Deep Space Station S-8
“Are you certain you’re up to this, Lieutenant?”
Doctor M’Benga eyed Sulu watchfully as he escorted his patient out of the examination room where Sulu had been recovering from his ordeal in the neutralizer chamber. Knox, who had been sitting outside the door, rose to join Sulu, who was glad to see that she appeared none the worse for wear after being sucker-punched by Grandle hours ago. As Sulu understood it, he had been out for some time, while Grandle remained under sedation. According to M’Benga, the security chief’s violent rejection of her brainwashing had taken its toll on her system; she needed an induced rest to recover from the physical and psychic trauma. Sulu could believe it.
“I have to be,” he replied.
Truth to tell, he was still feeling shaky. Fighting the beam had been excruciating, and his grip on his mind and memories was not as firm as he might have liked. The Voice kept echoing inside his skull, undercutting his resolve and reality, making him question his every thought.
Everything is fine. There’s nothing to worry about . . .
No, Sulu thought, that’s a lie. The sabotage was real, committed by Tilton, under the control of Naylis, who was now cooling his heels in the brig, while the trashed neutralizer equipment was locked up tight as well. But, wait, that can’t be right . . .
There was no saboteur, Naylis said so. Trust Naylis.
Sulu grimaced. He shook his head to clear it. Get out of my brain!
“You all right, sir?” Knox gave him a worried look. M’Benga looked concerned as well.
Sulu was tempted to tough it out and pretend he was back at one hundred percent already, but he owed Knox and M’Benga more honesty than that. He lowered his voice and glanced around the crowded infirmary to make sure no one was listening in.
“Just feeling a few aftereffects from my session in the chair.” Sulu liked to think that the Voice was gradually fading away, as though disappearing into the distance, but it wasn’t quieting fast enough for him. He paused to confer with Knox. “You have a new duty, Ensign. Until I’m fully myself again, you’re my reality check. I start to get fuzzy on our mission, or look as though I’m not entirely certain of my facts, your job is to remind me that the echoes in my head can’t be trusted. You think you can do that?”
Knox gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry to dump this on you, Knox, but that beam did a number on me. Going to need a little time to get over it, that’s all.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Sulu,” M’Benga said, frowning, “if you feel you’re not ready to be discharged—”
“Appreciate the thought, Doctor, but taking it easy is not an option right now.”
He strode decisively through the infirmary, weaving his way through the bustling waiting area until they reached the private examination room where Tilton was recuperating. Johann remained posted outside, ensuring that the manager’s condition stayed on a need-to-know basis. The security officer acknowledged Sulu’s arrival.
“He’s been asking to see you, Lieutenant.”
“So I hear.” Sulu hoped Tilton had some more answers for him. “I need to talk to him too.” He turned to M’Benga. “What shape is he in?”
“Better,” the doctor reported. “Over the last few years, modern medicine has made significant progress when it comes to treating victims of neural neutralizers. We’ve found that a careful regimen of neurosynaptic therapy, augmented by certain specific medications, can eventually reverse the effects of the beam in all but the most severe cases. Brain scans indicate that Tilton was more extensively programmed than either you or Chief Grandle, possibly over repeated sessions in the chair, so he’s going to require ongoing treatment to fully recover from what was done to him, but he’s already much better than how you last saw him.”
Sulu was glad to hear it, and not just because he had to interrogate the man further. He recalled that Captain Kirk was back on his feet in no time, despite a close encounter with the neutralizer, which Sulu found very encouraging.
If the captain can get over this, so can I.
The door slid open to admit Sulu and his companions to the room beyond, where he found Tilton sitting up in a biobed, sipping on a drink. The older man still looked rather haggard, but he appeared considerably less apathetic or deranged than before, while the diagnostic monitor above him also painted a less dire picture of his health. He looked up as Sulu and the others entered. A pained expression hinted at the guilt he had to be experiencing now. Sulu didn’t envy him.
