As it happened, I didn't see Uhura again for several days.
For the rest of that afternoon I remained immersed in the library files. By dinnertime it became apparent that the headache I was developing wasn't going to go away, and in fact showed every sign of getting worse. Thinking that some exercise might help, I began to run through the aerobics routine named by its waggish designer "calisthenics in captivity"; it was meant to be used by someone who had to move in a confined space and who had no exercise partners. But I was able to complete less than half of it: my heart was racing and I was short of breath. How could I have gotten so badly out of shape so soon? Well, I hadn't had much to eat or drink, and I'd gotten far too little sleep. Coupled with the events of the last twenty-odd hours, that was enough to make anyone feel less than optimal.
I could easily solve one of those problems. The dictionary assisted me in choosing a meal of chicken stew, a salad of leafy greens, and apricots. The apricots looked and smelled exactly like the pirum fruit that grew in profusion in my uncle's glasshouse, though they were less sweet. The food was tasty, and once again there was nothing left for the cyclers except the empty plates.
I read for a long while and did my best to ignore the headache. I wanted to go to bed, but Kirk had said that he would call sometime later in the day, and I was determined to be wide awake when I had my next meeting with him. Finally, though, I had no choice but to lie down on the narrow bed in the sleeping alcove. The sense memory of my uncle's glasshouse had been triggered by those apricots, and I fell asleep remembering the smells and tastes of the exotic flowers and fruits so lovingly cultivated from the precious stores of seeds he'd brought home from his missions on other worlds. What I would give to be back there now ...
I awoke no more than two hours later, shaking with chills and burning with fever, and knew that I had only a moment to get to the fresher.
The vomiting and diarrhea left me weak and exhausted, and it was an open question whether I had the strength even to find my way back to bed. Poison? But I knew in my heart that wasn't the case. No -- chengha virus! It must have been incubating for days. Vanek had reported three people down with the virus just as we were leaving for the Neutral Zone. I hadn't thought anything about it, since I'd had the same broad-spectrum immunization as everyone else. Including those three patients, of course: obviously the spectrum wasn't broad enough.
The room, or perhaps my head, seemed to be spinning out of control. Maybe I could make it back to bed if I moved carefully and held on to the wall --
The door signal broke the silence of the room like an alarm. Not Kirk, not now! That my enemy should see me like this, sick, enfeebled -- it was unthinkable. I straightened my clothing and pushed my hair back from my face. Drawing on every resource I possessed, I faced the door, held myself erect, and raised my voice to an authoritative pitch: "Enter!"
The light from the corridor was so bright that it hurt my eyes. Silhouetted against the brilliance was a figure which my distorted vision perceived as impossibly dark, impossibly tall. Spock.
"Commander." No expression in that voice now, no tremor of passion or affect; its timbre was at once familiar and alien. "I am sorry to disturb you. Captain Kirk sends his apology. He cannot meet with you as he promised. He has asked me to tell you that our arrival at Starbase Four may be delayed. The Enterprise has received a distress call from a science colony, and we must respond."
I heard his words, and on a dim, distant level I even comprehended them. But there were more important matters I wanted to discuss with him before I killed him, as I -- or my avengers -- surely would: matters concerning his character, his ethical system, and his personal morality. All I had to do was remain upright long enough --
I was swaying where I stood. A black curtain descended over my eyes, and I knew that I was going to fall. Spock's movement was so quick that he caught me before I hit the floor; his hands gripped my upper arms strongly enough to hurt. He turned to the guard behind him: "Summon a medic! Now!"
I wanted to tell him, You're mistaken -- you think this is a suicide attempt, and it's only two-day chengha, but I hadn't the strength to speak aloud. Just before I lost consciousness, I wondered how I had known what he was thinking.
* * *
Awareness came and went as the medics trundled me through the corridors and into the turbolift. The gurney's antigravs were unevenly charged; even though the restraint straps were in place, I felt in danger of rolling off every time we turned a corner. That didn't do anything for my already queasy stomach, and I was in sad shape by the time we arrived in Sickbay.
McCoy swore colorfully when he saw me. Some of his curses seemed to be directed at Spock, who had accompanied the medics. "What the hell happened? Has she been injured? Page M'Benga again! Chapel, run a diagnostic, stat! Get out of the goddamn way!" That last to Spock, who stood at the far end of the room, and who wasn't impeding McCoy.
