A Contest of Principles Read online

  “Hey,” Div objected, “there’s no call for that kind of personal insult.”

  “I quite agree.” Ceff confronted Gogg directly. “You mind calling off your attack dog, General Gogg?”

  “He is merely speaking his mind,” Gogg stated. “I cannot fault him for the passion of his views. Perhaps you should concentrate on reining in your own subordinates instead.”

  Kirk was about to intervene again when Dare beat him to the punch.

  “Candidates, please!” she said. “We’re about to go before the public. Is this really the picture you want to present to Vok?”

  “Why not?” Sozz stated. “Why sugarcoat the truth about the combat we’re engaged in?”

  “Well, there’s the truth and there’s the truth,” Div said. “Presentation matters.”

  Spoken like a salesman, Kirk thought, but he knew what Div meant. “Electoral combat, you mean. As I understand it, the message we want to convey today is that this contest will be fairly fought, with both sides in agreement regarding the rules of engagement, so maybe you shouldn’t look as though you’re ready to come to blows? This is supposed to be a peaceful election, correct?”

  “Quite right, Captain,” Dare said. “Let’s put our best faces forward, so that whoever wins the election will do so without dispute.”

  She strode over to the lifts, which opened to receive them. Kirk found himself grateful that they wouldn’t all have to squeeze into the same lift. That could make for an extremely uncomfortable ride, in more ways than one.

  “Time to shake hands before the world,” Dare said. “Smiles, everyone.”

  Easier said than done, Kirk thought.

  Two

  Braco System

  “We’re approaching the planet, Doctor.”

  Lieutenant Peter Levine was at the helm of the Galileo as the shuttlecraft sped through space toward Braco in response to an urgent medical emergency. McCoy shared the passenger area with Nurse Christine Chapel as the Class-M planet came into view through the forward portholes. Drifting clouds obscured unfamiliar continents.

  “About time,” McCoy muttered. “No offense, Levine. I know you’re flying this shuttle as fast as you can. I’m just anxious to get there before it’s too late.”

  The distress signal had reached the Enterprise several hours ago, alerting them to a serious outbreak of Rigelian fever in a remote mountain village on the planet. As the potentially fatal disease was not native to Braco, the local doctors apparently lacked the experience and resources to cope with the outbreak; in particular, they were desperately in need of ryetalyn, a rare mineral needed to cure the disease. Fortunately, McCoy had taken pains to keep an adequate supply of ryetalyn aboard the Enterprise ever since the fever had spread like wildfire through the ship two years ago. That supply was now on Galileo, waiting to be administered to suffering patients on Braco.

  “No offense taken,” Levine said. He was a trim, dark-haired security officer whose muscular build bespoke many rigorous workouts in the ship’s gymnasium. He was also the captain of the gamma shift bowling team. “I understand that every second counts.”

  Kirk had been tied up in meetings on Vok when the alert reached the Enterprise, so Spock had authorized the relief mission in the captain’s absence. McCoy and Chapel had wasted no time getting underway. Galileo had made good time, but McCoy hated the idea of being too late to save even a single life.

  One of the unfortunate side effects of space travel and exploration was bacteria and viruses spreading from planet to planet and sector to sector, despite the most stringent of precautions. McCoy hoped that it wasn’t a Federation citizen who had brought the fever to Braco, but he fully intended to stop the spread of the disease. They could trace the source of the fever later, once the initial outbreak was under control. Maybe after the Enterprise completed its mission on Vok.

  “Entering the atmosphere,” Levine said. “There may be some turbulence. Buckle up.”

  He wasn’t joking. Thunder and lightning shook the shuttle, making for a bumpy descent. McCoy glanced over his shoulder to make sure the ryetalyn was stored securely at the rear of the spacecraft.

  “It’ll be fine, Doctor,” Chapel assured him. “No need to worry.”

  “Who said I was worried?” he groused. “And how the devil are you keeping so calm on this roller coaster? Did you help yourself to a tranquilizer when I wasn’t looking?”

