The Gardens of the Desert, Part 3
Title: Gardens of the Desert
Authors: lindmere and merisunshine36
Artist: ladymac111
Mixer: nextian
Beta: sail_aweigh
Series: ST XI
Character/Pairing(s): Joanna McCoy, Kirk, McCoy, Pike, Spock/Uhura/OFC, Winona/Sarek
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Word Count: 27,000
Warnings: Secondary character death, violence, discussion paralleling the autism debate
Joanna wakes up late, still a bit groggy from wine and food. Peeking out through the thermoshield shutters into another cloudless, razor-sharp morning, she feels the weight of Admiral Pike’s death return with her memories of the night before. She’d hardly known him well, but he’d been a fixture of her childhood, and of her rapidly receding youth. As for what his death portends, Joanna would rather not think about it.
She makes it to the clinic without encountering any inquisitive Romulans. As a number cruncher and report filer, Joanna speaks with few patients, but from her station she can see them file in and out: Vulcan women of indeterminate age, serious as Saiehnn but lacking what Joanna persists as considering her inner fire. A fertility clinic should be a cheerful place to work, but the burden of necessity overlays what she gathers is already a pretty utilitarian approach to procreation. In her head, she can hear Saiehnn’s voice saying The bloodline of Surak must be preserved, and then she turns back to work and mentally away from thoughts of Saiehnn and Spock and procreation.
Joanna’s easing herself into the day by rechecking birthweights when there’s a sudden, blinding flash like lightning with no sound. Everything turns to white bright heat for a second and then it’s gone.
A sharp pain goes through her, searing into her joints. The room spins around her and she grabs for the edge of her desk and misses, hitting the floor with a jolting thud as she loses track of which way is up.
The pain ebbs and is replaced by a wave of nausea as her ears ring with afterecho of a loud, electronic buzz that seems to come from all around her. That much is familiar: the sound of electronic equipment dying. She braves the nausea enough to turn her head and sees through the sparkles in front of her eyes that above her that the huge panel display has gone blank.
She thinks about the stories she was raised on, bold decisions and incredible odds and logic and intuition and saving the day. She believed it was something that could be learned, which is why she went to the Academy. Now the something she got all that training for has happened, and she’s lying on the floor, helpless, not able to control her own muscles, let alone save anyone or anything else.
Unknowable minutes pass and no one comes. Finally she makes an executive decision to roll onto her side and manages to struggle to a sitting position without losing her breakfast or the direction of the ceiling. She’s incongruously embarrassed to find she’s lost bladder control, and relieved that today of all days she’s wearing a long Vulcan tunic.
“Jo!” A figure appears in the door, sending a fizz of alarm down her brittle nerves. A moment later she realizes it’s Winona, on the floor beside her, trying simultaneously to give her a hug and check her with a tricorder. “Sweetheart, are you all right? You’re awake, that’s good. No, don’t try to get up--just lie here for a bit and rest. I’ll be back for you; I’ve got to see to the others first.” She runs a cool hand over Joanna’s forehead and smooths her hair, which Joanna realized belatedly had been standing straight up.
“What others? Did this happen to everyone? What was it?”
“Too soon to say.” It’s bad; that much, Joanna can tell.
“Let me help. I’m fine, I can--”
Winona pushes her gently back toward the floor. “No, sweetheart. Not now.”
“What about Saiehnn? And Uhura?” But Winona is already disappearing through the door.
Many long, fretful minutes later, a pair of male Vulcans in healer’s green insist on putting Joanna on a stretcher, though by the time they arrive, her muscles are feeling like something other than jelly. She thinks she’s in pain but the messages to her brain are jangled and confused. She can tell by the set of their mouths that the healers won’t answer questions, so she closes her eyes as they load her into a transport bound for the Quadrant 2 Healing Center.
She drifts off, or so she supposes, because her next vision is of the blurry face of the healer, leaning in close enough that she can see the pupils of his dark eyes.
“She is conscious?” says a voice from somewhere beyond her peripheral vision.
“Yes,” says the healer. “So it appears.”
“I advise you sedate her. Humans are predisposed to experience shock, which can further damage their already fragile constitutions.”
The healer nods and reaches for a hypo. I’m not fragile, Joanna wants to say, but as her lips form the words, the healer’s angular face turns to cotton wool, and disappears.
+++++
There are a few moments after Uhura first regains consciousness when she can hear everything around her but see nothing, and she wonders if she's on her way out or if she still stands a chance to live. Clamping down on the natural urge to panic, she remains and conducts a silent inventory of all her moving parts. She's relieved to find them all in working order with the exception of a stabbing pain that originates at the base of her neck, radiating up and out to her teeth.
Uhura's vision clears up after a few seconds. She's trapped beneath something large and unyielding, in a triangle shaped wedge of space that makes a Jeffries tube seem roomy by comparison. When the blast happened she'd been at her desk reviewing the curriculum for the day; it's likely a section of the wall. Uhura is oddly grateful for the cheap pre-fab construction materials used for the education center. Rather than crumbling, the whole room just tilted over like a house of cards.
Her immediate is concern the children. Classes had yet to start today, so the educational center is empty for the most part. But at any given time there will be a few clinicians seeing to expectant mothers and pediatric visits for the new little ones. Uhura’s chest goes tight thinking of them, and she braces her arms against the unyielding slab in a futile attempt to get it out of the way. If the breach of security means that the perpetrator is still on the premises, it might be best for her to stay quiet. But how long would she have to wait here before someone finds her?
“Uhura?” comes a muffled voice from above.
“I’m in here,” she says, keeping her voice level. She’s been through worse than this.
The air is filled with a grinding noise from above as the wall begins to move; she has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep from being blinded by all the dust. It fills her nose and lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
The narrow band of light above her widens slowly until its large enough for a face to peer in. It’s Saiehnn, and she looks immaculate as always, not a hair a hair out of place.
“Are you injured?” she asks, voice perfectly level.
“No, I’m fine,” she takes a few deep breaths of clean, too-warm air. “The twins?”
“They are with Vesko at present, and are uninjured. We were on the lower levels; they were sufficiently far enough from the explosion that they remain intact."
She offers Uhura her arm and begins to pull her up slowly, careful to avoid aggravating any injuries she might have. At first contact, the amount of empathic data she’s subjected to sends her reeling. She and Saiehnn are not intimate, either as friends or as lovers, and instances of touch between them are rare. An overwhelming sense of fear, and panic, and not again buffets the bit of shielding Uhura’s been able to conjure up over the years until Saiehnn remembers herself and lets go.
Uhura has enough leverage at this point that she pushes her way out from beneath the wall and sits in an upright position. For the first time, she gets a good look at the damage. It’s not as bad as she’d imagine, given the sound and the pressure that emanated from the blast center. The other half of the wall she was under remains upright, and the other three escaped with no more than a faint spiderwebbing of cracks.
Saiehnn watches Uhura for a moment. The steadiness of her gaze is an unsettling contrast to the inner turmoil Uhura felt only seconds ago. Saiehnn opens her mouth, then shuts it again and just wipes her hands down her skirts.
Uhura closes her eyes and tries to ignore the massive headache that pulses in time with her heartbeat. “We’re all okay, Saiehnn. Spock wasn’t even in the building.”
Saiehnn's shoulder's settle a little from the stiff pose she'd been holding them in. “This time, yes. But what of the next time?”
