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"Ve must be able to
reason vit dem! Dey are intelligent beings!"
"I'm open to
suggestions, Mr. Chekov," said the Captain wearily – he and the
young navigator were held in a comfortable prison. Padded chairs, a
table with food and drink, an adjacent bathroom – entirely cleared
of blades and dangerous substances, of course. There was even a
viewing screen, from which they looked out on the view of Trell
below.
If not for the armed guards and cameras recording their every move and word, they might almost have been on holiday. Phasers and communicators, obviously, were forfeit – for a while it looked as though Chekov might try taking on the guard with bare fists, purely out of frustration. Kirk had told him to sit down and conduct himself properly. The ensign's spirit could at times be very heartening – at times like this, it grated.
The door buzzed open. A'alya stood in the doorway, flanked by more guards.
"Time grows short,
Captain," said the separatist leader softly. "We cannot main our
cloak indefinitely. Soon it will be necessary for us to leave orbit.
I must press you for a decision."
"My mind is unchanged. No
surrender."
A'alya sat down. Gone was the soldier – her posture was open, face reasonable – one commander to another. Guards edged in behind her surreptitiously.
"Why not? Are there some terms you desire met? Some agreement we can reach?" She glanced from one to the other.
"Ve do not bargain with terrorists," Chekov said.
A'alya closed her
eyes. "You insist on that word. Yet have you never destroyed an
enemy ship, even a hostile fleet? Would you not destroy a whole
planet if it threatened everything you held dear? Would you not then
be decorated – hailed as heroes – yet when we defend that which
is dearer to us than life – then we are terrorists? Criminals?"
"You are criminals when you murder innocent civilians."
"And
you will not be, if you condemn your crew to death?"
A clatter. Suddenly, Kirk's communicator appeared on the table between them. He was half-tempted to grab it, hail Scott and –
- six guns were pointed at him and Chekov, silently and simultaneously.
"Tell your people to
surrender," A'alya pleaded softly. "All life is preferable to
no life – is that not your belief?"
The communicator waited
on the white surface between them.
No-one spoke or moved.
"Spock! Spock answer me!"
Coughs. Then: "I am
undamaged, doctor. Are you or the minister harmed?"
"No, the
rock fall missed us too. Just choking on the dust…."
"We are
now in some difficulty."
"You can say that again!"
"I
can pass the ciridium through a crack here in the rock. Do you think
you will be able to repair the communicator yourself, by following my
instructions?"
McCoy shifted uneasily. "I'm no engineer
Spock. Why don't I just pass you the communicator?"
"I do
not see a large enough opening. Attempting to move any of these rocks
even fractionally would be manifestly unsafe."
"Then it looks
like I don't have much of a choice, doesn't it?"
"I shall
pass the material through."
McCoy cupped his hands to receive
the ribbon-thin elements. His eyes were repeatedly drawn to the
Trellian. Harek's dark eyes had taken on a glazed look now, and his
breathing was laboured. 'Could just be pain…or the scanner might
not be functioning correctly. He might have a fractured
skull…internal bleeding we don't even know about…' A familiar
sick feeling. Aside from the personal and professional concern of a
physician, if there was one thing McCoy didn't need, it was a
negligence suit from the Trellian high council. They had to get out
here, and fast.
"Okay, Spock, I have the metal. Now tell me what to do."
"Open the front panel
of the communicator by sliding the switch underneath. You should see
a red wire and blue wire, both connected to a circular power
centre."
"Uh huh."
"Above both of these is a minature
circuit board, to which the red wire should be connected."
"But
it's not."
"Affirmative. Now, this will be delicate
operation. You need to extract the broken end of the red wire and
twist a small amount of ciridium around the filament. Then, grip the
wire by the plastic coating. Insert the wire back into it's
connection point at the circuit board, which is marked with a
triangular symbol."
"That thing? My God, I can barely see
it!" This was not his forte. Minute surgical procedures he could
handle with confidence, down to the reconstruction of cells –
somehow, having a palm-sized electrical box as a patient was
infinetly more difficult.
