2292
The medical bay aboard the Lukara was significantly smaller and less well equipped than its equivalent on the Enterprise. Still, Doctor Kesh appeared quite proud of it as he gave Saavik and the ship’s other guests a tour of the facilities. Captain B’Eleste was not in attendance; it had swiftly become obvious that she had little interest in mingling with her passengers, preferring to spend the majority of her time on the bridge, overseeing the voyage to Nimbus III, while delegating hosting duties to Kesh, her somewhat more gregarious medical officer. The visitors were also accompanied at all times by one or more armed Klingon escorts, who were not about to give the guests free rein aboard the ship. In this instance, the tour of the medbay was overseen by a glowering warrior named Kulton, who watched them like a Therbian merchant on guard against shoplifters. Saavik found his relentless surveillance… irksome.
“I’m rather surprised to discover that Klingon warships even have medical facilities.” Taleb surveyed the meager array of biobeds. “Don’t you all prefer fighting to the death?”
“That is an oversimplification, my Romulan friend,” Kesh said. “In the words of Kahless, it is better to win a war than lose gloriously. Medicine has its place in combat, to get wounded warriors back in fighting form as soon as possible.”
“The better to battle another day,” Saavik said. “Quite logical.”
Taleb sighed. “I believe that is what the doctor just said.”
Nearly two days had elapsed since they had arrived on the Lukara, yet the arrogant young Romulan still seemed to find Saavik’s presence no less distasteful, even as he remained cordial to the Osori envoy. If he intended his attitude to nettle or provoke Saavik, he greatly underestimated the degree to which she was inured to such treatment, and not just from Romulans. Her mixed ancestry sullied her in the eyes of a significant percentage of Vulcans as well, subjecting her to varying quantities of condescension and pity. Like her mentor, Spock, she had sought a more accepting environment in Starfleet.
“Be nice, Taleb,” Cyloo chided him gently. “I for one welcome Saavik’s perspective.”
Unlike the aloof Romulan, the young Osori, who was apparently no more than three hundred years old, had proved quite personable. She strolled through the medbay, taking it in with three wide eyes.
“So much equipment and technology… just to keep people alive and well? Who could have imagined it? Our people heal quickly from all but the most devastating accidents, and illness is practically unknown to us.”
“How fortunate for you,” Kesh said dryly.
“Oh dear!” A stricken look came over her scaly face. “I hope that didn’t sound as though I was bragging. I don’t mean to be insensitive.”
“No harm was done,” Saavik assured her. “Every species has its own distinctive traits and life cycles, as defined by their biology. It would be illogical to begrudge the Osori the benefits of their evolution. We must each of us accept the fundamentals of our nature, including our respective life-spans.”
“Must we?” Kesh asked. “I like to think that medical science also plays a part there.”
“To a degree,” she agreed. “I certainly did not intend to disparage your chosen profession, Doctor.”
“Understood.” He looked her over, not for the first time. “And speaking of medical science, I still hope to examine you more thoroughly sometime soon, to study how your hybrid nature varies from baseline Vulcans and Romulans along a range of parameters: genetic, metabolic, neurological, glandular, and so on. Even the most subtle variance could prove most illuminating… and possibly open up promising new avenues of inquiry.”
“We shall see,” she replied in an expressly noncommittal fashion. She detected nothing particularly unsavory in Kesh’s scrutiny, but was uncomfortable being regarded as a medical curiosity. “Perhaps later.”
Or not.
“I look forward to it.” He crossed the bay to a computer terminal at his desk. “It may interest you all to know that we waste few resources on cosmetic reconstruction; Klingons bear their battle scars as badges of honor, but we are making substantial progress in the area of practical, combat-ready prosthetics.” He tapped away at a control panel. “Let me call up some nonclassified schematics—”
A strident, atonal klaxon blared abruptly. An artificially guttural voice issued from concealed speakers:
“Defense condition one! We are experiencing a warp-core emergency situation! General quarters!”
“By Morath’s Shame!” Kesh exclaimed. “If the core should rupture…” Dismay contorted his visage as he turned toward his guests. “We must get you to an escape pod immediately. There’s no time to lose!”
Taleb glared at Kesh, looking personally offended by the emergency. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I don’t understand,” Cyloo said, bewildered. “Are we in danger?”
Saavik kept a cool head, relying on both her Vulcan and Starfleet training, despite the distressing nature of the alert. She was puzzled by what could have possibly caused such a dire malfunction; there had been no sudden jolts or turbulence prior to the announcement, no indication of an attack or collision. Moreover, it was her understanding that Klingon warp engines were very solidly constructed, due to the expectation that their ships would regularly engage in combat. What could have produced such a sudden engineering crisis?