+++++
When Joanna opens gritty eyes, blinks, and sees her father, she feels disappointed, because she’s clearly still unconscious. The healer must really have knocked me out, she thinks, but smiles anyway, because her father wearing his Starfleet uniform but looking amiably rumpled, and he’s looking down at her with that watery I love you so much it hurts look that she remembers from earliest childhood.
“Good morning, baby girl,” he says, and squeezes her hand.
“Hi, daddy.” It’s a dream, so she indulges--squeezes his hand back and then holds on to it, looks at him long enough that she notices the hound dog circles under his eyes.
“You gave me quite a scare.” He clears his throat. “Thought I’d sent you somewhere safe. Should have realized by now that there’s no such place.”
“You’re really here. When did you get here? How?”
“Oh, the usual way. I hitched a ride with some Security mucky-mucks who came in to investigate the--” He pauses and runs a hand over his face. “Well, they had you knocked out for quite a while. Tried to sedate me, too; apparently it’s the standard treatment around here for troublesome humans.”
“I’m sure it’s just because they’re busy.” She notes the medical tricorder at her father’s hip; of course he’d be eager to help. “How bad is it?”
“No fatalities. Uhura got a nasty bump on the head, but she’ll be fine. Winona was off with Jim and Sarek. Everyone else is pretty much in the same boat as you: unpleasant neurological effects, but no permanent damage.” He leans forward and runs a hand through her hair. “No damage at all to that big, beautiful brain. It’s good to see you, baby girl.”
It’s good to see him, too; good to know there’s someone who’ll travel across a large swath of galaxy to come to her bedside, to make sure she’s all right. Some day she may outgrow that feeling, but it hasn’t happened yet.
“What was it? Do they know? Why would somebody do this?”
“It was an electromagnetic pulse; they found a gizmo called a flux compression generator at the site. Don’t quote me on that, by the way; Jim told me, but none of this is official yet.”
“I’m an astronomer, dad. I don’t know what that is anyway. And I kind of slept through Intro to Warp Physics.” That gets a lopsided smile out of him.
“Me, too, but it’s got nothing to do with warp drives. Apparently they’re used by the Romulans to create the artificial singularities that power their ships.”
“Romulans?” Jo half sits up in surprise, feels a wave of nausea, and lies right back down again.
“Whoa, there. You’re not going anywhere. Yeah, Romulans. There’s a nest of ‘em living right next door to the city, isn’t there?”
“Yes, but why attack us? Why now? The project’s been going on for four years.”
“Jim thinks it may have something to do with Admiral Pike’s death--the mouse pulling the cat’s tail, to see if it’s awake. Starfleet’s put Jim in charge of the investigation, since he was already planetside. But don’t worry about that now; you need to rest up now so you can argue with me later about bringing you home.” He kisses her forehead, but it does nothing to ease her troubled thoughts.
“Wait. You said nobody was seriously hurt. Does that include Saiehnn?”
“She’s just fine. Better than the rest of you, actually; she was on one of the lower levels of the building. You like her, do you? I’ve found her a pretty tough nut to crack.”
“I do, dad. I really, really like her.” It’s a childish expression of her feelings, but it stops her father dead.
“Oh no, baby girl. Please tell me you don’t--”
“You’d have to get to know her to understand. She’s an amazing person, and--” Joanna knows she’s damning herself with each protest, so she gives up. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.”
Her father gives her that little patronizing smile that she finds so annoying from older adults. “It happens at your age, I know. But innocent or not, she’s another man’s wife, and another woman’s, when it comes to that. If it’s just infatuation, then I guess there’s no harm in it, but if not--you’re setting yourself up for some serious heartache. Trust me, I know.” He kisses her again, and now the gesture seems a little patronizing, as if he’s trying to soothe the little girl she no longer is. “Well, we’ll get you off this rock and off to somewhere with some beings who don’t have icewater in their veins, and you can find someone who’ll love you the way you deserve to be loved.” Joanna wants to ask what deserving has to do with it, but doesn’t.
Her father pats her hand and gives her a smile before he draws the curtains around her bed, and she feels reassured and confused and frustrated. What she has on New Vulcan may not have been much, but it’s hers--it belongs to her and to Winona and Saiehnn and all the expectant parents and all the children who owed their existence to a brave and risky decision to try something new. No one should have the power to take that out of their hands--not Starfleet, or scheming Romulans, or even her own father.
+++++
Uhura has developed a number of new skills as a parent, including something akin to precognition, so it’s distressing but not exactly a surprise when little Sovan falls flat on his face. The two-year old has been tottering around the Physical Skills Course with a stubborn determination that would please his parents but makes his teacher nervous.
She rushes over to see if he’s hurt, still bracing herself, after all this time, for tears and wailing that never come. Sovan’s lower lip trembles, his heavy little brows draw together, and she wants to say Oh, just go ahead and cry already.
“Whoa there, little fella.” Uhura looks up and sees Leonard McCoy, medical tricorder at the ready, closing the distance with a few long strides. “That was a first class fall. Let’s see what you did to yourself.”
“I am not injured,” Sovan says distinctly, to Leonard’s evident surprise.
“Doctors don’t like it when you try to do their jobs, young man. Let me see that knee or I’ll have to call the Federation Medical Association on you.”
Leonard uses the regen on Sovan’s scraped knee while the boy frowns down at him.
“There you go, good as new.” Leonard visibly checks himself from clapping the boy on the shoulder as he runs back to the start of the obstacle course.
“Sovan, where are your manners?”
“Thank you, Healer,” Sovan says, inclining his head gravely.
“You’re very welcome.” Leonard packs his medkit away with a chuckle. “I’ll be damned if this isn’t the quietest playground I’ve ever seen. It’s spooky.”
“Beats the alternative, especially before I’ve had my second cup of coffee.” She accepts a bristly kiss on the cheek from Leonard along with a breath of his cologne, not immune after all these years to his Earthly charm. “How’s Jo feeling? Len, I’m so sorry--you know I’d never have suggested she come here if I’d thought there was any danger.”
“Oh, I know, and I don’t blame you or Spock or Winona; the galaxy’s a dangerous place these days. I’ll admit that for the first day or two I wanted to take her home and lock her in the attic, but I’m getting over it.” They walk toward a bench under the broad eaves of the school building, the only shade against the harsh rays of the early morning sun.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Leonard continues. “I have a favor to ask. Jo’s taken the bombing in her stride but she’s got a bee in her bonnet about the Romulan thing. Apparently she met a Romulan colonist a few days ago and all she can think about is why they’d attack a bunch of innocent women. I told her that people are capable of things in war that they’d never consider otherwise, but that’s not a good enough answer, apparently. It’s the McCoy coming out in her. To tell you the truth, I’m glad to see it; she was always a good kid, but kind of passive.”
“I’m glad you’ve noticed the change. It’s a hard life here, but I think it’s brought out the best in Jo, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. So what’s the favor?”
“Well.” Leonard huffs out a sigh. “She’s decided she wants to visit the Romulan colony and confront the man she met. I don’t know why she thinks she’ll get a straight answer, but that’s what she wants.”
“That’s not uncommon among survivors. Even the kids ask me questions about the Romulans, and about Nero. They think I have some unique insight because I was there at the Destruction, and of course I don’t. But knowing there’s a reason might make her feel safer about the whole thing.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Leonard takes a swig from the water bottle that, good doctor that he is, he’s got clipped to his belt. “Anyhow, the favor is that I have no idea what’s up with that Romulan colony, but I know I don’t want her going there alone. You’re still in the ‘Fleet, technically at least--I assume you’ve got your service phaser and communicator?”
“I sure do.” They’re in a lockbox at home and probably need servicing, but she’s got them.
