Captain's Glory

14

THE GATEWAY, VULCAN

STARDATE 58564.5

It took less than twelve hours for Kirk to return to Vulcan.

The Belle Reve maintained a full data library of Starfleet’s most secure codes, including those required for high-level communications with Vulcan authorities. It also carried a simple device that, when worn like a combadge, overwrote the individual Starfleet ID code that was transmitted with each personnel transport.

Kirk applied for a landing visa under the name of Lieutenant Roger Ramey of the Starship Sovereign, and the Belle Reve’s computers were able to surreptitiously upload Lieutenant Ramey’s service record into the memory banks of Vulcan’s Joint Operations Center.

Kirk doubted any Vulcan would personally review his application-the entire system was automated and, under present circumstances, operating at the limits of its capacity. He beamed from his ship to an orbital hotel where some of the survivors from the Sovereign and other stricken vessels were being quartered. From there, with Lieutenant Ramey’s ID, he had his request to beam to Vulcan approved without comment.

Kirk had been tempted to try to arrange for a second visa, so that Janeway’s Emergency Medical Hologram could accompany him. But the Doctor’s holographic emitter would likely be flagged as suspect technology during transport, and Kirk was determined not to do anything that might attract attention. Instead, the Doctor remained on the Belle Reve with Scott and McCoy, standing by to retrieve Kirk the moment Kirk felt retrieval was necessary.

Thus, alone, Kirk beamed into the central transport hub at the Gateway, and at once made his way to the only local contact he believed he could trust not to report his presence.

Scholar T’Vrel.

As Kirk had expected, T’Vrel’s s’url was a simple compound, completely unremarkable, except for its location in the oldest part of the ancient desert community. Supposedly, several of its buildings had existed in Surak’s day, though Kirk doubted any structure from that time had survived the battles that had raged in this location.

Wide stone steps, heavily worn by centuries of grit and dust and the sandals of thousands of pilgrims, led up from the street to an unornamented portico of stone blocks. The blocks were deep desert red, a peaceful color to Vulcans, Kirk knew. It spoke to them of the stunning vistas of their desert regions, and of the absence of blood.

Kirk walked up the center of the steps, his coarse-woven cloak wrapped about him, his hood pulled forward, not for cooling, only for anonymity.

As he reached the top step, he looked into a wide courtyard of wind-smoothed stone slabs, ringed by a series of single-story buildings, each with a wide sheltered walkway serving as a porch, and as a way to move from one building to another in shade. But for now, it was nearing sunset, and the orange Vulcan sun cast long shadows from the horizon. Shade wasn’t necessary.

A solitary Vulcan, dressed in brown and tan robes identical to those T’Vrel had worn, swept the sand from a few stone slabs with precise, methodical movements. The impossibility of ever completing that task across the entire courtyard made Kirk think the exercise was more one of meditation than of groundskeeping.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered through many of the open windows of the surrounding buildings. Kirk paused, trying to see if one building seemed more likely than another to be a main hall where he could inquire after T’Vrel.

In those few moments, one of the nearest doors opened and a second Surakian walked out, not slowly, not rushing, but with purpose.

The Surakian lifted her hooded head as she neared Kirk and, from what little Kirk could see, she was young, no more than twenty standard years. It is only after Vulcans reach full adulthood that their chronological ages become difficult to reconcile with their appearance.

Because the young Vulcan’s robes were colored with a single shade of brown, and not two like T’Vrel’s, Kirk judged she was a novice. Still, she might know where T’Vrel could be found.

“Good evening,” Kirk said as the young woman came within speaking distance.

Her eyes met Kirk’s with surprising intensity, and in a soft whisper, she said, “You’re not safe here-follow me at once.”

There was no time for Kirk to reason his way through to a decision. No chance to apply logic to an assessment of how likely a trap might be. Instead, acting solely on instinct, he changed direction in midstride and followed the novice back down the stone steps, into the sunset shadows of the street.

The cloaked figure didn’t look back to see if Kirk followed. Kirk understood; her Vulcan ears would have answered that question upon hearing Kirk’s footsteps stay close.

For fifteen minutes they proceeded on a circuitous route that Kirk assumed was designed to expose anyone who might be following them. It was little defense against orbital scans or even a distant pursuer with a tricorder, but Kirk guessed the young woman was employing other defenses against those techniques. Simply ignoring them wouldn’t be logical.

At last, night fell and the Vulcan stars came out, much fewer than seen in the desert skies of Earth due to the brightness of the two small companions to this world’s primary star. Eridani B and C, so distant they were little more than points of light, still were bright enough and close enough together this time of year to cast faint double shadows between the widely spaced streetglows illuminating the empty thoroughfares.

Eventually, the young woman turned in to an alleyway, and when Kirk followed, he found her waiting for him, her face still half obscured by her hood.

