“I don’t dispute anything you’re saying, Captain,” Desai said. “But let me ask you: How much comfort would you take from your knowledge of Starfleet’s good work, if the captain of the Enterprisehad been compelled to implement General Order 24 in order to contain the parasite threat on Deneva?”
Khatami’s mouth dropped open, as much in disbelief as in her own futile attempt to form an answer. She recovered quickly, her lips closing into a hard line. “Perhaps,” she said, rising from her chair, “we should all call it a night.”
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Fisher demanded when he accosted Desai in her quarters a short time later.
“Let’s not do this, Fish.” Desai kept her back to him while she removed her earrings and set them down on the dresser. She avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror.
The doctor wasn’t dissuaded. “First Nogura, now Khatami? Are you that determined to commit career suicide?”
“Look, I appreciate your concern, Zeke. I do. But I promise you I’m not going off the deep end.”
“Then what is it? Can you give me a good reason why you’ve been acting the way you have, and why I shouldn’t be worried about you?”
“It wasn’t my intention to offend Captain Khatami, but I’m not sorry I rattled her. The question needed to be asked.”
“For God’s sake, why?”
Desai finally turned to face him. “Because I fully expect that when we meet Governor Ying and I tell her she and her people can trust Starfleet to act in their best interests, Ying is going to ask me the same question, or one very like it . . . and I honestly have no more idea how to answer it than Khatami did.”
4
2259
“Hold fire, Mister Jordan!” Reyes shouted.
“Sir?” the helmsman said.
“That was an order, Ensign.” Ignoring Mazhtog’s sneer from the viewscreen, Reyes turned to sciences. “Brzezinski, status of the Chech’Iw?”
“Unchanged, sir. Maintaining combat readiness. They’re just mirroring us.”
Reyes’s gaze panned back to the Klingon. “Well . . . that’s certainly interesting. Looks like you were right, Gannon. They’re trying to provoke us into attacking first.” Reyes took a step forward, stopping at the foot of the helm console. “Give Gorkon this message, Mazhtog. I’m hereby demanding that my officers and I be allowed to visit Azha-R7a so that we can assess the condition of the colony and ascertain whether or not your ridiculous claim has any merit. Reyes out.” Putting his back to the screen, Reyes made a throat-cutting gesture to Kendrick, and the comm officer quickly closed the channel.
Reyes suddenly noticed for the first time that Fisher was on the bridge. “The hell are you doing here, Zeke?” As Fisher opened his mouth to lie, Reyes cut him off. “Never mind. It’s just as well. You’re joining me in the landing party.”
Oh, great,Fisher thought. This is exactly what I needed. Why didn’t I just go to sickbay?
“Captain,” Sadler said. “You aren’t truly considering going down there yourself while there are Klingons still occupying the colony?”
“That wouldn’t be my first choice,” Reyes granted, “but I have no real expectation they’re going to leave anytime soon. The fact is, we aren’t going to find out what’s really going on from up here. Talking to the Arkenites is our best bet.”
“Assuming the Klingons allow it, you mean.”
“They’ll allow it,” Gannon said.
“How can you be sure of that?” Sadler asked.
“Denying the captain’s request would be the same as admitting they have something to hide. The fact that they were trying to goad us into firing the first shot means they’re concerned about justifying their actions here.”
Sadler folded his arms, his skepticism palpable. “Since when do Klingons have to justify anything beyond the need to expand their empire? It seems as if everything they do falls rather conveniently under that aegis.”
Gannon shook her head. “They’re governed by a code of honor, Lieutenant, even if we may not always recognize it as such. It’s complex and faceted, but make no mistake: there isn’t any action they take that isn’t guided by it.”
Fisher saw Reyes watching Gannon intently.
“Message from the Chech’Iw,sir,” Kendrick said. “They say our request has been granted, and they’ve provided transporter coordinates. But we have to limit the landing party to three individuals.”
Sadler spread his hands. “Sir . . .”
“Mister Kendrick,” Reyes said, “kindly acknowledge our receipt of the Chech’Iw’s message, and inform them our people will be beaming down shortly. Also, I want a coded report of what we know of the situation so far sent to Starfleet Command, including the Klingons’ claim regarding the Arkenites, and a request for instructions. Gannon, Zeke, you’re with me. Mister Sadler, you have the conn.”
“Captain, I want to go on record as advising against your leading this landing party,” said Sadler.
“Your objection is duly noted, Lieutenant. But I’m not passing on this opportunity, especially when we have the advantage.”
“What advantage?”
“We agree to the Klingons’ terms, and they’re more likely to think they have things under control. They’ll have their guard down. I intend to use that.”
Sadler remained skeptical. “Fine. Have it your way. But with the captain’s permission, I have a few suggestions. . . .”
As the transporter effect dissipated, Fisher found himself surrounded by Klingons.
Four of them were at the beam-down coordinates, a fairly antiquated-looking transporter room on Sublevel 1 of the colony, ten meters below the surface of the asteroid. To no one’s surprise, the Klingons met the landing party with weapons drawn. Their leader, a scowling lieutenant who identified himself as Dravak, required them to surrender their hand lasers before he would let them any farther into the settlement. He also scanned the team’s communicators and Fisher’s medical kit for explosives, and only when he was thoroughly satisfied with the results did Dravak authorize two of his subordinates, a male and a female, to escort the Dauntlessofficers inside.
No one was sure what to make of what they saw when they went through the door.
In dim corridors that had obviously suffered recent and extensive structural damage, Arkenites and Klingons worked side by side to effect repairs, shoring up load-bearing walls and compromised support columns. The Klingons were all military, but they wore bulky utility vests over their uniforms. Kits and crates containing tools too big to fit in the vests sat on the floor.
“This isn’t an occupation force,” Fisher heard Gannon say. “These are engineers.” Reyes could only nod mutely, frowning as he took it all in.
Fisher watched the Arkenites. The ones they passed all seemed healthy and in good spirits. None of them appeared to be in distress. This wasn’t forced labor. It was willing cooperation.
The Dauntlessofficers were eventually led to a door marked with a sign in both Arkenzu and Federation Standard: ADMINISTRATOR DUVADI. The Klingons ushered them through the door, then followed them inside.
The office was more spacious than Fisher expected for a mining colony, but he quickly saw why: it doubled as a conference room. The center was dominated by a table big enough to seat ten, with a desk at the far end of the room.
From behind the desk came a shout: “My God, you’re Starfleet!” To Fisher’s surprise, the speaker was not an Arkenite, but a human—an auburn-headed man of average height, though to Fisher’s eyes he seemed pale and a little gaunt. As the Klingons took watchful positions in adjacent corners at the opposite end of the room, the man came out from behind the desk, unmistakably overjoyed. “They told me they wanted me to meet with someone, but they didn’t say who it would be. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you!”