  “No,” she quipped back, “but I’d be happy to administer one to you if you’d like.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” He settled back into his seat to ride out the storm. “Just feels like my innards are about to slingshot through time.”

  “Won’t be much longer,” Levine promised. “I’m dropping below the cloud cover to get away from the turbulence.”

  True to his word, he piloted them out of the storm. The roiling clouds gave way to clearer skies as Galileo descended, then leveled out at a lower altitude. The surface of the planet came into view. McCoy’s eyes widened at the sight of a vast glittering expanse that appeared to stretch on for hundreds of kilometers. Empty plains, seemingly devoid of life, reflected the fading sunlight as though carpeted by Spican flame gems in a wide variety of hues.

  “Well, that’s something,” he said. “What are we looking at?”

  “The Sea of Glass,” Chapel replied. “A souvenir of an atomic attack on the planet millennia ago. Legend has it that it was once as smooth and glossy as a mirror, but time and the elements long since shattered it into a sea of tiny glass particles, most no larger than a grain of sand.” She gazed out at the sparkling vista. “Hard to believe that something so tragic could create such beauty.”

  McCoy looked over at her. “How do you know all this? Have you been here before?”

  “No,” she said. “But it was a long flight, so I had plenty of time to do some reading on the way here.”

  He noticed the data slate resting in her lap. He guessed that she had been reading up on Braco while he’d been reviewing the latest medical literature on Rigelian fever.

  “A very efficient use of your time,” he commented. “Spock would approve.”

  Almost instantly, he regretted the remark. As far as he knew, Chapel had gotten over her hopeless crush on Spock, but she was no Vulcan; her feelings could be hurt.

  She took the compliment in stride, however, looking not at all bothered. “Thank you, Doctor. I figured it couldn’t hurt to learn the lay of the land.”

  Guess she’s moved on after all, he thought. Good for her.

  The shuttlecraft cruised over the glass sea until a range of rugged gray mountains appeared on the horizon. Sparse vegetation dotted the slopes as the lifeless glass gradually surrendered to a slightly more habitable landscape. Desert scrub marked the outskirts of the scintillating wasteland. Twilight approached as the planet’s sun sank toward the mountains.

  “The signal is coming from just up ahead,” Levine reported. “Heading in for a landing.”

  Galileo slowed its approach. As they drew closer to their destination, weathered steel buildings could be seen nestled in the jagged foothills at the base of the mountains. Squinting, McCoy glimpsed what looked like a mining camp all right, complete with towering ore breakers, refineries, and dormitories, all built into the stark, granite slopes and gorges. Solar panels and communications dishes cluttered the rooftops, but McCoy was disturbed to spy little or no signs of life or activity. The sun was already beginning to set in the east, but no lights were coming on in the doorways or windows.

  “Looks pretty quiet,” McCoy said. “They know we’re coming?”

  “I’ve tried hailing them,” Levine said, “but no response. All I’m getting is the same distress signal on a continuous loop.”

  Chapel and McCoy shared a concerned look. “You think we’re too late, Doctor?” she asked.

  McCoy didn’t want to think so. He could be as pessimistic as the next physician, and maybe more so than most, but he wasn’t about to pronounce the patient dead be
fore doing everything he could.

  “Let’s not assume the worst. Maybe everyone is too caught up with the crisis to notice our approach.” He eyed the disturbingly desolate mining camp. “In any event, we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Galileo touched down on a paved landing pad at the foot of the hills, below the town. The landing party gathered up their gear and supplies and exited the shuttlecraft. A brisk wind chilled McCoy’s bones, making him wonder if he should have put on a jacket over his uniform. All three humans had been inoculated against Rigelian fever before leaving the Enterprise, so there was no chance of them contracting the disease or spreading it when they departed, provided they maintained proper sterilization protocols. They glanced around the landing pad, which appeared empty except for a few rusty vehicles that looked as though they had been sitting there since Pike captained the Enterprise. Weeds sprouted through cracks in the pavement. Only rustling brush greeted them.

  “No reception committee?” Levine asked.

  “Apparently not,” Chapel said.

  “This is damn strange,” McCoy said. “It’s not as though I was expecting a red carpet, but where is everybody?”