“Lieutenant Sulu, I’m so sorry!” Tilton put aside his drink. “You have to believe me, I would have never betrayed my duties to this station, endangered so many ships and people, if Naylis hadn’t—”
“No need to explain or apologize.” Sulu held up a hand to cut off the man’s apologies. “Trust me, I understand. You weren’t responsible for your actions.”
Sulu’s reassurances failed to assuage Tilton. “You don’t understand. If you knew all I’ve done—!”
“About that.” Sulu took pains to avoid an accusatory tone. “How much do you actually remember about the . . . the . . .”
He struggled to complete the sentence, the words eluding him. The more he tried to complete his thought, the more slippery it became. What did he want to ask Tilton about again?
“Sabotage,” Knox prompted. “We need to find out more about the sabotage.”
There was no sabotage. You proved that. Everything is fine.
Negative, Sulu thought, trusting Knox more than the Voice. “Right.” He grabbed on to the word and forced it out through his lips. “Sabotage. Tell me about it, Tilton. What did you want to see me about?”
“It’s not over,” Tilton said, visibly distraught. “Before you caught me, before Doctor M’Benga helped me, I sabo . . . interfered . . . with another ship that was undergoing maintenance here at the station. Abusing my privileges and access, I . . . tampered . . . with various replacement parts before they were beamed over to the ship to be installed aboard the vessel.” He snorted ruefully. “Did quite a clever job of it, actually. My . . . alterations . . . were all but impossible to detect unless you knew what to look for.”
He buried his face in his hands. “What have I done?”
Tilton’s life signs reflected his agitation. M’Benga shot Sulu a warning look.
“What ship?” Sulu demanded anyway. He felt his own pulse speed up, despite the inner Voice assuring him there was nothing to worry about. There is no sabotage. “Which ship, Tilton?”
“The Ali Baba,” the manager said, his voice cracking. “A repurposed Coridian scout ship out of the Talbot system.” He grasped Sulu’s arm, desperate to get his warning across, no matter the strain to his system. Cords bulged in his neck. “They’re not safe, Sulu! Not the crew, not the passengers!”
His diagnostics climbed toward the yellow zone.
“Steady there, George.” M’Benga stepped forward to calm the man, applying his best bedside manner as he gently pried Tilton’s fingers away from Sulu’s arms. He eased the man back down onto the biobed. “We hear you. Mister Sulu will see to it, won’t you, Lieutenant?”
“Right this minute,” Sulu said, and not just to humor Tilton. He crossed the room to the nearest intercom. “Sulu to Starfleet Security Team B. Secure a vessel called the Ali Baba. Evacuate the crew and passengers immediately.”
A voice, which Sulu recognized as belonging to Carlos Alvarez, another crewman on loan from the Enterprise, answered immediately.
“Sir, Ali Baba departed for Baldur III hours ago.”
Sulu didn’t understand. “Despite the lockdown?”
“Rumor has it that you and Mister Tilton and Chief Grandle are . . . otherwise occupied,” Alvarez said diplomatically. “A few ships, like the Ali Baba, saw a chance to defy the lockdown and break orbit . . .”
Sulu kicked himself for not being on top of this, even though he’d been out cold in the infirmary for hours. Then again, the Voice kept telling him that he had nothing to worry about, that the station was perfectly safe. No wonder he hadn’t seen this coming.
Everything is fine.
“Hail Ali Baba,” he ordered. “Inform them that we have reason to believe that the ship’s systems are compromised. Instruct them to turn back immediately, as their lives may be in jeopardy.”
“Aye, sir,” Alvarez replied.
“Keep me informed. Sulu out.”
He stepped away from the intercom to return to Tilton’s bedside. Exhausted by his confession, Tilton rested against the biobed, which was tilted upward slightly so that he could maintain a sitting position.
“The Ali Baba?” he asked. “Safe?”
