased to be of use. He glanced around the control room. “So, any progress so far?”
“That depends on how you define progress,” Chekov said. “We are getting nowhere very fast.”
“Patience, Ensign. We are in fact making progress by eliminating possibilities via a methodical scientific approach to the problem.”
Chekov sighed. He had been assiduously at work at the auxiliary station for some time. “Aye, Mister Spock. I did not mean to imply otherwise.”
Spock opened one of the envelopes. Inside was a “pinch” of fresh tea, consisting of very thin shavings of nabbia root, each less than two millimeters in width. This particular batch appeared to have been aged for several weeks, giving it a darker color and more pungent odor than some other varieties. He noted with a twinge of disappointment that its color and scent were slightly different than the sample of bootleg nabbia they had obtained on Baldur III before departing for Yurnos, although he reminded himself that such superficial differences did not necessarily mean that they were not a match genetically; as he had learned, the manner of preparation could have a substantial effect on the tea’s final appearance and properties, which was why a more rigorous analysis was mandated.
“To be more specific,” he explained to Vankov, “we are attempting to determine the source of a specific variety of nabbia known to have been sold on Baldur III, in hopes that it will lead us to the smugglers. Variations in color and taste are inconclusive, so we are relying on DNA instead, searching for a genetic match to the contraband nabbia.”
“Interesting,” Vankov said. “That would have never occurred to me. Then again, as an anthropologist, I’m more interested in social evolution than genetic drift.”
“You would not have been able to pursue this avenue of investigation in any event,” Spock pointed out. “Not without a sample from Baldur III.”
“True enough,” Vankov conceded. “We weren’t in a position to pop over to another planet to pick up some illicit tea. You needed to bring that incriminating evidence with you.”
“Precisely,” Spock said. “At present we have compared the bootleg tea to most of the samples from your pantry and personal stores without finding a match.” He sealed the envelope and placed it back in the carton. “This larger selection of samples increases our chances of success.”
He contemplated the many new samples to be tested. Although Spock liked to think that he worked more efficiently than most, he was glad that Chekov was on hand to share the workload and allow them to process the samples twice as fast. Despite his impatience, the young human had been both careful and diligent in his work.
“I should leave you gentlemen to your labors. Shall I prepare you a light repast? Jord usually frowns on eating in the nerve center, but we can probably make an exception in this case.” He directed his attention to Spock. “I assume that, being Vulcan, you are a vegetarian?”
“That is correct,” Spock said. “I hope that does not pose a—”
“Bozhe moi!” Chekov blurted. “Mister Spock! We have it!”
His obvious excitement caused Spock’s own pulse to quicken although his stoic features displayed only curiosity. “A match?”
“Affirmative, sir!” Chekov reviewed the readings on the tricorder he had been using to analyze the samples on a genetic level. “This particular sample is genetically identical to the nabbia confiscated on Baldur III, right down to the last chromosome and base pair.”
Vankov shared Chekov’s emotive reaction. “Are you positive, Ensign?”
“Absolutely!” He hopped out of his seat and handed the tricorder to Spock. “Look, Mister Spock. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Spock had no reason to doubt Chekov’s findings, but he reviewed the readings on the tricorder’s display. A side-by-side comparison of the samples’ genomes confirmed that they were indeed identical beyond even a reasonable margin of error. It appeared that this tea came from the same source as the tea confiscated on Baldur III, which might be able to point them toward the identity of the smugglers.
“Excellent work, Mister Chekov.” Spock called Vankov’s attention to the sample Chekov had just scanned, which had come directly from the household’s pantry. “Where was this tea obtained?”
Vankov examined the tea and its label. He held the dried flakes up to his nose and sniffed them. A grin broke out across his face.
“Oh, I’d know this tea anywhere. It’s one of Eefa’s.”
Spock did not recognize the name. “Eefa?”
“A local tea merchant,” Vankov explained. “She has a shop a few towns over.” He sniffed the tea again. “Yes, this is definitely one of her more popular wares. Goes by the name of Suffusion.” He shrugged modestly. “I fancy I’ve become something of a nabbia connoisseur in our years here.”
Spock took his word for it. He preferred hard evidence to Vankov’s nose, but it would be simple enough to verify the tea’s provenance.
“I believe I should meet this Eefa.”