A Contest of Principles Read online

  “Do we have visual?” Spock asked.

  “Yes, Mister Spock,” Uhura said. “The signal comes via subspace relay.”

  “On-screen, please, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Christine Chapel appeared on the main viewer, looking somewhat the worse for wear. Her blond hair was mussed, while her blue nurse’s uniform appeared uncharacteristically soiled and rumpled. Lieutenant Peter Levine could be seen behind her, peering over her shoulder. He also appeared to be in less than pristine condition, while his grim expression complemented her worried one, both of which foretold bad news in store. Spock noted that they appeared to be transmitting from an office of some sort, presumably on Braco.

  “Mister Spock,” Chapel said. “Is Captain Kirk available?”

  “The captain is on Vok, dealing with political matters,” Spock said. “Is Doctor McCoy with you?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Her tone indicated a significant degree of emotional strain. “We believe he’s been kidnapped!”

  Despite his Vulcan nature, Spock had served among humans and other highly emotional beings long enough to register that a heightened state of tension now existed on the bridge. In truth, he was troubled by the news as well, although he would not allow that reaction to affect his judgment or behavior. What was required now was information, not emotive displays.

  “Please elaborate, Nurse.”

  “Yes, Mister Spock, I’ll do my best.”

  With admirable concision, given her obvious distress, she recounted how the landing party had arrived at the alleged site of the fever outbreak only to discover an apparently abandoned ghost town, where unknown assailants had targeted the party with disruptors.

  “Levine and I were both stunned by the sniper… or snipers. When we regained consciousness a few hours later, we were still where we fell, but there was no trace of Doctor McCoy.”

  “Which implies that he was the true target all along,” Spock deduced. “Hence the fabricated medical crisis to bring him to the site of the ambush.”

  “He is still alive, isn’t he, Mister Spock?” she asked hopefully. “If they had wanted to kill him, they would have left his body behind, so they must have taken him.”

  “Your logic is sound,” he reassured her after his fashion. “Although we cannot rule out more dire scenarios, it is far more likely that McCoy was removed from the site alive.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it if I thought we’d lost him.”

  “What about you and Lieutenant Levine?” Spock asked. “Are you well?”

  “A bit shaken up, and bruised in places from collapsing onto gravel,” Chapel said, “but nothing serious.”

  Spock accepted her expert assessment. “Have you contacted the local authorities on Braco?”

  “Yes, Mister Spock. I’m broadcasting to you from the planetary police headquarters in the capital city of O’Kdro. We would have contacted you earlier, but the Galileo’s communications systems lacked the range to reach the Enterprise, and there seemed no point in searching a ghost town, so we flew to the city and got in touch with the authorities… all of which took longer than it should have.”

  “Do not blame yourself, Nurse. Your circumstances were less than ideal,” he said. “Your decision to immediately seek out the local authorities was a logical one. Do they have any information or insights regarding Doctor McCoy’s apparent abduction?”

  “They say they’re looking into it,” she said, frustration evident in her tone, “but if they’ve learned anything, they haven’t told us about it.”

  Spock recalled that, due to Braco’s disputed status, the Federation had no formal embassy or presence there. As he understood it, both Vok and Ozalor claimed the planet as the birthplace of their race, with rival factions on Braco claiming allegiance to one neighboring planet or the other. The abduction of a Starfleet medical officer, on a mission of mercy no less, could certainly be seen as a politically delicate matter by the planetary authorities; Spock would not be surprised if local officials wanted to carefully manage the situation or perhaps even cover it up, which suggested that the Enterprise could not necessarily count on the full cooperation of the Bracon authorities.

  “To be honest, Mister Spock, I’m at my wit’s end,” Chapel said. “Even if we wanted to search for Doctor McCoy on our own, we have no idea where or how to begin. Or should we return to the Enterprise?”