“Jim says he’ll give you coverage from the Carson. If anything happens, all you have to do is pull the plug and beam out. But it would make me feel ten times better if you’d go with her.”
“No problem,” Uhura says, and feels something long dormant stir inside her: the butterfly heartbeat of anticipation that always preceded a mission. “I’d be glad to.”
+++++
Uhura and Spock watch Joanna fiddle with the fastening on her phaser holster until Uhura can't stand it anymore, and reaches out to arrest her motions with a firm hand. Uhura had been party to McCoy's occasional grumbling about his daughter's dismal scores in marksmanship, but this is the first time she's ever witnessed Joanna's relationship with her firearm in person. Joanna flushes, obviously embarrassed to be schooled on something so basic in front of two fairly prominent Starfleet officers.
"Something tells me you haven't touched your phaser since you set foot on the colony. Watch," Uhura says, undoing the fastening on her own to make it easier to demonstrate. The part of her that's been living with toddlers wants to just do it for Joanna, but she holds back. "Tab A, into Slot B." The motions come back to her easily even though it's been four years since she last picked it up.
"I took the minimum number of combat courses necessary to graduate," Joanna confesses.
"It is fortuitous that you have not had an occasion which required the use of your weapon," says Spock. "It is seldom as simple as taught in your training."
They practice a few more times until Uhura is satisfied that Joanna's got a handle on it. When she's finished, Uhura reaches out and gives it a sharp yank to make sure it's secure, then nods and declares them ready to set off.
The look on Spock's face as they leave the house is less than encouraging. He hasn't said anything against this mission, but a thoughtful silence has hung about him all morning like a depressing shadow.
"We'll be fine," insists Uhura, a little annoyed at the thought that she's lost her edge. He touches a finger to her cheek, and she can feel the slow curl of his anxiety, but also the strength of his faith in her.
"I don't know why officers in non-combat zones have to have phasers anyway," Joanna grumbles as the drab landscape rolls past the window of their shuttle. They didn't want to be conspicuous while en route to the settlement, so they're making use the rudimentary public transportation network. "Doesn't that kind of spoil the illusion that we’re only out here for exploration and peacekeeping?"
"If everything goes as planned, you shouldn't have to touch your phaser save for when you take it off at night." Uhura smiles to herself, remembering the number of "peaceful" missions that had ended with her running for her life. "But trust me, if the time comes when you need it, you'll be happy it's there."
They arrive at the colony a little after the evening meal, a time deliberately chosen to catch residents when they were settled in for the day, but before the sun sets. It's a little disconcerting to see so many Vulcanesque faces staring at them, bold and direct, as they pass into the commercial center of the little residential outpost and head toward the inn that intelligence has told them should be suitable for their needs.
"Hello, cognitive dissonance," Joanna mutters under her breath. Uhura can't help but agree.
They settle in before setting off for the local watering hole, as good a place as any to start an investigation. After talking things over with Jim, they've decided that she and Joanna are going for the direct approach. There's no reason in pretending they're here in any capacity other than as official representatives of Starfleet; their human physiology would give them away in a second.
The bar is crowded and messy, not at all like the fastidious little cafes that Vulcans prefer. A thin film of dust clings to everything, including the glass the bartender hand her. Uhura orders something light, made from the pureed pulp of one of the desert plants found in abundance on the colony planet. It's neither Vulcan nor Romulan in origin, but something entirely new that's apparently become popular everywhere. And while not as susceptible to poetic notions as she once was, Uhura likes to think that one day, the two cultures will be able to share more than just similar taste in beverages.
The bartender hands Joanna a bright orange drink that she peers at curiously before taking a cautious sip.
"What is that?" Uhura asks.
"A Flaming Sunset," Joanna winces, her eyes watering. "They definitely got the flaming part right."
"Remember, you're on active duty now," Uhura says, staring pointedly at her drink. Joanna's an adult, she's not going to tell her she's allowed to have it. But she doesn't want to be responsible for an incapacitated person in the middle of a barfight, either. "You're not Jim--don't do anything that might leave you compromised in the event things get hairy."
"Ah. Right." Joanna looks mournfully at her drink before pushing it away.
"Joanna?" says a voice from behind them.
Uhura feels guilty that her hand drifts to her phaser when she turns to greet the newcomer. They've no indication that these people are directly responsible, but the bombing has set her on edge.
Their interloper is rather plain as far as Romulans go, with a simple dark tunic and an institutional-looking haircut that makes him seem more Vulcan than anything else. Not that Uhura is an expert on Romulan personal grooming. Or maybe his look is intentional, to enable him to better fit in with the Vulcan populace. She sighs inwardly--all this guessing will get her nowhere. More importantly, how the hell does he know who Joanna is?
"Rh'Vaurek," Joanna breathes. She looks more than a unsettled that he's recognized her.
"You are wondering how I know your name," Rh'Vaurek replies, a smug smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
Uhura can see Joanna's father in her as she replies, "Yeah, I am," without the slightest hesitance.
"You forget that you are famous--or perhaps I should say infamous--for your work with Teslau, Joanna," he replies, leaning on her name for emphasis. "Many a subspace transmission has made it across the galaxy with your name and likeness attached to it."
"Rh'vaurek," Uhura says, interrupting a conversation that's going nowhere fast. "How did you know we'd be here?"
"I know who you are, Commander Uhura" he replies. "I assumed it would be a matter of time before they sent someone out here to investigate us. Will you tell me how long it will be before we're forcibly removed, or will it be a surprise?"
Joanna's eyes go wide with concern. "No, Rh'vaurek, it's not like that at all."
A number of curious eyes have turned on them at this point. And while Uhura is all for an involved citizenry, they really don't need to have this conversation in public.
"Is there somewhere private we can take this?" Uhura is suspicious at the ease with which they've located Joanna's contact, but if there's going to be a confrontation, there's no sense in walking away from it.
"Of course," he says with a nod. "Follow me."
He brings them to a narrow back room, the walls piled high with storage containers. The heat inside is like a physical presence weighing down on them, heavy and unyielding. In the center of the room are a few chairs and a table made from the same cheap-quality construction materials that everything was made of back when the first colonists were settling in. Things are starting to look up on the Vulcan side of the tracks--more imported goods, things made from locally-sourced construction materials. Going by the available physical evidence, even that small bit of economic prosperity hasn't made it to the Romulans yet.
"Rh'vaurek, I need you to tell us everything you know about the bombing," Joanna says, getting right down to business. Uhura envies the ease with which she settles into the flimsy chair. She's comfortable with the realities of colony life in a way that Uhura never was.
"You assume I know anything about it at all."
"You haven't seen anyone suspicious coming or going? Anyone who didn't look as if they belong here?"
Rh'vaurek gives them a weary look. "Commander Uhura, Lieutenant McCoy--we're a colony of political dissenters, any of whom would be imprisoned or executed for entering Romulan space. We are not in the habit of making social calls."
The lights flicker and fade, plunging them into darkness. Uhura's hand immediately goes to her phaser, her spine a line of tension. A few groans can be heard drifting in from down the hallway in the few seconds before a generator kicks in and the festivities resume.
"We've lost a number of our engineers lately," Rh'vaurek says, gesturing to the light overhead, "and we're facing difficulties in maintaining adequate repairs to our power facilities."
Joanna shakes her head and frowns. "But there are a number of opportunities out here for independent work, new systems development...you should have your hands full."
"We're a small outpost on a colony whose residents look on us with suspicion." The corner of Rh'Vaurek's mouth turns up in a smirk. "The opportunities we have here are nothing compared to what Starfleet can offer them, especially if you're willing to play at being a Vulcan."