“Halt!” Kulton ordered. “No one is going anywhere!” The Klingon peered at Saavik and her fellow interlopers suspiciously, and drew his disruptor pistol from its holster. “Stay where I can see you… and don’t try anything!”
“But there’s no time!” Kesh protested over the din of the klaxons. “We must—”
“Not until I hear from the captain!” Kulton kept a close watch on his charges as he marched over to a wall-mounted intercom unit. He jabbed the activation button and barked into the microphone grille. “Kulton to bridge! I have the aliens. What are your orders?”
Static erupted from the grille, along with a spray of white-hot sparks. Kulton yanked back singed fingers. He growled like an angry le-matya repelled by fire.
Curious, Saavik thought. Why would a warp-core malfunction cause the intercoms to short-circuit? Were both symptoms of a ship-wide systemic breakdown?
“Kulton!” Kesh spoke sharply. “We are losing precious moments. The lives of these visitors are our responsibility. Honor demands—”
“Quiet, bone-stitcher!” Kulton said, visibly frustrated and flustered. “Let me think!”
Saavik sympathized. Events were occurring very swiftly, providing insufficient opportunity to analyze them with precision. It was a most dynamic situation, complicated by the inconveniently volatile personalities involved.
“I demand answers!” Taleb said. “What treachery is afoot?”
“You dare speak of treachery, Romulan?” Kulton advanced on Taleb, pistol in hand. “I know sabotage when I smell it. You expect me to believe this but a coincidence, with our sworn enemies aboard?”
“It is premature to suspect foul play.” Saavik too wondered whether Taleb might have had a hand in this emergency, but she was uncertain when he would have had the opportunity to commit sabotage; Captain B’Eleste ran a tight ship. “We lack sufficient data to accurately determine the cause of this crisis.”
“We can assess blame later,” Kesh said forcefully. “Right now we must save our—”
“Save them? These point-eared spies may have doomed us all!” Kulton menaced Taleb with his pistol. “I’ve half a mind to—”
“Correct.” Taleb executed a spinning high kick that sent Kulton’s sidearm flying across the medbay. “It’s obvious you have only half a mind.”
“Son of a targ!” Kulton drew a d’k tahg from his belt. “I’ll paint this butcher shop green with your blood!”
Taleb adopted a defensive stance, perhaps already rethinking his impetuous move. Kesh scrambled to claim the fallen disruptor. Saavik, seeing the situation spiraling out of control, took swift and efficient action, slipping quietly behind Kulton while he was focused on Taleb. A nerve pinch dropped the irate Klingon to the deck, where his blade clattered harmlessly against the deck, even as the nonstop klaxons, flashing alarms, and computerized voice reminded Saavik that the larger emergency was ongoing.
“Condition one! Repeat: Condition one! Warp core in jeopardy!”
She noted, even in the midst of more pressing concerns, that the Klingon computer’s voice was gruffy masculine, as opposed to the familiarly feminine voice of the Enterprise. A cultural difference worth pondering perhaps, if and when she survived the immediate crisis, which continued to perplex her. Sabotage? A cascading system failure? An undetected spatial anomaly? None of these hypotheses struck her as probable.
“Hurry!” Kesh, now in possession of Kulton’s disruptor, began herding them toward an emergency exit. “There are escape pods just a few short corridors away. We can still reach them if we make haste!”
Saavik nodded. She was familiar with the basic layout of a bird-of-prey, having escaped the Genesis Planet in a captured Klingon vessel, which then-Admiral Kirk had commandeered to convey them to Vulcan. There was indeed a complement of escape pods located on this deck, a short distance from the medbay.
“What about him?” She indicated Kulton, who was sprawled limply on the deck. She did not relish the prospect of having to carry him when speed was of the essence, but saw no other alternative. Perhaps Taleb could assist her in the interests of expediency?
“Leave him!” Kesh snapped. “There’s no time, and no room in the pod anyway.”
His brusque response was unexpected coming from a physician, and there would be more than one pod available to them. Why was Kesh so quick to abandon a member of his crew while the ship was in peril?
“Stop,” Saavik said. “Something is not right here.” She hastily reviewed the various incongruities puzzling her and concluded that the equation was incomplete. “What are you not telling us, Doctor?”
“Damn it.” His concerned expression slipped, along with his Klingon accent. He reached beneath his leathery gray lab coat and produced a second disruptor pistol. He aimed both weapons at the visiting trio. “I should’ve known better than to try to trick even a half Vulcan.”
She surmised the truth. “There is no imminent warp-core breach. You staged a counterfeit alert for our ears alone, and sabotaged the medbay intercom as well.”
“Guilty as charged. I’d hoped to avoid any crude gangster tactics if possible, but… no more games.” He nodded toward the exit. “That way, and step on it.”