  Spock considered the options, weighing the safety of Chapel and Levine against the need to locate McCoy. Logic dictated that if the anonymous snipers had wished to harm or kidnap the rest of the landing party, they would have already done so, which implied that Chapel and Levine were in no immediate danger on Braco. Then again, the unknown nature of the attackers and their motives precluded any definitive assessments of the threat. Leaving Chapel and Levine where they were was an acceptable risk.

  “I must confer with the captain, but for the present remain on Braco to monitor the situation. I take it no one has claimed responsibility for the abduction or made any demands for McCoy’s safe return?”

  “Not that I know of, Mister Spock,” she said. “I almost wish somebody would, just so we would know what has become of him. Not knowing anything is torture.”

  “Insufficient data is often worrisome,” he sympathized. “Inform us immediately of any new developments. I expect a swift response from Captain Kirk. No doubt assistance will be dispatched to Braco shortly.”

  “Thank you, Mister Spock,” she said. “I shudder to think what the doctor could be going through right now.”

  “I share your concern,” Spock said. “In the meantime, I urge you and Lieutenant Levine to take every reasonable precaution with regard to your own safety. Without more information, we have no way of knowing how close by his abductors may be to you… or whether they will strike again.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” Chapel said, “but if there’s anything we can do to get Doctor McCoy back, then we’re not going anywhere.”

  “That goes double for me,” Levine chimed in.

  Spock admired their dedication to duty and concern for the doctor’s welfare. He took comfort in knowing that Levine was on hand to provide security. He had been caught unawares before, but the young officer was surely on high alert now.

  “Stand by for further instructions,” he said. “Enterprise out.”

  * * *

  “Who is behind this, Spock?” Kirk asked. “And why McCoy?”

  At Spock’s request, Lieutenant Uhura had relayed the transmission to the desk viewer in his quarters, where he had retired to converse in private with Kirk. The captain was presently on Vok with Commissioner Dare, conducting an inspection tour of various major metropolitan voting centers, while also advising on global voter education campaigns, taking part in the negotiations over the terms of the forthcoming presidential debates, and other activities pertinent to the task of observing the election.

  “The identity of the ambushers is unknown,” Spock replied. “As to why they chose to abduct Doctor McCoy, one can only assume that the kidnappers were in need of a physician of his caliber. It is perhaps significant that Federation medicine is generally more advanced than is typical for this sector.”

  “But why not just ask for McCoy’s help?” Kirk wondered aloud. “He didn’t think twice about rushing off to Braco in response to a medical emergency, which they obviously counted on, so they could hardly expect him to refuse any legitimate request for medical assistance.”

  “I concur,” Spock said, “which suggests that the kidnappers have a strong motive for not going through conventional channels, perhaps because they need McCoy for some unlawful or highly confidential purpose.” He pondered that possibility before moving onto another. “Or it could simply be that McCoy was seen as a high-value hostage.”

  “Then why have there been no demands? No ransom requests?”

  “An intriguing question,” Spock said, “whose answer is most likely to be found on Braco.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Kirk said. “My first instinct is to return to the ship and immediately set course for Braco at maximum warp, and yet…”

  Kirk hesitated, as though reluctant to follow the thought to its inevitable conclusion.

  “You have a larger mission,” Spock finished for him, “which you are not at liberty to abandon simply because of one missing crew member.”

  “But this is Bones we’re talking about, Spock! I know I can’t postpone an election just to go searching the sector for one man, but it’s hard to put politics above the safety of one of my best friends. One of our best friends.”

  Spock could not dispute that designation. Despite their significant differences in temperament, and frequent verbal sparring, Spock valued Leonard McCoy as a personal friend as well as a man of great character. It was for that reason that Spock had chosen both Kirk and McCoy to stand beside him at Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. McCoy had saved Spock’s life on more than one occasion, so he too felt an urgent need to rescue McCoy from whatever peril the doctor now faced, and with as much alacrity as possible.