"Since when do the Romulans care about what Starfleet thinks?" Joanna mutters.
"Since the Federation lost its most important ally, of course. The destruction of Vulcan has divided us. There are many who call for us to seize upon this advantage, while others have doubts. The Federation has its fair share of enemies, but it also has many friends."
Joanna's expression sours. "Which side are you on?"
Rh'vaurek merely allows his lips to curl up in a smile "Preferably, the one that wins."
"I suppose the real question is, since when does the Federation need Romulan Engineers so badly that they're recruiting from an outpost colony?" asks Uhura. Like most military entities, Starfleet isn't averse to making use of the technological advances of its neighbors, whether friend or foe. But there's only one kind of Romulan-originated technology that would be enticing enough to the Federation to merit poaching Romulan scientists, and the last Romulan to make use of it is long dead. It just doesn't add up--Rh'Vaurek must know something that he's not telling. Uhura just needs to figure out what.
"The flux compression generator," says Jo, breathless. "You don't think that they--"
"We don't think anything, yet." Uhura warns. She can see Joanna's mind running off to unwarranted conclusions already. Uhura has been a member of Starfleet for more than half her life now, and she can't bring herself to think that Starfleet would go so far as to sacrifice civilians just to make the Romulans look bad. They do a good enough job of that themselves.
Uhura deliberately cuts off her own negative train of thought. "Is there anyone other than yourself who can corroborate this story? An eyewitness, or..."
"Rh'vaurek, please," Joanna begs. "If we can't prove that a Romulan didn't plant the device, we could have a war on our hands."
He draws a thumb across his lower lip and tugs at it thoughtfully, then pulls a stylus from the folds of his tunic. Uhura hands him her PADD, and he draws a quick sketch of what he believes to be the device used in the attack. His fingers leave greyish smudges on the screen. "I was a communication systems engineer myself, but from what I hear about the blast, the object you're looking for will look something like this. I only know one person here who has that level of familiarity with weapon systems."
"Well, who is she?" Joanna is practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Commander T'Rehu. But she disappeared, about two months back," Rh'vaurek's eyes slide over to the doorway. "I prefer to deal in fact rather than in rumor, but a few have stated that she left to work with the Federation on something more interesting than small weapons technology."
"But why just disappear like that? She's a free citizen of the colony," Joanna insists.
"T'Rehu has shamed her people by acting in concert with the Federation. It's an act of treason, and more than sufficient grounds for execution." Rh'vaurek pushes his chair away and stands, careful not to knock over any of the storeroom's precariously balanced wares. "I have already spent more time speaking to you than is appropriate. We must continue our conversation tomorrow."
Uhura nods, her mouth tight. "Until tomorrow, Rh'vaurek."
"Until tomorrow, Commander. Remember, our little outpost here is small. While I do not doubt that we would do our utmost to defend it, it would take relatively little firepower to destroy it all. I advise you to operate with the utmost discretion."
++++
The sun bakes away the little bit of coolness that settled into the earth overnight hours before Uhura and Joanna rise for the day and make their way out of the city center and through various hastily-constructed buildings to the residential part of town. Everything is designed to be as economical as possible, there are little surplus resources focus on infrastructural niceties such as paved walkways and street lighting.
The streets of the colony grow increasingly wider as they pass through the tightly-structured homes of the initial colonists and work their way out to the newer arrivals, more secure in their ability to protect themselves out here. The only navigational clues they receive are from the map provided by Rh'Vaurek, a simple graphic with only a few identifying landmarks. Uhura resists the temptation to adjust her utility belt as a steady trickle of sweat crawls down the small of her back. It's been some time since she was out of doors in anything other than the layered dresses that are customary on Vulcan; they're much cooler than the synthetic fabrics that make up the uniforms of Starfleet.
The door to the squat structure that serves as Rh'vaurek's quarters sits wide open. Uhura's own residence looks like some kind of opulent palace in comparison--inside there's little more than a screened-off sleeping area, a table, and a few chairs. A large, multilegged insect skitters across Uhura's foot and disappears inside. A chill passes over her that has nothing to do with the temperature, and she puts an arm out to prevent Joanna from advancing further. A few agricultural tools sit in one corner, an efficiency kitchen in another. It's oddly quiet.
"What is it?" Joanna hisses, curious.
"I think someone else already paid a visit to your friend," Uhura replies. She has her phaser at the ready as she pushes aside the little privacy screen, and comes face to face with Rh'vaurek's motionless body sprawled out on his sleeping cot. His eyes are wide open, and a trickle of blood stains the corner of his mouth. Joanna makes a little choked-off noise behind her.
"It must have been a surprise," Uhura say. This was supposed to be an easy investigative mission, in and out again with enough information to go off looking for their next clue. Rigor mortis is already setting in; whoever did this is long gone by now. "No Romulan would allow someone to invade their home like this without a fight."
"Computer, lights," says Joanana, keeping the command simple. Even on the Vulcan section of the planet, the computers that control home electronics are a far cry from the sophisticaed systems back on Earth. On and off is sometimes more than they can manage.
The wound site is an ugly burn directly through the chest. Congealed green blood stains the dark fibers of his tunic. Joanna immediately pulls out her tricorder and begins scanning the body, all traces of her earlier shock pushed to the background.
"Well, looks like our mystery is solved," she says. She hands it over to Uhura, who sees nothing out of the ordinary.
"There's nothing here."
"Exactly--Romulans usually carry disruptors; if one was used as the murder weapon, the antiproton particle density would be off the charts." Joanna stands again and returns the tricorder to her holster.
Uhura holsters her phaser with a frustrated sigh, taps her foot against the pitted rock that makes up the floor. This is turning out to be uglier than even she thought it would be. "Because a disruptor didn't kill Rh'vaurek--a phaser blast did."
+++++
At Uhura’s insistence, Joanna spends the night at her house; Jim has gone back to the Carson for the night. She checks in with her father to assure him she’s not dead and doesn’t mention that someone else is.
She sleeps badly and wakes with the sun already up in the sky and a dry-mouthed late-for-work feeling, only to realize that her office has been functionally destroyed. She’s got vital information obtained from a dead witness to present to an admiral, and she’s under the same roof as the woman she’s secretly in love with. She feels rootless and alive and important, and Uhura ruins it a bit by handing her a cup of hot tea and saying, “I ran your shirt through the sonic; it was a little stinky. And your dad is wondering, and I quote, ‘when the hell he’s going to get to visit with the daughter he came halfway across the God-damned galaxy to see’.”
“Soon,” Joanna says with a laugh. “Let’s give the information to Jim, and then I can deal with my dad.”
They catch up with Jim between a Council meeting and an event at the Science Academy. Joanna catches sight of his dark blond head above a gaggle of Starfleet officers, about to disappear into the Academy’s main administration building.
“Admiral!”
The functionaries turn to look; one moves to block Jim and another reaches for his phaser. It occurs to Joanna that running pell-mell into an Admiral in a public place might not be the smartest idea, but at least it’s not the most dangerous one she’s had all day.
“Jo, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Jim looks puzzled, and then catches site of Uhura behind her. “Uhura?” His glance takes in her tight, un-Vulcan black pants and her phaser on her hip. “Aren’t you on administrative leave?”
“She wanted to go to the Romulan colony. Dr. McCoy asked me to go along with her. ”
“Go to the-- That’s crazy,” he says, but he looks rather pleased.