  The lonely stillness puzzled him. If the outbreak was as bad as advertised, the place should be swarming with emergency medical personnel. Even if the local doctors and nurses were ill equipped to combat the fever, you’d think they’d be on hand to treat the victims’ symptoms and try to ease their distress.

  “That’s what I was wondering,” Chapel said. “Perhaps the whole area has been placed under quarantine?”

  “Maybe,” McCoy said, “but there still ought to be doctors caring for the patients inside the restricted zone, unless somebody decided to callously write off the entire town in order to contain the infection.”

  Sadly, such heartless measures were not unknown. Plague-ridden communities had sometimes been walled off by panicked authorities, both in Earth’s past and on other worlds. It was hard to imagine that such atrocities could occur in a warp-capable civilization, but McCoy had seen too much to think that technological progress always went hand in hand with ethical advances. Just look at the Klingons and the Romulans, for example.

  “I don’t know,” Levine said. “In that case, wouldn’t there be barricades and guards to keep people from entering or leaving the quarantined area? Nobody ordered us away.”

  “Good point,” McCoy said. “Are we sure we have the right coordinates?”

  “Absolutely.” Levine activated his tricorder. “I’m picking up some life signs up ahead, although it’s hard to get a clear reading from this distance.”

  That’s encouraging, McCoy thought. “Guess we need to get closer, then.”

  A steep pathway, cutting between two tall ridges, led up to the town. Moving walkways had once assisted visitors, but, like the derelict vehicles on the landing pad, the people conveyors had obviously been out of commission for some time. The long-term neglect could not be attributed to the recent outbreak; McCoy could only assume that the mining outpost had fallen on hard times long before the fever struck. He shook his head at the forlorn conditions; he’d seen failed colonies in border systems that were less run-down. How many people still lived here, and how many of them were left?

  The path was poorly maintained, and the fading sunlight didn’t make it any easier to navigate. McCoy stumbled over a bulge where a thick root had warped the paving. Chapel grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.

  “Watch your step, Doctor.”

  “I’ll do that.” McCoy regained his footing. “Thanks for the assist.”

  “Anytime.” She let go of his arm. “Last thing we need is another patient on our hands.”

  Assuming there are still fever victims left to treat, McCoy thought. He was starting to have his doubts about that. This place felt like a morgue, not a community teeming with sick people. Was it possible even the doctors had succumbed to the fever already?

  To McCoy’s slight amazement, they made it to the top of the path without breaking their necks. An empty square provided no ready answers. Silent buildings surrounded them. No faces appeared in the darkened windows. Weeds clotted the gravelly floor of the square. A collapsed roof rendered a nearby storage shed unusable. Dislodged solar panels littered the ground. A derelict zee-gee forklift had toppled over onto its side. Vines had grown up around the wreck. Stagnant puddles filled depressions. A small lizard-like creature, no more than eight centimeters long, slithered away from the newcomers’ approach, vanishing into a murky sewer grating. Nothing else seemed to notice their arrival. Nothing else seemed to be there to notice.

  “It’s like a ghost town,” Levine said.

  “Not like a ghost town.” McCoy looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dimming light. “No fever could do this in only a matter of days. Something’s not right here.”

  “Hello?” Chapel called out, raising her voice. “Is anyone here?”

  Her voice echoed off the silent walls encircling them. McCoy grew increasingly uneasy. “You might as well save your breath, Nurse. I’m getting a bad feeling about this house call.”

  Levine looked apprehensive as well. He glanced back the way they’d come. “Maybe we should turn around and—”

  A bright yellow disruptor burst came from one of the darkened windows, striking Levine before he even knew what hit him. He collapsed onto the weeds and gravel.

  It’s an ambush! McCoy realized. They lured us here like lambs to the slaughter!

  “Run!” he shouted to Chapel, drawing his type-1 phaser to cover her. He glanced over at Levine’s fallen form. Shallow breathing indicated that the security officer had only been stunned, not killed, thank goodness, but McCoy was torn between helping Chapel escape and attempting to take Levine with them. Crouching down, he fired his phaser at random windows, but wasn’t entirely sure where the disruptor burst had come from or even how many ambushers they were dealing with. What was the point of this attack and who was behind it? Why go to so much trouble just to ambush a Starfleet medical team?