  “Nevertheless, as the commissioner would surely remind us, this is not just any election. It is a turning point in the history of this planet and possibly this entire sector as well. Its outcome will have consequences extending beyond Vok and its home system, perhaps even so far as to impact the interests of the Federation. Far more than ordinary ‘politics’ is at stake.”

  “I know, I know,” Kirk said, visibly wrestling with the dilemma. “But maybe Dare and Tanaka can see to matters on Vok while we hunt for McCoy. They’re the diplomats after all.”

  “The commissioner is counting on the full resources of this ship and its crew. Starfleet did not dispatch the Enterprise t
o Vok simply to ferry Dare here and move on. Observing the election is our mission as much as theirs.” A new thought occurred to Spock. “Indeed, it is not impossible that McCoy was abducted for the express purpose of luring the Enterprise away from Vok and our mission.”

  “But by whom?” Kirk asked again. “The Klingons? The Romulans? The Orions?”

  “Unlikely,” Spock stated. “This region of space is well beyond their respective spheres of influence. It is only the Federation that has colonies and outposts just a few systems away. Although we cannot rule out the possibility that rival powers have long-term designs on this sector, it strikes me as more probable that Braco’s own fraught political status is relevant here.”

  He saw no need to remind Kirk of the planet’s history, given their recent briefings on the subject and the fact that Braco was a major issue in the Vokite presidential campaign. No doubt the captain had already heard more than enough on the topic—from both sides.

  “What do you suggest, Spock?”

  “You and the Enterprise are needed here. Let me take a shuttlecraft to Braco to investigate Doctor McCoy’s disappearance. Mister Scott can assume command while you are occupied on the planet, while my skills are perhaps better suited to searching for clues.” He allowed himself a wry smile. “My father is the diplomat, not I.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Kirk said, “but I take your point… even if I don’t want to.” A scowl betrayed his frustration. “I won’t lie. I hate the idea of delegating this assignment to anyone else, but if I trust anyone to find Bones and bring him home safe, it’s you.”

  “I will endeavor to justify your confidence in me.”

  Kirk nodded, his decision made.

  “Very well, Mister Spock. The mission is yours. Assemble whatever team you require. I assume you intend to leave for Braco with all deliberate speed?”

  “That is my intention. The Copernicus is already being prepped for departure.”

  Spock regretted taking another of the Enterprise’s shuttlecrafts to Braco when the Galileo was already there, but time was of the essence. The kidnappers were already several hours ahead of any investigation; McCoy could be anywhere on the planet—or in the sector—by now.

  “Be careful, Spock. I don’t want to lose you too.”

  “That would be most regrettable,” Spock agreed.

  Four

  Vok

  Acrobats tumbled across the stage of a capacious outdoor amphitheater built into an immense crater left behind by The Leveling centuries ago. Throngs of men, women, and children packed tiered benches carved into the southern half of the crater, facing the huge arched proscenium before them. Jugglers and clowns performed to the lively beat of local musicians, who occupied bleachers at the back of the stage. Contortionists literally twisted themselves into living hoops and ladders and tightropes, turning their bodies into platforms upon which their fellow entertainers executed graceful feats of gymnastic dexterity. Sparkling capes and tights, liberally bedecked with sequins and costume jewelry, delighted the eye. A tumbler took a swig from a gleaming metal flask, then exhaled a burst of phosphorescent green plasma into the air above his head, drawing gasps and cheers from the audience, who were here for a political rally in support of Doctor Ceff’s campaign. Kirk was impressed by the turnout, as well as by the energetic performers warming up the crowd prior to the speeches.

  “See what I meant about Vok having a rich and vibrant culture,” Imogen Dare said to Kirk as they watched from the wings. The high acoustic shell above the stage provided shade from the bright afternoon sunshine. “Years of political strife have not squashed their zest for life and self-expression. The carnival arts are a vital aspect of their culture, occupying a role comparable to, say, subsonic throat-singing among the Slemomites or cloud-diving to the Jiploo.” A nostalgic smile lifted her lips. “I got pretty good at juggling during my first stint here years ago.”