“I had a feeling the Romulans weren’t responsible, and I was right. We talked to Rh’vaurek, one of the leaders, and he was murdered right in front of us.” The words tumble out; she a little breathless and feels like she can’t talk fast enough. “It was a phaser--”
“Wait!” Jim’s command is sharp; the functionaries have fallen silent. “Let’s not discuss this here. I have a meeting that I can’t skip, but I’ll be in touch. Uhura, I’m relying on you; if anything happens to her, her father will skin us both alive.”
Joanna watches him leave, still vibrating with the need to tell. Just before the group vanishes, one of officers turns to give her a considering look, and she thinks about the long, silent reach of phaser blasts.
+++++
Joanna complains to Uhura about people not taking her seriously over a lunch of pok tar, but within the hour, Uhura gets a coded message from Kirk summoning everyone up to the U.S.S. Carson.
It takes some time for Joanna to convince her father that she’s well enough to beam up, as he’s convinced that a transporter will tax her in some way that a long, hot walk among Romulans did not. Saiehnn, Spock, and Winona beam from different locations so as not to draw attention to themselves; an unknown enemy, Jim reminds them, should be treated as omnipresent.
It’s been a year and half since Joanna has been in uniform or on a starship, and the Carson, though it’s a Newton-class science vessel of modest size, looks sleek and glossy. Walking its cool, blue-carpeted corridors, Joanna realizes how her eyes have adjusted to the sun-blasted rust and brown of New Vulcan.
Jim meets them in the transporter room and leads them to a conference room. Joanna watches crewmembers’ spines stiffen as they pass by and reminds herself that the easy familiarity she enjoys with Jim planetside is not appropriate here, on a flag officer’s ship.
They settle into plush chairs around the conference table and Joanna feels like she’s dropped into one of her father’s Enterprise stories: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Uhura, sitting in the ready room of a starship ready to save another planet.
“Sorry for the unnecessary drama about getting aboard,” Jim says. “We’re here at the urgent request of Lieutenant McCoy, who’d like us to consider an alternate theory in the bombing. It’s your dime, Lieutenant.”
Five chairs pivot toward her, leaving her surprised and dry-mouthed. “Uh. Thank you, Admiral. I don’t--I don’t really have a formal presentation or anything. But I visited the Romulan colony this morning with Commander Uhura, and I’m convinced the colonists weren’t responsible for the bombing. In fact, the Romulan we made contact with was murdered after telling us about a number of defections to the Federation. It seems the Federation may have been recruiting spies or double agents from the colony.”
“A serious charge,” Spock says. “I assume you have proof?”
“Yes, sir.” A year of getting grilled by Vulcans at staff meetings is standing her in good stead. “I’ve submitted a preliminary list of names, and Commander Uhura got the Romulans to agree not to prepare Rh’vaurek’s body for burial until his death is investigated.”
“Well done, Lieutenant. That does, however, not alter the fact of the Romulan device found in the wreckage,” Spock says. “I presume you have another conjecture for how it got there, other than being placed in the building by a Romulan?”
“Not exactly.” Joanna flushes a little. “But it’s just a Romulan device, right? That doesn’t mean a Romulan put it there. Security’s been over weeks of surveillance vids and there were no Romulans going in or out.” She feels that she’s finding her footing now. “Someone else could have obtained the Romulan device and planted it, to incriminate the Romulans.”
“You say that no Romulans were observed on camera,” Saiehnn says. “May I ask how you visually identify a Romulan?”
Joanna’s mouth goes slack. Of course, Romulans look exactly like Vulcans; it’s only their clothing and certain mannerisms that set them apart.
“I. Uh.” Think fast, don’t look stupid, her brain urges, making her do the opposite. “Maybe--”
“All visitors to the Teslau project site are bioidentified on the way in and out,” Winona says, coming to her rescue. “If a Romulan had passed herself off as a Vulcan, she would have had to create a false identity and maintain it for months.”
“Not an impossible undertaking, in order to achieve a military objective,” says Spock.
“No, but we also do individual genome sequencing and genetic analysis,” Winona counters. “I think we can rule out undercover Romulans.”
“An inside job, then?” Jim says. “Someone who hates the project enough to do the Romulans’ dirty work for them?”
Winona frowns and fidgets with her PADD. “T’Pau unloaded on me the other morning about how the whole project was a massive affront to Vulcan identity, but I can’t see her being willing to injure Vulcan women. The Vai Ba’Tak abjure violence.”
“Maybe the injuries were an accident,” Joanna says. “An EMP device causes a lot of damage, but it didn’t kill anyone. Jim-- I mean, Admiral, Engineer Kanu said the position of the device in the building magnified the damage. So maybe the EMP discharge wasn’t supposed to be so powerful.”
“Or maybe they just didn’t care,” her father says. “Everyone knows you can’t say boo to a pregnant woman and not expect there to be consequences.”
Uhura, who’s been tapping away on her PADD with her long fingernails, looks up from the jumble of schematics scrolling by. “The Romulan we spoke to this morning was ex-military. He said rigging one of these EMP devices to a portable fuel source and a timer would be a lot of trouble and very bulky--hard to smuggle, hard to hide. What I don’t get is why the bombers didn’t go for a simple explosive. Why go to such lengths to use such a distinctive device--”
“--Unless you were trying to pin it on the Romulans. Exactly.” Joanna slaps her hand on the table, startling Saiehnn and getting a couple of amused eyebrows from her father and Jim. “They might as well have stamped the Eagle of the Tal Shiar on it.”
“Your argument is persuasive, Lieutenant,” Spock says. Joanna has enough experience with Vulcans now to know she’s not being patronized. “But until we can explain how the device was introduced into the Teslau building, we have no way to track it to its point of origin and therefore no basis for speculating on a motive.”
“I suppose you’ve considered the obvious, Jim,” Winona says. “That the device was beamed into the building? There’s no transporter block.”
“We already checked the logs of the five transporter pads on Vulcan. There’s nothing matching the morphology in the buffers, and believe me, this thing is quite distinctive.”
“The public transport sites on Uzh Shi'Kahr are not the only ones in range,” Saiehnn says. “I know of at least one other.”
“Yes?” All eyes are now on Saiehnn; Joanna’s have never been off.
“The transporter on this ship.”
Joanna feels her heart skip a beat; her eyes dart to Jim, but he’s wearing an indulgent expression: Vulcans and their passion for precision. She can see him start to shake his head--
“I know,” she says quickly, not sure what she’s going to say afterward. “I know it’s really unlikely, but wouldn’t it make sense just to check? I mean, it would prove that you’re being thorough, that you’re not showing favoritism.” She halts, a little breathless, aware that she’s just implied that Admiral Kirk could reasonably be thought careless or biased.
“You tell ‘em, baby girl,” her father says into the silence.
Jim, nonplussed, shrugs and taps his comm badge to call down to Engineering. Joanna is surprised not to hear Scotty’s voice, but of course he’s off on the Excelsior. Her feelings are conflicted; she doesn’t want to be right, but she also doesn’t want it to look like she’s grabbing at any crackpot theory to exonerate the Romulans, despite the fact that she knows, knows that the colonists aren’t responsible.
The suspense builds over long minutes. Just as her father’s offering to get out a deck of cards, Engineer Kanu comms back.
“Sir, we transported something with the morphology and mass matching the flux compression generator schematic three days ago. It went down with a load of equipment to the Teslau building.”
Jim’s formidable eyebrows draw together, and the set of his lips promises rolling heads later on. “And nobody bothered to check the shipment against the manifest?”