“We’re taking care of it,” Sulu said, “but is there anything else we need to know? A danger to another ship or the station?”
“I . . . I don’t think so. But my memory is . . . confusing. Parts of it are missing, or don’t match up with other memories. It’s still hard to tell which are real . . . and which were beamed into my brain, tricking me, making me do things I’d never do if only I knew what I was thinking . . .”
Sulu knew the feeling, but he had to keep pressing Tilton. They couldn’t let another impending disaster slip through the cracks in the manager’s skewed memories.
“Try to sort them out,” he urged. “I know it’s not easy—believe me, I know—but we have to know everything you did while under the neutralizer’s influence. Not to blame you or prosecute you, but simply to ensure that there are no further threats to avert.”
“I know!” Tilton was getting worked up again. “I’ll never forgive myself if another person gets hurt . . . or worse. I want to fix this, but . . . my brain . . . I can’t trust my brain!”
“Sulu,” M’Benga interrupted. “That’s enough for now.”
“I appreciate your concern for your patient, Doctor, but this is a matter of security. More lives may be at stake.”
“I understand that, Sulu, but I can’t in good conscience put Mister Tilton’s health and recovery at risk simply because of a hypothetical risk. Tilton’s mind and body both need time to heal. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m putting my foot down. You’ll have to resume this interrogation later. Doctor’s orders.”
M’Benga had clearly made up his mind, so there was no point in arguing. Sulu wondered if Captain Kirk ever found Doctor McCoy just as stubborn.
All the time, I’m guessing.
“Your call, Doctor,” Sulu conceded, while deciding on his next move. He didn’t intend to sit back and wait for Tilton—or Grandle, for that matter—to be up to talking. There were still measures he could take in the meantime. “Mind if I borrow the computer station in your office?”
The office Sulu shared with Grandle was on the other side of the habitation cone and a few levels away. He didn’t want to risk another emergency happening while he was en route in a turbolift.
“Help yourself,” the doctor said. “I need to do my rounds anyway.”
“Thanks.” Sulu headed out the door. “Knox, you’re with me.”
“Aye, sir.”
Relax, the Voice whispered. Everything is fine.
Sulu didn’t believe that for one second.
M’Benga’s temporary office, which he was sharing with the station’s regular doctor, resembled McCoy’s office back aboard the Enterprise, just a bit more cluttered at present. Sulu seated himself at a desk, facing a computer access terminal. Knox pulled over a chair to look over his shoulder.
“Computer,” Sulu said. “How many vessels have defied the lockdown and departed the station today?”
“Five vessels have left the proximity of the station,” the computer replied.
“List them.”
“The vessels were, in order of departure, the Celestial, the Industry, the Gamma 337, the Ali Baba, and the Lucky Strike.”
That last name caused his heart to skip a beat.
Helena’s ship?
He was less concerned with the fact that she had left without saying good-bye than with the possibility that the Lucky Strike might have been compromised as well, endangering Helena and everyone else aboard her ship. And the same applied to at least three other vessels, not counting the Ali Baba, which was already known to have been sabotaged. Sulu fought the urge to demand that M’Benga allow him to run the names of the other ships past Tilton, no matter how fragile the recovering manager might be.
Don’t worry about it. Everything is fine. No ships are in danger.
If only, Sulu thought.
“Sir?”
Knox’s voice broke his reverie. “Yes, Ensign?”
“I wasn’t sure, but, with all due respect, you looked like you might be zoning out again.”
“Less so than before, I think, but good job keeping me on my toes.” He fully realized just how awkward a situation he had placed Knox in; it couldn’t be comfortable having to babysit a superior officer whose mental faculties weren’t entirely up to snuff. “Thoughts, Ensign? Am I overlooking anything?”
“The lockdown, sir? Should we reinstate it?”