“No,” Cyloo said. “I don’t think I want to do that.”
A roseate glow enveloped her, rendering her untouchable. She’d previously demonstrated her gloves’ defensive capabilities shortly after her arrival on the Lukara, so Saavik derived some relief from knowing that the envoy was not in danger from Kesh’s weapons or the fictitious warp-core malfunction. Only the two observers needed to be concerned about the disruptor pistols arrayed against them.
“Up to you.” Kesh aimed one weapon each at Saavik and Taleb. “But your new friends will pay the price if you refuse to cooperate.”
Saavik realized she had just become a hostage in a much less theoretical sense. Crude gangster tactics, indeed.
“Save yourself,” she told Cyloo. “Your safety is paramount to the success of our mission. Do not allow yourself to be extorted in this manner.”
Taleb glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “I am also prepared to sacrifice myself.”
“How very noble, but I’m not talking to either of you,” Kesh said before addressing Cyloo directly. “My apologies for putting you in this difficult position. Again, I had hoped to get you into the pod by subterfuge instead, but their lives, as brief and ephemeral as they are, are in your hands now, Osori. Will you truly deprive of them of their fleeting futures simply to protect yourself?”
“Do not listen to him,” Saavik said. “Our deaths, should they happen, will be on his hands, not yours. You will not be to blame.”
“But you’ll still be killed regardless.” Cyloo looked anxiously at Saavik and Taleb. “I cannot allow that.”
“A creature of conscience.” Kesh smiled triumphantly. “Your choice does you credit. Now, hurry. Our chariot awaits.”
Saavik feared there was no dissuading Cyloo. “At least remain out of phase for now,” she counseled. “As a precaution against possible weapons fire.”
“Yes.” Cyloo looked nervously at the twin disruptor pistols. “That does seem wise.”
“Do as you please,” Kesh said impatiently. “Just get moving, now!”
As anticipated, the exit led to a short service corridor adjacent to the medbay. Klingon signage pointed toward pod access points directly ahead. Contrary to uninformed stereotypes, Saavik knew, Klingons were not militantly opposed to abandoning ship provided there was no hoping of saving it—and no risk of being taken prisoner. As with the medbay, escape pods offered a chance to fight another day. In this case, however, the alert status did not extend beyond the medical facilities; no klaxons or flashing warnings accompanied the party down the hall. The rest of the ship and crew were apparently unaware of the faked catastrophe.
Naturally, Saavik thought. Kesh would not want competition at the pods.
His devious plan was nevertheless complicated by a random Klingon crewman crossing their paths at an intersection. The warrior reacted with surprise to the unexpected sight of the ship’s doctor escorting the visiting aliens at gunpoint. The man reached for his own sidearm.
“What goes on here?” he demanded. “Do you require assistance?”
“Far from it.”
Kesh fired through the intangible Osori, the sizzling veridian beam knocking the startled warrior off his feet. Smoke rose from a charred wound on the warrior’s chest. Clearly, the pistol was not set on stun.
“Did you… kill him?” Cyloo stared at the body, aghast. “Just like that?”
It was likely, Saavik guessed, that she had never witnessed a death before, let alone a killing.
“Regrettable.” Kesh shook his head sadly. “But now you know not to underestimate the lengths I’m willing to go to achieve my aims. Nothing less than eternity is at stake.”
What does he mean by that? Saavik wondered.
They hurried past the murdered Klingon, arriving at a thickly shielded entry hatch that resembled the armored door of a Zaranite treasure vault. A polarized inset window offered a glimpse of the pod’s compact interior. Kesh instructed Saavik to open the hatch. Lights and controls panels activated inside the pod as the hatch swung open. She wondered where Kesh intended to escape to—and how far he expected to get.
“Get in,” he commanded. “Going to be a tight squeeze, I’m afraid, but we’ll have to make do.”
“You do not need two hostages to coerce Cyloo,” Saavik observed. “Leave Taleb behind.”
The Romulan scowled at her. “Do not martyr yourself on my behalf, half blood. I do not require your beneficence.”
“You are receiving it anyway.”
It is the logical choice, she thought. Taleb’s testimony incriminating Kesh would carry more weight with his Romulan superiors, possibly averting conflict between the various parties. And beyond that, I can no sooner abandon Cyloo than she did me.
Kesh frowned, losing patience. “Save your breath, both of you. The Romulan is coming with us, period.” Saavik opened her mouth to reason with him further, but he did not grant her the chance. “I have my reasons.”
She made a last attempt to persuade Cyloo to save herself.
“You must not do this. Future relations between our peoples are at stake.”
“And let him end your life, as he did that Klingon’s?” Cyloo retracted her aura, coming back into phase with the rest of them. “No, I could not bear to witness that again.”
She entered the pod.