2268
“This is unconscionable, Siroth. It’s not too late to save them.”
The top two floors of the tower had been converted into a fully equipped bioscience laboratory, comparable to anything found in a modern Federation facility. A diagnostic biobed, computer terminals and servers, advanced metabolic scanners, quantum microscopes, molecular synthesizers, and other sophisticated hardware had been smuggled piecemeal to Atraz over the years and painstakingly assembled by Siroth and his assistant all on their own, with access to the labs stringently restricted. Doctor Taya Hamparian, late of the Yegorov Institute on Ninevah II, could not fault their efforts; the facilities were just as first-rate as Siroth had promised her years ago, when he’d first proposed relocating to Atraz to pursue her work more freely. Ordinarily, she’d be in her element right now, busily reviewing the results of her most recent tests and simulations, without any interfering UFP bureaucrats looking over her shoulder, but how could she concentrate on her work when Kirk, McCoy, and even that odious Klingon witch had already been taken from the tower and turned over to Varkat’s guards to face the tender mercies of Atrazian “justice”? Unable to sit still, she crossed the lab to confront Siroth. The gruesome death of Louis Fortier, torn apart in the arena before her eyes, remained horribly fresh in her memory. She couldn’t stop seeing it.
The blood, the screams, the baying crowd, hungry for more carnage.
“What’s done is done.” Siroth looked up from examining a tissue sample under a quantum microscope. Like her, she had traded the elegant finery they’d worn to the coliseum for more practical lab attire. A classic ditty from late-twentieth-century America played softly in the background; Siroth insisted the antique tunes helped him focus. “I sympathize with your distress, but we had no choice. You offered them a chance to leave us be, but they forced our hand. What happens next is on them, not us.”
“But they were just doing their duty,” she protested.
“Even the Klingon?”
She hesitated. To be honest, she had mixed feelings about Colonel Yorba being sent to her doom. Being captured by hostile Klingons was not high on Hamparian’s bucket list; she preferred fake abductions to real ones. And yet, despite the genuine threat posed by Yorba and her mission, did even she deserve to meet the same ghastly end as Louis?
Did anyone?
“Maybe even the Klingon.” She tried and failed to stop thinking about the arena. “If I’d known what it would be like, watching Louis be savaged by those creatures…”
“It would have made no difference in the outcome.” Siroth turned away from his scope to reassure her. “In the short term, yes, what’s befallen Kirk and McCoy is tragic, but we need to take the long view. Centuries, even millennia, from now, when humanoids have literally conquered death thanks to our efforts and sacrifices, the loss of three short, ephemeral lives will be infinitesimal compared to all the eternally long lives we’ve made possible. Kirk and McCoy would have lived only the tiniest sliver of eternity regardless.”
She recognized the conviction in his voice, as well as the steady intensity of his gaze. It was the same unshakable confidence she’d noted when he’d first approached her at the institute years ago, after seeing the vast potential in her work in tissue rejuvenation and regeneration. She’d found that utter confidence inspiring at first, enough to make her seriously consider his more radical proposals, but now it was starting to worry her. How determined was too determined? When did single-minded purpose cross over into obsession—and ruthlessness?
Not for the first time, she questioned just how much she truly knew about her colleague, aside from the fact that he’d had the cunning, wherewithal, and scientific acumen to successfully pull off this Atrazian transplant. After winning her confidence, he had eventually divulged that he was an Augment, genetically engineered before his birth centuries ago, who had used cryogenics to “leapfrog” through time to the present day, but beyond that he was habitually tight-lipped about the particulars of his past and previous identities. The future was what mattered, he always insisted, not whatever lives he lived before.
Yet she couldn’t help wondering.
“You remarked earlier that you’d first met Kirk before he was born? What was that all about?”
“The first time I saw his face,” he corrected her, “but never mind. I should’ve kept that observation to myself; it was self-indulgent of me to say it aloud.”
“But you did say it, so now I’m asking.”
“I’d rather not discuss it. Truth to tell, it’s a long, complicated, rather painful memory that I’d just as soon not revisit if you don’t mind. It was lifetimes ago and bears no relevance to our present endeavors. Let it rest.”