  Are they after the ryetalyn? he wondered. That might fetch a pretty penny on the black market.

  “Hurry, Doctor. We need to get out of here.”

  Christine rushed to Levine’s side instead of fleeing as instructed. She aimed her own phaser at the looming buildings, but she had no better idea where to fire than McCoy did. Their attackers could fire from cover, while the landing party was out in the open. Whoever had staged this ambush had planned it well.

  “Blast it, Christine, I told you to run!”

  “Not without you and Levine.” She tugged at his unconscious form. “You think we can manage to get him to—”

  A second disruptor burst, striking with pinpoint precision, took Chapel out. She dropped limply beside Levine, leaving McCoy the last man crouching, as it were. He was a sitting duck and he knew it.

  “Show yourself, you bushwhackers!” he shouted at his faceless opponents. “This is no way to treat a doctor!”

  A brilliant saffron blast cut off his complaints.

  Three

  Vok

  “Excuse me, Mister Spock,” Yeoman Mears said. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  Seated in the captain’s chair on the bridge, Spock looked up from the data slate he had been reviewing, paused to assess his current need for liquid refreshment, and calmly replied in the negative.

  “No, thank you, Yeoman. That will not be necessary at this time.”

  “Aye, sir.” She turned to exit the command circle. “Sorry to interrupt you.”

  “No need to apologize,” Spock said. “I am not so easily distracted.”

  Indeed, he was more than capable of multitasking, as demonstrated by the fact that he was presently commanding the Enterprise in the captain’s absence, while also conducting an in-depth analysis of the computer software operating the VP-One satellite meant to tabulate the results of the upcoming election on Vok. His gaze returned to the slate, where lines of code scrolled down the display
screen for many thousands of virtual pages. The slate was slaved to the nearby science station, allowing him remote access to the myriad databanks he was accustomed to having at his fingertips. It would have been more convenient, of course, to simply work at his usual post, but he grasped the psychological and symbolic importance of not leaving the captain’s chair unoccupied, even if such concerns were not entirely logical. He resisted the temptation to cast a glance at the science station; such an action would come dangerously close to sentiment or wishful thinking, neither of which was worthy of his Vulcan heritage.

  He scanned the computer code at a rate that allowed for both speed and thorough comprehension. Much remained to be reviewed, but so far he was impressed by the quality of the coding. Although it lacked the sophistication of Vulcan programming, it was a robust, solid piece of software that appeared more than sufficient to the crucial task it was designed for, while being prudently secure from outside interference or sabotage. As he studied the various routines and subroutines and sub-subroutines, Spock employed a stylus to annotate the program, suggesting a number of subtle changes to improve the efficiency and security of the system, which he intended to pass on to Steve Tanaka for implementation. That Commissioner Dare’s protégé had made significant contributions to the program could be seen in the code itself; Tanaka’s signature was woven through the system in the form of certain protocols characteristic of modern Federation duotronics. Indeed, Spock could discern the legacy of Doctor Richard Daystrom in VP-One’s software, not unlike the way an ancestor’s genes could be found entwined in the DNA of a living being. It occurred to Spock that, in a way, VP-One was a hybrid like himself, given that it was born of both Vokite and Federation technology.

  One hoped it felt less conflicted.

  “Mister Spock,” Lieutenant Uhura said, “I’m receiving an emergency transmission from Nurse Chapel.”

  Chapel?

  Spock was immediately concerned and intrigued. He consulted the chronometer installed between the helm and navigation consoles. By his calculations, Chapel, Doctor McCoy, and Mister Levine would have reached Braco approximately three hours and thirty-four minutes ago; although it was somewhat unusual that they had not yet reported back to the Enterprise, he would expect them to be entangled with the medical crisis. What emergency had they encountered on Braco and why was Nurse Chapel hailing them, not Doctor McCoy? Had something happened to the doctor?