“Absolutely,” he decided right then and there. A lockdown was possibly unnecessary now that the saboteur had been, well, neutralized, but Sulu was inclined to play it safe until he was certain that there were no more unpleasant surprises ahead. He needed to interrogate Tilton further once M’Benga judged it safe to do so, and Grandle as well as soon as her memories could be relied upon with confidence. Was there any point in trying to get Naylis to talk? He could threaten to extradite the man back to Troyius, where he was apparently none too popular with the powers that be.
The office intercom chimed urgently.
“Sulu here,” he said in response. “What is it?”
“Bad news, sir,” Alvarez reported. “We managed to hail the Ali Baba . . . and they’re in trouble, sir. Their artificial gravity is out of control, powering up at an accelerating rate so that they can barely move. They can’t disengage the gravity, they can hardly operate the ship, and, at this rate, they’re going to be crushed to jelly if we can’t get help to them in time.”
Damn, Sulu thought. Tilton’s guilt-ridden words came back to him: “If you knew all I’ve done—!”
“Inform them we’re dispatching emergency assistance immediately,” Sulu said. “Stand by for specific orders.”
“Aye, sir.”
Switching off the intercom for the moment, Sulu turned to the computer terminal in search of relevant data.
“Computer, show me Ali Baba’s current location relative to station.”
“Processing.”
A star chart appeared on the terminal’s visual display. Sulu winced at the picture it presented. Even if a rescue mission departed at once, the Ali Baba was three hours away. That might be too late for the endangered crew and passengers, but perhaps there was another ship closer to the Ali Baba that could be drafted into service?
“Computer, identify nearest other vessel to Ali Baba.”
The answer came in a matter of seconds. “Allegra, currently patrolling border of Antares Maelstrom.”
Sulu hesitated. He was reluctant to divert Allegra from guarding the border, lest an impatient vessel risk the Maelstrom in hopes of getting out ahead of the competition, perhaps counting on finding the mythical Passage. The last thing they needed right now was another ship in jeopardy.
“Lieutenant?” Knox asked.
“Nothing to be concerned with, Ensign. Just taking a moment to weigh our options.”
But a moment was all he could take if they wanted to save the lives aboard the Ali Baba. He made the only possible choice and switched the intercom back on.
“Sulu here. Hail Allegra. Inform them of the situation and order them to set course at maximum warp to render assistance to the Ali Baba as fast as prudently possible.”
“Aye, sir,” Alvarez said. “Hailing Allegra now.”
“Keep me informed. Sulu out.”
He assessed the situation. As he recalled, crew members Finch and Kumar were presently assigned to border patrol. They were good people, but the task before them was a tricky one. They would have to find a way to repair or disable the sabotaged gravity plates from outside the ship or else somehow evacuate the Ali Baba without also getting trapped by the super gravity aboard the ship, as well as administer whatever emergency medical treatment might be required. Sulu made a mental note to alert the infirmary that they could be expecting casualties.
Everything is . . . fine? There is . . . nothing . . . to be concerned with?
Even the Voice wasn’t buying that line anymore. Its soothing assurances lacked conviction. Sulu chose to take that as a good sign.
“What now, sir?” Knox asked. “Do we just sit back and wait?”
“As Mister Scott likes to say, we can’t defy the laws of physics, Ensign. Even today, with our warp drives and transporters, we can’t be everywhere at once.”
He understood her frustration, though. He was used to being at the helm of a starship, heading into the unknown, not being stuck in an office far from the action. He expanded the star charts on the terminal display, watching intently as Allegra sped away from the Maelstrom, leaving its border worryingly unguarded. He tried to reassure himself that this opportunity wouldn’t tempt any reckless travelers. Surely nobody would be so rash as to brave the Maelstrom just to find a shortcut to Baldur III?
“Computer, display the positions and courses of the other vessels currently en route from the station to Baldur III.”
The charts shifted on screen. Colored lines tracked the progress of the other vessels. All but one were wisely taking the long route around the Maelstrom. The Lucky Strike, however, had just abruptly altered course—and was now heading straight for the Maelstrom.