Chapel and one of the medics lifted me onto a diagnostic bed, cut away my jumpsuit, and covered me with a thin metallic sheet. The medic filled a vial with blood from my arm. Chapel, her eyes on the indicators above me, began to call out the readings to McCoy, who was muttering angrily to himself as he searched databases. "No trauma, no concussion, no internal injuries," she said. "Temp forty-two point two, pressure eighty over fifty, pulse two-twenty, severe dehydration. Starting a ten percent cuprisaline drip. Looks like a massive bacterial or viral infection, Doctor. Blood tests on the way. We're energizing an ice-pack field to try to get her temp down till we can medicate her." The transparent dome suspended itself over the bed, bringing with it a blessed coolness. I closed my eyes. If only I could have a glass of water ...
Something touched my lips. I opened my eyes to see a flexible drinking-tube, attached to a cup filled with cold water, held in a hand the same color as my own. "Nerien sa Enterprise," I said, or tried to, through the haze of fever. "Ie kleya iol'tra ... Fal'kanin." I hoped I had expressed myself with appropriately restrained viciousness; my Vulcan language skills were uncertain at the best of times.
Spock didn't reply; he merely glanced at the diagnostic readings and then towards the door as M'Benga entered. "You are in safe hands here," he said quietly, looking down at me. He took the cup when I released it. His fingers brushed mine so lightly that I scarcely felt his touch.
The tears that filled my eyes were undoubtedly due to the heightened emotional state that accompanies a fever, which also accounted for the otherwise inexplicable wave of regret and remorse that washed over me, a surge of feeling that seemed to come out of nowhere. "What are you," I whispered, "that you could do this?" But this time there was no answer to that question; he had already left Sickbay.
* * *
The next day, or perhaps the next two days, passed in a surreal blur. I drifted in and out of consciousness, waking now and then to hear fragments of conversations and to see people hovering around me, administering medication, and taking readings. The fever hung on stubbornly, and I was caught up in a hallucinatory web of dreams and altered perceptions. At one point I was certain that children were laughing and running in the halls. Later, in the middle of the night, I thought I heard Kirk's voice rise, angry and distressed, over McCoy's low murmur.
Early in the morning of what might have been the third day, the fever broke. Chapel saw that I was awake, smiled at me, and came over. She lifted her hand as if to lay it against my cheek to test the skin temperature in the manner of healers everywhere, but she quickly drew back and looked up at the digital readout instead. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't think. It's been quite a night, and we're all a bit out of it."
Before I could ask what she meant, Kirk and McCoy came through the door and stood close together, talking in low voices. Something was wrong. Both men were haggard and unkempt and looked as if they'd had no sleep. Chapel hurried over to them; McCoy put an arm around her and gave her a brief hug. I strained to hear what Kirk was saying.
"I'll get a yeoman to collect the personal effects, Bones. Can you hold on to them until I have a chance to notify the families? I'll do that when we get to Four. Martin told me on Wednesday that his wife is in transit to Alphacent. I don't know about Kelly's family." Kirk's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting.
"Don't worry, Jim, I'll track down Kelly's folks. And M'Benga and I have to process those kids again. Now that they're back in their right little minds, we'll figure out where their next of kin are so we can message them from Four. We're still checking the uploads from Triacus. Chris, can we do our rounds right now? I don't want to rush you, but I've got to deal with the kids as soon as possible."
Chapel nodded. "Whenever you're ready."
"Thanks." McCoy turned to Kirk. "Memorial service today? Maybe around fifteen hundred? I'll put something together with the Reverend Doug, if you want. I know Kelly was Anglican. And Marty ... Marty always said he was a devout member of the First Church of Reformed Hedonism." He passed a hand across his eyes. "At least I know that liturgy by heart."
Kirk responded with a tired half-smile. "Do it. We'll pipe it through to the duty shift. And send me the reports on the kids when you're finished. I'm going to get some coffee and put an announcement on the net."
McCoy frowned at the door for a moment after it closed behind Kirk. Shaking his head, he took the padd that Chapel was holding. "Well. First things first." He scanned the padd, then approached my bed. "Commander, how are you feeling? Your temperature's back down to thirty-nine point nine, and the last blood tests we did are clear. Seems like we finally got the best of that bug you brought along with you. It had M'Benga running around in circles, you know."