“We were getting around to that, sir. We usually purge the buffers and file the reports after we leave orbit.” His voice moves into a more desperate upper register. “We’re a science vessel, Admiral.”
“Anybody ever hear of a simple inventory?” Joanna’s father grumbles.
Jim, however, is looking much more pleased. “So the suspect object’s still in the buffer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then,” Spock says, “it will be possible to reconstruct it, given some phase matter and a bit of time.”
“Nothing you can’t handle, then?”
“Not at all,” Spock says. “This is, as the engineer noted, a science vessel.”
“Good.” Jim swivels around to Joanna. “Lieutenant, I appreciate your insight and the intelligence that you and Uhura picked up in the Romulan colony. But since it seems we might have a suspect on board--” he taps his comm badge. “Security, escort Lieutenant McCoy to VIP quarters and put a double guard on the door.”
“Admiral!” Joanna stares in disbelief as her father nods approvingly. “Please let me help, I can--”
“Saiehnn should go, too,” Uhura says. Joanna’s protest dies on her lips.
“It’s just for a little while, Jo.” Jim smiles at her, but there’s a crease of worry between his eyebrows. “A precaution; I wouldn’t let anything happen to you on my ship. Besides, you’ll be in good company.”
Authors: lindmere and merisunshine36
Artist: ladymac111
Mixer: nextian
Beta: sail_aweigh
Series: ST XI
Character/Pairing(s): Joanna McCoy, Kirk, McCoy, Pike, Spock/Uhura/OFC, Winona/Sarek
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Word Count: 27,000
Warnings: Secondary character death, violence, discussion paralleling the autism debate
Joanna wakes up late, still a bit groggy from wine and food. Peeking out through the thermoshield shutters into another cloudless, razor-sharp morning, she feels the weight of Admiral Pike’s death return with her memories of the night before. She’d hardly known him well, but he’d been a fixture of her childhood, and of her rapidly receding youth. As for what his death portends, Joanna would rather not think about it.
She makes it to the clinic without encountering any inquisitive Romulans. As a number cruncher and report filer, Joanna speaks with few patients, but from her station she can see them file in and out: Vulcan women of indeterminate age, serious as Saiehnn but lacking what Joanna persists as considering her inner fire. A fertility clinic should be a cheerful place to work, but the burden of necessity overlays what she gathers is already a pretty utilitarian approach to procreation. In her head, she can hear Saiehnn’s voice saying The bloodline of Surak must be preserved, and then she turns back to work and mentally away from thoughts of Saiehnn and Spock and procreation.
Joanna’s easing herself into the day by rechecking birthweights when there’s a sudden, blinding flash like lightning with no sound. Everything turns to white bright heat for a second and then it’s gone.
A sharp pain goes through her, searing into her joints. The room spins around her and she grabs for the edge of her desk and misses, hitting the floor with a jolting thud as she loses track of which way is up.
The pain ebbs and is replaced by a wave of nausea as her ears ring with afterecho of a loud, electronic buzz that seems to come from all around her. That much is familiar: the sound of electronic equipment dying. She braves the nausea enough to turn her head and sees through the sparkles in front of her eyes that above her that the huge panel display has gone blank.
She thinks about the stories she was raised on, bold decisions and incredible odds and logic and intuition and saving the day. She believed it was something that could be learned, which is why she went to the Academy. Now the something she got all that training for has happened, and she’s lying on the floor, helpless, not able to control her own muscles, let alone save anyone or anything else.
Unknowable minutes pass and no one comes. Finally she makes an executive decision to roll onto her side and manages to struggle to a sitting position without losing her breakfast or the direction of the ceiling. She’s incongruously embarrassed to find she’s lost bladder control, and relieved that today of all days she’s wearing a long Vulcan tunic.
“Jo!” A figure appears in the door, sending a fizz of alarm down her brittle nerves. A moment later she realizes it’s Winona, on the floor beside her, trying simultaneously to give her a hug and check her with a tricorder. “Sweetheart, are you all right? You’re awake, that’s good. No, don’t try to get up--just lie here for a bit and rest. I’ll be back for you; I’ve got to see to the others first.” She runs a cool hand over Joanna’s forehead and smooths her hair, which Joanna realized belatedly had been standing straight up.
“What others? Did this happen to everyone? What was it?”
“Too soon to say.” It’s bad; that much, Joanna can tell.
“Let me help. I’m fine, I can--”
Winona pushes her gently back toward the floor. “No, sweetheart. Not now.”
“What about Saiehnn? And Uhura?” But Winona is already disappearing through the door.
Many long, fretful minutes later, a pair of male Vulcans in healer’s green insist on putting Joanna on a stretcher, though by the time they arrive, her muscles are feeling like something other than jelly. She thinks she’s in pain but the messages to her brain are jangled and confused. She can tell by the set of their mouths that the healers won’t answer questions, so she closes her eyes as they load her into a transport bound for the Quadrant 2 Healing Center.
She drifts off, or so she supposes, because her next vision is of the blurry face of the healer, leaning in close enough that she can see the pupils of his dark eyes.
“She is conscious?” says a voice from somewhere beyond her peripheral vision.
“Yes,” says the healer. “So it appears.”
“I advise you sedate her. Humans are predisposed to experience shock, which can further damage their already fragile constitutions.”
The healer nods and reaches for a hypo. I’m not fragile, Joanna wants to say, but as her lips form the words, the healer’s angular face turns to cotton wool, and disappears.
+++++
There are a few moments after Uhura first regains consciousness when she can hear everything around her but see nothing, and she wonders if she's on her way out or if she still stands a chance to live. Clamping down on the natural urge to panic, she remains and conducts a silent inventory of all her moving parts. She's relieved to find them all in working order with the exception of a stabbing pain that originates at the base of her neck, radiating up and out to her teeth.
Uhura's vision clears up after a few seconds. She's trapped beneath something large and unyielding, in a triangle shaped wedge of space that makes a Jeffries tube seem roomy by comparison. When the blast happened she'd been at her desk reviewing the curriculum for the day; it's likely a section of the wall. Uhura is oddly grateful for the cheap pre-fab construction materials used for the education center. Rather than crumbling, the whole room just tilted over like a house of cards.
Her immediate is concern the children. Classes had yet to start today, so the educational center is empty for the most part. But at any given time there will be a few clinicians seeing to expectant mothers and pediatric visits for the new little ones. Uhura’s chest goes tight thinking of them, and she braces her arms against the unyielding slab in a futile attempt to get it out of the way. If the breach of security means that the perpetrator is still on the premises, it might be best for her to stay quiet. But how long would she have to wait here before someone finds her?
“Uhura?” comes a muffled voice from above.
“I’m in here,” she says, keeping her voice level. She’s been through worse than this.
The air is filled with a grinding noise from above as the wall begins to move; she has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep from being blinded by all the dust. It fills her nose and lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
The narrow band of light above her widens slowly until its large enough for a face to peer in. It’s Saiehnn, and she looks immaculate as always, not a hair a hair out of place.
“Are you injured?” she asks, voice perfectly level.
“No, I’m fine,” she takes a few deep breaths of clean, too-warm air. “The twins?”
“They are with Vesko at present, and are uninjured. We were on the lower levels; they were sufficiently far enough from the explosion that they remain intact."
She offers Uhura her arm and begins to pull her up slowly, careful to avoid aggravating any injuries she might have. At first contact, the amount of empathic data she’s subjected to sends her reeling. She and Saiehnn are not intimate, either as friends or as lovers, and instances of touch between them are rare. An overwhelming sense of fear, and panic, and not again buffets the bit of shielding Uhura’s been able to conjure up over the years until Saiehnn remembers herself and lets go.