"As you make the
connection, doctor, do not touch the metal. If you do you may be
electrocuted."
"Anything else?"
Pause. "If it would
give you confidence, I could call upon one of your own superstitions
and….wish you luck?"
McCoy wasted several seconds trying to
decide if that was a Vulcan joke, then a small noise of anguish from
Harek brought his attention online. With infinite care, he pinched
the red wire and extracted it, regarded with dislike the piece of
filament torn in the fall. He chose a thin strand of ciridium,
twisted it round the metal – drew his hand back and regarded his
handiwork.
"Now pinch the
plastic!" Spock urged, watching him through the crack: "If you
are properly insulated it is illogical to fear you will be harmed!"
"Tell that to my nerves." McCoy steeled himself, took the wire by
the coating, and inserted it into the circuit. He yanked his hand
back like the metal was red hot:
"Excellent, doctor."
It was impossible to tell if Spock was being ironic or not. "Now it
simply remains to test it."
" If this doesn't work…"
McCoy glanced to his patient and back. Then:
"McCoy to Enterprise,
Enterprise come in!"
Static only.
"Well, that's
that."
"Keep trying!"
"Enterprise? Enterprise? Uhura,
do you read me?" He did what he did next on impulse. Spock might
not have tried it. On the other hand, he might have seen some obscure
logic in the attempt that the doctor missed entirely.
"McCoy to Kirk! Jim come in!"
A breath drawn.
"This is Commander A'alya, of the separatist vessel Sarda. We hold Captain James Kirk and his navigator as our hostages. State the purpose of your communication." Shock, elation and anguish flashed in quick sucession through McCoy's mind. Not Jim – they were alive – they were captives.
"Close the channel," a voice rasped suddenly from beside him. McCoy jumped –
"Harek?"
"Close the channel!" The Trellian commanded viciously, and lunged
for the communicator. McCoy snapped it shut instinctively.
"Who was that?" he demanded.
"A'alya." Harek
leaned back against the wall, exhausted by his effort. "Not her."
"You knew about the separatists," McCoy accused.
"We all know."
"Why didn't-…?"
"Their existence is not to be
acknowledged. They are no longer Trellians. They are nothing."
"I'd say they just made their existence pretty damn clear,
wouldn't you!"
"A'alya…" Harek's eyes closed. He
appeared to be conducting some intense inner struggle, a debate with
himself. Then: "Listen." Now his voice was stronger. "I know
this network. A'alya and I, once…but times were hard, and she
changed. In the early days, she told me some things – and I told
her not to listen to the lies. But she was gone. They won her. Before
she left me, I learned some things about the nature of the separatist
movement. Their organization is carefully structured – they do
not know the names of their leaders, or who there comrades are. It
means that they cannot confess – when – we catch one." He drew
a deep breath, battling with deep pain, not just from injury but from
a sickness he was forced to acknowledge, a pestilence that festered
in the world he loved so dearly. McCoy felt a sharp twinge of
sympathy. 'They can scarcely bear to acknowledge this to
themselves. To admit these things to aliens – it must be –
torture.'
"There is a chance,"
Harek said, coming back to the present: "That I can beguile A'alya.
She always believed that I would 'come around'…she wants
this. If the codes are unchanged – I can get aboard that vessel,
pose as one of them and – initiate self-destruct. Listen to me. The
Sarda is a standard-design Trellian Fleet vessel. The
separatists commandeered her. I know the layout like the back of my
hand – I've done three years compulsory service."
"You'd
die!" And so would Jim and Chekov. I'm sorry, but I can't give
you permission to sacrifice the life of my captain and fellow
crewman." McCoy held the communicator out of reach.
Harek smiled faintly. "Trellians love life. But there are some things we hold dearer." With a startling, abrupt movement, he summoned his strength and stood. Spock shouted a warning. But McCoy was too surprised to react fast enough as a sharp hand came down on the back of neck, and then there was dark for a while.