I was in no mood for his clichés. "Dr. McCoy, what is happening? Has the ship been engaged? Were we -- were you in combat? Are there casualties?"
He scowled at me. "Vulcanoid hearing. It ought to be illegal. Now, I don't want you upsetting yourself. None of this has anything to do with your people. There was an intruder on board, an alien. We lost two of our crew. It was -- an accident." He cleared his throat. "Anyway. You seem to be doing fine. I want to keep you here for a few more hours, just to be safe. But when you get back to your quarters you've got to take it easy. We're on course for Starbase Four again, and you'll be heading home soon."
* * *
True to his word, McCoy released me a few hours later, with stern instructions not to "overdo," as if there were any danger of that. A shower and many hours of sleep were the only things on my immediate agenda, and after assuring the security guards on duty that I didn't need or want anything except to be left alone I was able to satisfy both those desires.
It seemed as if ship's nightfall was my signal to wake up; perhaps my internal chrono was still calibrated to Eidolon's time. But it was 0115 on Enterprise when I awakened, suddenly alert and restless. I dressed, drank a cup of tea, and sat down to read, but I couldn't concentrate. When I tried to focus on the orders I'd given Adiv and Lem, checking the strategy for weaknesses, my mind refused to cooperate. Finally I opened the cabin door.
"I should like to go for a walk," I said to the security guards. "Captain Kirk told me I might have access to the recreational facilities. Is that true?"
"Yes, ma'am," one of them answered. "Captain's given you freedom of the ship, except for secure areas. That means you can use the gymnasium, the arboretum, the observation deck --"
"The arboretum, if you please." The gymnasium could wait, and the observation deck wasn't attractive while the ship was in warp. But the arboretum ... the unclassified two-dimensional plans I'd noted in the open library files showed that it was many corridors and several decks away from my quarters. At least I'd have a chance to see something of the real layout of the ship -- pathetically meager intelligence to bring home, but the best I could do at the moment.
* * *
By the time we neared the arboretum, I'd seen enough to be convinced that the 2-D schematics were accurate and that Enterprise was laid out in much the same way as Eidolon. As far as I could tell, all essential ship's functions, including bridge, armory, and engineering, appeared to be isolatable and redundant, and of course completely inaccessible to the casual and unarmed visitor. Just checking. And who knew? An opportunity might arise. After all, hadn't I been confident that Eidolon was secure? Perhaps this ship had its weak points too.
One of the guards walked behind me, the other at my side. Each had his phaser loosely holstered, not wishing, I supposed, to suggest that I was being directly aimed at. Though I was still shaky from my illness, I knew that I was nevertheless faster and stronger than either of the humans. I also knew that they were probably underestimating the threat I presented -- a woman, and one so much smaller than they were. All to the good ... A quick glance told me that the corridor was deserted. It would be the work of a second to spin around, immobilize the guard at my side with a well-placed blow to the throat, seize his weapon, kill him before his companion could fire, and hold the second guard at phaserpoint long enough to -- To what? Without a cloaked ship standing ready, there was nowhere for me to go, even if I could make it to the transporter room or the shuttle bay. And Engineering would be heavily guarded; the odds were high that I would be killed before I could vaporize the cloaking device, which surely lay in pieces there. But it's worth the attempt. If by some miracle I can destroy the device, I'll die with a remnant of honor intact. A jolt of neuralin shot through my body as I tensed, preparing --
The doors opened suddenly. Kirk was walking quickly and with his head down, leaving the arboretum; he collided with me, causing me to lose my balance and nearly fall against one of the guards. The moment of possible advantage passed, and I cursed the captain silently and thoroughly.
"Commander, I beg your pardon, I didn't see you." He looked at me in surprise. "What are you doing here at this time of night? Shouldn't you be recuperating? McCoy said you'd had quite a time of it. A bad flu, wasn't it? Or the Romulan equivalent?"
"Thank you, Captain, I'm quite recovered," I said as politely as I could. "Sleep was elusive, so I decided to take a walk, and I asked whether I might be escorted here." What was wrong with him? He looked distracted and unsettled, and it was clear that his mind wasn't on what he was saying.
"Come on. I'll join you in that walk and show you the arboretum."
"But you were just leaving."
"Not a problem. Sleep is eluding me too."