“Whatever. So we’re just going to let them get savaged by beasts before a cheering mob? Maybe you can accept that as collateral damage, given your ‘expanded’ perspective, but what about me? How am I supposed to live with it?”
“By doing what you’ve always done: making your work your foremost priority and letting nothing stand in your way. That focus, that dedication, is what’s brought you this far, and it’s what will carry you through to the completion of your life’s work, to the ultimate benefit of sentient humanoids throughout the galaxy and beyond. Think of the lengths you’ve already gone to to find a haven where you can pursue your experiments wherever they may lead, without restriction. Where you can explore new ground and new horizons, your innovative genius uncurbed by red tape and regulations.” His tone softened. “You will get over this in time, I promise. Trust me on this.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I hear what you’re saying. It makes sense, intellectually, in the abstract, but we’re talking about actual, flesh-and-blood human beings…”
“Who are doomed to die in due time anyway. And who face death regularly just by serving in Starfleet. They knew the risks when they entered this sector, leaving Federation space.”
“But—” she began.
An electronic chime, coming from a nearby intercom terminal, interrupted them.
“Excuse me.” Siroth responded to the chime. “Yes?”
Gyar’s voice issued from the wall unit: “Pardon me, sir, but Varkat requests your presence. I gather he’s feeling his age and wants a restorative. A page is waiting to escort you to the royal quarters.”
“Understood.” Siroth turned away from the intercom. “I’m sorry, Taya, but the suzerain cannot be refused. Our operations here depend on his favor and patronage.” He gave her a concerned look. “Will you be all right?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Go attend to Varkat. Honestly, I can probably use some time alone.” She returned to a workstation and sat down in front of a computer display running a comparative analysis of Atrazian DNA samples, taken from a range of subjects of varied ethnicities, to establish a baseline for future surveys and experimentation. “Perhaps you’re right, and I just need to bury myself in my work for the time being.”
Siroth nodded in approval. “I can think of nothing better to ease your mind.” He shed his lab jacket and hung it on a peg before heading for the elevator. “I will return shortly.”
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
She waited, watching the minutes tick by on the computer’s chronometer, until she was sure he was gone and would not wander back to offer one last piece of advice. And then she stalled for a few more minutes, working up her nerve.
Do I really want to do this?
Siroth wasn’t wrong. She had uprooted her own life, turned herself into an outlaw, and taken extreme measures to pursue her goals. And both Kirk and Yorba had made clear their intentions to shut her down and, if necessary, forcibly remove her from Atraz. Getting rid of them was the smart, sensible thing to do. Anything else risked destroying everything Siroth had built here and all they hoped to achieve.
But… the blood, the screams…
She shook her head. Maybe Siroth could live with it as long as somebody else got their hands dirty, maybe she’d thought she could, before the arena, but not anymore.
Blood. Screams. Slaughter.
Moving quickly, before she could change her mind, she went to a cabinet and retrieved the gear taken from Kirk and the others. She had brought them upstairs earlier, ostensibly to add McCoy’s medkit to her own supplies, but perhaps another idea had already been forming at the back of her mind all along. Fortunately, Siroth hadn’t objected to storing the high-tech equipment in the lab, away from Atrazian eyes and hands. She glanced about nervously, even though Gyar was nowhere around.
Please don’t let me regret this.
She claimed a Starfleet communicator that had belonged to either Kirk or McCoy. Her gaze fell on its Klingon counterpart, its burnished gold-and-silver shell taunting her like an unwelcome reminder. Her conscience pricked her.
Maybe later?
First, however, she flipped open the Starfleet device and lifted it to her lips, taking pains not to alter whatever channel and operating frequency it was already set on.
“Hello? This is Doctor Taya Hamparian. Can you read me?”
She sweated through what felt like an endless pause before a male voice answered:
“Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu here.” His tone was wary. “This is a surprise. A good one, I hope.”
His voice was too loud for her peace of mind. She fiddled with the volume control to lower it before replying.
“You need to trust me, Lieutenant, if we want to save your captain and Doctor McCoy. Listen closely…”