Uhura has enough leverage at this point that she pushes her way out from beneath the wall and sits in an upright position. For the first time, she gets a good look at the damage. It’s not as bad as she’d imagine, given the sound and the pressure that emanated from the blast center. The other half of the wall she was under remains upright, and the other three escaped with no more than a faint spiderwebbing of cracks.
Saiehnn watches Uhura for a moment. The steadiness of her gaze is an unsettling contrast to the inner turmoil Uhura felt only seconds ago. Saiehnn opens her mouth, then shuts it again and just wipes her hands down her skirts.
Uhura closes her eyes and tries to ignore the massive headache that pulses in time with her heartbeat. “We’re all okay, Saiehnn. Spock wasn’t even in the building.”
Saiehnn's shoulder's settle a little from the stiff pose she'd been holding them in. “This time, yes. But what of the next time?”
+++++
When Joanna opens gritty eyes, blinks, and sees her father, she feels disappointed, because she’s clearly still unconscious. The healer must really have knocked me out, she thinks, but smiles anyway, because her father wearing his Starfleet uniform but looking amiably rumpled, and he’s looking down at her with that watery I love you so much it hurts look that she remembers from earliest childhood.
“Good morning, baby girl,” he says, and squeezes her hand.
“Hi, daddy.” It’s a dream, so she indulges--squeezes his hand back and then holds on to it, looks at him long enough that she notices the hound dog circles under his eyes.
“You gave me quite a scare.” He clears his throat. “Thought I’d sent you somewhere safe. Should have realized by now that there’s no such place.”
“You’re really here. When did you get here? How?”
“Oh, the usual way. I hitched a ride with some Security mucky-mucks who came in to investigate the--” He pauses and runs a hand over his face. “Well, they had you knocked out for quite a while. Tried to sedate me, too; apparently it’s the standard treatment around here for troublesome humans.”
“I’m sure it’s just because they’re busy.” She notes the medical tricorder at her father’s hip; of course he’d be eager to help. “How bad is it?”
“No fatalities. Uhura got a nasty bump on the head, but she’ll be fine. Winona was off with Jim and Sarek. Everyone else is pretty much in the same boat as you: unpleasant neurological effects, but no permanent damage.” He leans forward and runs a hand through her hair. “No damage at all to that big, beautiful brain. It’s good to see you, baby girl.”
It’s good to see him, too; good to know there’s someone who’ll travel across a large swath of galaxy to come to her bedside, to make sure she’s all right. Some day she may outgrow that feeling, but it hasn’t happened yet.
“What was it? Do they know? Why would somebody do this?”
“It was an electromagnetic pulse; they found a gizmo called a flux compression generator at the site. Don’t quote me on that, by the way; Jim told me, but none of this is official yet.”
“I’m an astronomer, dad. I don’t know what that is anyway. And I kind of slept through Intro to Warp Physics.” That gets a lopsided smile out of him.
“Me, too, but it’s got nothing to do with warp drives. Apparently they’re used by the Romulans to create the artificial singularities that power their ships.”
“Romulans?” Jo half sits up in surprise, feels a wave of nausea, and lies right back down again.
“Whoa, there. You’re not going anywhere. Yeah, Romulans. There’s a nest of ‘em living right next door to the city, isn’t there?”
“Yes, but why attack us? Why now? The project’s been going on for four years.”
“Jim thinks it may have something to do with Admiral Pike’s death--the mouse pulling the cat’s tail, to see if it’s awake. Starfleet’s put Jim in charge of the investigation, since he was already planetside. But don’t worry about that now; you need to rest up now so you can argue with me later about bringing you home.” He kisses her forehead, but it does nothing to ease her troubled thoughts.
“Wait. You said nobody was seriously hurt. Does that include Saiehnn?”
“She’s just fine. Better than the rest of you, actually; she was on one of the lower levels of the building. You like her, do you? I’ve found her a pretty tough nut to crack.”
“I do, dad. I really, really like her.” It’s a childish expression of her feelings, but it stops her father dead.
“Oh no, baby girl. Please tell me you don’t--”
“You’d have to get to know her to understand. She’s an amazing person, and--” Joanna knows she’s damning herself with each protest, so she gives up. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.”
Her father gives her that little patronizing smile that she finds so annoying from older adults. “It happens at your age, I know. But innocent or not, she’s another man’s wife, and another woman’s, when it comes to that. If it’s just infatuation, then I guess there’s no harm in it, but if not--you’re setting yourself up for some serious heartache. Trust me, I know.” He kisses her again, and now the gesture seems a little patronizing, as if he’s trying to soothe the little girl she no longer is. “Well, we’ll get you off this rock and off to somewhere with some beings who don’t have icewater in their veins, and you can find someone who’ll love you the way you deserve to be loved.” Joanna wants to ask what deserving has to do with it, but doesn’t.
Her father pats her hand and gives her a smile before he draws the curtains around her bed, and she feels reassured and confused and frustrated. What she has on New Vulcan may not have been much, but it’s hers--it belongs to her and to Winona and Saiehnn and all the expectant parents and all the children who owed their existence to a brave and risky decision to try something new. No one should have the power to take that out of their hands--not Starfleet, or scheming Romulans, or even her own father.
+++++
Uhura has developed a number of new skills as a parent, including something akin to precognition, so it’s distressing but not exactly a surprise when little Sovan falls flat on his face. The two-year old has been tottering around the Physical Skills Course with a stubborn determination that would please his parents but makes his teacher nervous.
She rushes over to see if he’s hurt, still bracing herself, after all this time, for tears and wailing that never come. Sovan’s lower lip trembles, his heavy little brows draw together, and she wants to say Oh, just go ahead and cry already.
“Whoa there, little fella.” Uhura looks up and sees Leonard McCoy, medical tricorder at the ready, closing the distance with a few long strides. “That was a first class fall. Let’s see what you did to yourself.”
“I am not injured,” Sovan says distinctly, to Leonard’s evident surprise.
“Doctors don’t like it when you try to do their jobs, young man. Let me see that knee or I’ll have to call the Federation Medical Association on you.”
Leonard uses the regen on Sovan’s scraped knee while the boy frowns down at him.
“There you go, good as new.” Leonard visibly checks himself from clapping the boy on the shoulder as he runs back to the start of the obstacle course.
“Sovan, where are your manners?”
“Thank you, Healer,” Sovan says, inclining his head gravely.
“You’re very welcome.” Leonard packs his medkit away with a chuckle. “I’ll be damned if this isn’t the quietest playground I’ve ever seen. It’s spooky.”
“Beats the alternative, especially before I’ve had my second cup of coffee.” She accepts a bristly kiss on the cheek from Leonard along with a breath of his cologne, not immune after all these years to his Earthly charm. “How’s Jo feeling? Len, I’m so sorry--you know I’d never have suggested she come here if I’d thought there was any danger.”
“Oh, I know, and I don’t blame you or Spock or Winona; the galaxy’s a dangerous place these days. I’ll admit that for the first day or two I wanted to take her home and lock her in the attic, but I’m getting over it.” They walk toward a bench under the broad eaves of the school building, the only shade against the harsh rays of the early morning sun.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Leonard continues. “I have a favor to ask. Jo’s taken the bombing in her stride but she’s got a bee in her bonnet about the Romulan thing. Apparently she met a Romulan colonist a few days ago and all she can think about is why they’d attack a bunch of innocent women. I told her that people are capable of things in war that they’d never consider otherwise, but that’s not a good enough answer, apparently. It’s the McCoy coming out in her. To tell you the truth, I’m glad to see it; she was always a good kid, but kind of passive.”