* * *
We walked together along the lamplit pathway, with the guards following at a short distance. The ambient lighting had been extinguished to simulate midnight darkness; strange constellations twinkled in the rear projection that was the night sky. I heard snatches of quiet talk and laughter from other visitors, and the sound of a fountain or a small waterfall. Nightbirds called to one another from the flowering trees. "Are those birds real?" I asked Kirk.
"Absolutely. The botany and zoology departments share the responsibility for the design and upkeep of the arboretum, and they've tried to create an environment that supports a few dozen species of animals and birds and insects. It isn't a self-sufficient ecology, but it's enough to make us feel at home. For a little while, anyway."
"Captain, I intend no offence when I say I find all this" -- my gesture took in everything from the elaborate topiary to the stationary three-dimensional chessboards -- "quite unbelievable. No Romulan ship has anything like this ... this facility. It would be thought decadent and wasteful of energy and resources in the extreme."
"I don't doubt it. Here, let's sit down." He indicated a high-backed bench that faced a circular bed of large, fragrant flowers, illuminated by lights placed strategically in the ground. "This is Lieutenant Sulu's rose garden. He's very proud of it."
"Is he a botanist?"
"Only by avocation. He's our helm officer." He bent down to touch one of the flowers. "We don't consider this decadent, Commander, we consider it necessary. The arboretum is in continual use, day and night. People come here to walk, or read, or just sit and think. On a practical level, the resources it consumes are negligible relative to the benefits it brings my crew. Believe me, the tradeoff is justified."
My crew. Spoken proudly, protectively. I recognized those feelings. Perhaps this was my chance to find out ... "Captain, Dr. McCoy said that there was an accident of some kind, and that two of your people were lost."
Kirk was silent for so long that I thought he wasn't going to answer me. When he finally spoke, he chose his words cautiously. "Did you watch the memorial service on your monitor?"
"No. But I heard you discussing it with McCoy in Sickbay."
"Two of my security officers were killed. By an intruder."
"From the science colony? My memories of the last few days are vague, but I remember that -- that your first officer said the ship was responding to an emergency call."
"Yes."
"The intruder must have been well armed to be able to overpower a trained security team." As I had been about to do, but never mind. Why was Kirk so distressed? No loss was easy to bear, but in the military some deaths in the line of duty were unavoidable.
His voice was tight. "They weren't overpowered by physical force." Again he was silent. Then, as if he'd reached a decision: "The intruder caused us to ... to believe that we were in orbit around Triacus. We weren't. But we saw the planet on our screens! All our instruments showed -- that is, we were certain that they showed --" He broke off. "I still can't believe it. I gave the order for them to beam down to ... to what I thought was the planet." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and rested his head in his hands. "They were only wearing field-effect suits. We didn't know."
The meaning of his words became appallingly clear. "You're saying that you -- that they --" Here was the nightmare that haunted every person on every ship that sailed, alone and fragile, across the terrifying nothingness of space: to be cast adrift in the vacuum without protection, without tether -- my hand flew to my mouth, and I stifled a cry. For a commander to send someone to that death, worse by far than death by fire or blade or disruptor beam --
Not forgetting for a second that this man was my mortal enemy and that I would revenge myself on him or die trying, I reached over and laid my hand on his arm. "Kirk," I said, quietly enough that he had to look up to be sure I had spoken his name. "I know what it is to lead a crew, and what it is to lose someone in your command, by your command. There is no one else on this ship, I think, who can say that so truly." I hesitated, wondering whether I would live to regret this. Then I thought of how those two crewmen had died. "I share your sorrow."
Astonishingly, there was an answering pressure on my hand, hard and brief, then another long silence. Finally he spoke. "I can't tell you any more details because I don't know how Starfleet Command will classify the incident." He laughed mirthlessly to himself. "Too bad they can't see me right now, discussing a mission with a Romulan officer. But, Commander -- I appreciate your listening. Some things ... transcend the discipline of the service." I had the impression that he was quoting a maxim he'd memorized.
* * *
It was after 0300 when the security guards brought me back to my quarters. Sleep should have come quickly, but it didn't; the memory of my conversation with Kirk kept me awake. I was torn between a retrospective certainty that I had somehow been compromised once again by the humans' perfidy, and a nagging suspicion that they had spoken nothing but the truth to me since I boarded their ship. I couldn't decide which state of affairs was the more disturbing.
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.