  “I can imagine,” Kirk said. His archery had improved during his cultural survey of the planet Neural back in the day. “When on Vok…”

  “Precisely.”

  Thoughts of Neural reminded Kirk of the dangers he and McCoy had faced together the last time they visited that primitive world. That Bones was missing troubled Kirk, making it hard to truly enjoy the Vokite entertainers’ artistry and showmanship. Nevertheless, he had thought it best to attend the rally after being invited to do so by the campaign. Beyond simple courtesy, he saw it as an opportunity to get a real feel for the mood on the ground, as opposed to merely gazing down on Vok from the bridge of the Enterprise. He was here to observe the election after all.

  The campaign had lucked out as far as the weather was concerned. A clear blue sky and abundant sunlight had encouraged attendance; Kirk estimated that at least a thousand people had turned out for the event. He assumed most of the audience supported Doctor Ceff, but he had to imagine that there were some dissenters present as well. Scanning the folks crowding the seats, he spied a few surly faces whose unhappy expressions were unrelieved even by the pre-rally entertainment. Silver epaulets, which he had come to understand symbolized loyalty to the old military regime, were boldly displayed by a few clumps of spectators, drawing dirty looks from their neighbors. Ceff was clearly in for some heckling.

  Fine, Kirk thought. Just as long as heckling is all they have in mind.

  He mentally reviewed the security procedures in place. Automated sensors scanned the entrances and seating areas for weapons. Local and Starfleet security personnel were stationed throughout the amphitheater; the latter were discreetly armed with inconspicuous type-1 phasers set on stun. An invisible force field shielded the stage.

  “Ceff should be coming out anytime now,” Dare observed. “In theory.”

  Kirk knew the candidate was prepping backstage while conferring with various consultants, staff members, and well-wishers. By his calculations, the event was already running a bit behind schedule.

  “I wonder if any political rally has ever started on time,” he said.

  “Not in my experience,” Dare said. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the General’s events are run with military precision.”

  Kirk reminded himself to attend one of Gogg’s rallies as well, simply in the interests of parity. “Unless the realities of civilian politics prove less amenable to that sort of discipline.”

  “Quite possible,” Dare said. “I remember one time on Benecia—”

  Div emerged from backstage, interrupting Dare’s anecdote. The campaign manager appeared somewhat harried, but still greeted them heartily.

  “Commissioner, Captain! Glad you could make it! Hope you’re enjoying the entertainment!”

  “Very much so,” Kirk said. “I’m impressed by their energy and talent.”

  “Thanks!” Div took a moment to wipe his brow. A headset kept his hands free. “They came highly recommended.”

  Onstage, the plasma-breather was displaying another trick in his repertoire. A compact rod expanded into a lethal-looking spear with a sharp point at each end; tilting his head back, he eased the length of the spear down his throat in the manner of a traditional circus sword-swallower, all while hanging upside down from an antigrav trampoline upon which two other performers were juggling flaming torches. Kirk repressed a wince even as he admired the man’s daring. Juggling struck the captain as a less risky hobby.

  “Ouch,” Dare said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Kirk said.

  “I’m sure he’s done it a hundred times before,” Div said before being distracted by a voice over his headset. “What’s that? She’s ready to go on? Fantastic. Cue the entertainment to wrap it up.”

  Concealed lights, visible only to those onstage, signaled the performers, who took their final bows before scurrying off the stage, some of them brushing past Kirk and Dare on their way backstage. The musicians filed out of the bleachers as well, to be replaced by rows of local dignitaries and lower-ballot candidates. Scattered cheers and applause rewarded the departing acts, even as the audience sat up straighter in anticipation of the main event. Kirk noticed that many of the performers lingered in the wings to see and hear Ceff. An amplified voice rang out from the loudspeakers, assisted by the innate acoustics of the amphitheater.