“Did T’Vrel send you?” Kirk asked.

Her answer surprised him.

“No. She expected you. But so did others. There was concern you would be captured and we had no clear plan to prevent it.”

“Captured by whom?” Kirk asked.

“I think you know.” She turned toward an unmarked door in the side of what appeared to be a warehouse. “In here.”

Beyond the door was a narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor, another door. As to what lay beyond that, on any other occasion Kirk might have laughed at the incongruous and very un-Vulcan scene before him.

It was a bar, old and run-down. Mostly for alien visitors, it seemed, but with many Vulcans, both as customers and staff.

The light level was low. Most illumination came from phosphorescent channels in the floor, evoking the living lights of Vulcan’s T’Kallaron caves.

The sound in the bar was a gentle rush of a dozen alien tongues, too many for the universal translator in Kirk’s combadge to make sense of all at once.

But most notable of all, there was a faint scent to the air that brought back an intense memory for Kirk. A mixture of burnt cinnamon and an Andorian spice like anise, blended with the sweat of a dozen other species and the smoke from an open grill that burned Vulcan stonewood.

The first time Kirk had experienced that tantalizing melange from far-off worlds had been in San Francisco, lifetimes ago, before he had entered the Academy.

Kirk closed his eyes, captured the moment and the memory, recalled his dream.

Do I have your attention?

He was getting closer to Spock. He could feel it.

“This way,” the Surakian prompted. The young woman’s words thrust Kirk back into the present.

He followed the novice to a small table in a corner, apart from the others.

Two battered wooden chairs were leaning against the table, telling Kirk that it had been set aside for them. From under the protective shadow of his hood, Kirk glanced around but saw no one paying any attention to either him or his guide.

They sat down. The young woman pulled off her hood.

Kirk was surprised that her head wasn’t shaved.

Even more surprising, she wasn’t even Vulcan.

She read the question in Kirk’s eyes.

“Correct,” she said. “I’m Romulan. But as far as deception goes, you’re not Lieutenant Ramey. So we’re even.”

Kirk was both impressed and concerned by the woman’s knowledge.

“My name’s Marinta,” the Romulan said.

“I take it you know who I am.”

Marinta nodded once. “And I know both reasons why you’re here. To find your son. And Ambassador Spock.”

Again, Kirk looked around the dimly lit bar but caught no one paying particular attention to the two robed figures in the corner.

“What else?” Kirk asked. He knew he was being cautious, perhaps overly so. But there was still a chance that Marinta had led him into a trap rather than away from one.

She reached into her robes, brought out a small padd. At least, Kirk thought it was a padd, though it had no display screen.

Marinta slipped a slender transparent cylinder from the device, handed it to Kirk.

“Place this on your eyes.”

Kirk saw a small indentation on the cylinder, held it to the bridge of his nose.

The cylinder remained in place, a narrow tube of clear material poised before both eyes like impossibly thin spectacles.

“You’re aware of what happened at Starbase Four-ninety-nine.” Marinta didn’t make it a question.

Kirk recalled what Janeway had told him of that disaster. When the facility’s static-warp-field power generator had failed, the entire base had been destroyed. In all likelihood, it was the first case of whatever phenomenon was now affecting warp cores throughout the galaxy. It also had been the incident that had brought Starfleet Intelligence into the investigation of the missing multiphysicists and warp specialists, including Spock.

“I am,” Kirk said.

“The entire staff was lost, including several prominent visitors.”

Janeway had told Kirk that, as well. Six admirals, four starship captains and their science officers, and three civilians. The fact that civilians were present suggested they represented Starfleet Intelligence, or some other organization that worked in the shadows.

“Starbase Four-ninety-nine was little more than a subspace relay station,” Marinta said. “Six admirals. Four starship captains. Why were they there?”

Kirk wasn’t certain what Marinta was suggesting. “As far as I know, they were investigating the disappearance of the Monitor.”

“Correct.”

Kirk removed the transparent cylinder so he could study Marinta more closely. There was only one reason why the Romulan had brought up the Monitor’s disappearance.

“You think everything’s connected,” Kirk said.

“I know everything’s connected,” Marinta replied.

Kirk sought more details. “I understand the similarity between the destruction of the starbase and the warp-core malfunctions. But the Monitor vanished six years ago. How’s that related to what’s happening now? And what could it have to do with my son?”

Marinta indicated the unusual padd. “Access the viewer and see for yourself.”

Kirk studied the cylinder for a moment, then placed it back in position before his eyes.

Marinta slid open a panel on the small device, pressed a control.

Instantly, the sights and sounds of the bar dissolved around Kirk, and all he could see was a shimmering wall of holographic static.

“It’s not working,” Kirk said.

“Focus,” Marinta told him.

Then the images began, and Kirk witnessed the death of the Starship Monitor.