“I’m glad you’ve noticed the change. It’s a hard life here, but I think it’s brought out the best in Jo, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. So what’s the favor?”
“Well.” Leonard huffs out a sigh. “She’s decided she wants to visit the Romulan colony and confront the man she met. I don’t know why she thinks she’ll get a straight answer, but that’s what she wants.”
“That’s not uncommon among survivors. Even the kids ask me questions about the Romulans, and about Nero. They think I have some unique insight because I was there at the Destruction, and of course I don’t. But knowing there’s a reason might make her feel safer about the whole thing.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Leonard takes a swig from the water bottle that, good doctor that he is, he’s got clipped to his belt. “Anyhow, the favor is that I have no idea what’s up with that Romulan colony, but I know I don’t want her going there alone. You’re still in the ‘Fleet, technically at least--I assume you’ve got your service phaser and communicator?”
“I sure do.” They’re in a lockbox at home and probably need servicing, but she’s got them.
“Jim says he’ll give you coverage from the Carson. If anything happens, all you have to do is pull the plug and beam out. But it would make me feel ten times better if you’d go with her.”
“No problem,” Uhura says, and feels something long dormant stir inside her: the butterfly heartbeat of anticipation that always preceded a mission. “I’d be glad to.”
+++++
Uhura and Spock watch Joanna fiddle with the fastening on her phaser holster until Uhura can't stand it anymore, and reaches out to arrest her motions with a firm hand. Uhura had been party to McCoy's occasional grumbling about his daughter's dismal scores in marksmanship, but this is the first time she's ever witnessed Joanna's relationship with her firearm in person. Joanna flushes, obviously embarrassed to be schooled on something so basic in front of two fairly prominent Starfleet officers.
"Something tells me you haven't touched your phaser since you set foot on the colony. Watch," Uhura says, undoing the fastening on her own to make it easier to demonstrate. The part of her that's been living with toddlers wants to just do it for Joanna, but she holds back. "Tab A, into Slot B." The motions come back to her easily even though it's been four years since she last picked it up.
"I took the minimum number of combat courses necessary to graduate," Joanna confesses.
"It is fortuitous that you have not had an occasion which required the use of your weapon," says Spock. "It is seldom as simple as taught in your training."
They practice a few more times until Uhura is satisfied that Joanna's got a handle on it. When she's finished, Uhura reaches out and gives it a sharp yank to make sure it's secure, then nods and declares them ready to set off.
The look on Spock's face as they leave the house is less than encouraging. He hasn't said anything against this mission, but a thoughtful silence has hung about him all morning like a depressing shadow.
"We'll be fine," insists Uhura, a little annoyed at the thought that she's lost her edge. He touches a finger to her cheek, and she can feel the slow curl of his anxiety, but also the strength of his faith in her.
"I don't know why officers in non-combat zones have to have phasers anyway," Joanna grumbles as the drab landscape rolls past the window of their shuttle. They didn't want to be conspicuous while en route to the settlement, so they're making use the rudimentary public transportation network. "Doesn't that kind of spoil the illusion that we’re only out here for exploration and peacekeeping?"
"If everything goes as planned, you shouldn't have to touch your phaser save for when you take it off at night." Uhura smiles to herself, remembering the number of "peaceful" missions that had ended with her running for her life. "But trust me, if the time comes when you need it, you'll be happy it's there."
They arrive at the colony a little after the evening meal, a time deliberately chosen to catch residents when they were settled in for the day, but before the sun sets. It's a little disconcerting to see so many Vulcanesque faces staring at them, bold and direct, as they pass into the commercial center of the little residential outpost and head toward the inn that intelligence has told them should be suitable for their needs.
"Hello, cognitive dissonance," Joanna mutters under her breath. Uhura can't help but agree.
They settle in before setting off for the local watering hole, as good a place as any to start an investigation. After talking things over with Jim, they've decided that she and Joanna are going for the direct approach. There's no reason in pretending they're here in any capacity other than as official representatives of Starfleet; their human physiology would give them away in a second.
The bar is crowded and messy, not at all like the fastidious little cafes that Vulcans prefer. A thin film of dust clings to everything, including the glass the bartender hand her. Uhura orders something light, made from the pureed pulp of one of the desert plants found in abundance on the colony planet. It's neither Vulcan nor Romulan in origin, but something entirely new that's apparently become popular everywhere. And while not as susceptible to poetic notions as she once was, Uhura likes to think that one day, the two cultures will be able to share more than just similar taste in beverages.
The bartender hands Joanna a bright orange drink that she peers at curiously before taking a cautious sip.
"What is that?" Uhura asks.
"A Flaming Sunset," Joanna winces, her eyes watering. "They definitely got the flaming part right."
"Remember, you're on active duty now," Uhura says, staring pointedly at her drink. Joanna's an adult, she's not going to tell her she's allowed to have it. But she doesn't want to be responsible for an incapacitated person in the middle of a barfight, either. "You're not Jim--don't do anything that might leave you compromised in the event things get hairy."
"Ah. Right." Joanna looks mournfully at her drink before pushing it away.
"Joanna?" says a voice from behind them.
Uhura feels guilty that her hand drifts to her phaser when she turns to greet the newcomer. They've no indication that these people are directly responsible, but the bombing has set her on edge.
Their interloper is rather plain as far as Romulans go, with a simple dark tunic and an institutional-looking haircut that makes him seem more Vulcan than anything else. Not that Uhura is an expert on Romulan personal grooming. Or maybe his look is intentional, to enable him to better fit in with the Vulcan populace. She sighs inwardly--all this guessing will get her nowhere. More importantly, how the hell does he know who Joanna is?
"Rh'Vaurek," Joanna breathes. She looks more than a unsettled that he's recognized her.
"You are wondering how I know your name," Rh'Vaurek replies, a smug smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
Uhura can see Joanna's father in her as she replies, "Yeah, I am," without the slightest hesitance.
"You forget that you are famous--or perhaps I should say infamous--for your work with Teslau, Joanna," he replies, leaning on her name for emphasis. "Many a subspace transmission has made it across the galaxy with your name and likeness attached to it."
"Rh'vaurek," Uhura says, interrupting a conversation that's going nowhere fast. "How did you know we'd be here?"
"I know who you are, Commander Uhura" he replies. "I assumed it would be a matter of time before they sent someone out here to investigate us. Will you tell me how long it will be before we're forcibly removed, or will it be a surprise?"
Joanna's eyes go wide with concern. "No, Rh'vaurek, it's not like that at all."
A number of curious eyes have turned on them at this point. And while Uhura is all for an involved citizenry, they really don't need to have this conversation in public.
"Is there somewhere private we can take this?" Uhura is suspicious at the ease with which they've located Joanna's contact, but if there's going to be a confrontation, there's no sense in walking away from it.
"Of course," he says with a nod. "Follow me."
He brings them to a narrow back room, the walls piled high with storage containers. The heat inside is like a physical presence weighing down on them, heavy and unyielding. In the center of the room are a few chairs and a table made from the same cheap-quality construction materials that everything was made of back when the first colonists were settling in. Things are starting to look up on the Vulcan side of the tracks--more imported goods, things made from locally-sourced construction materials. Going by the available physical evidence, even that small bit of economic prosperity hasn't made it to the Romulans yet.
"Rh'vaurek, I need you to tell us everything you know about the bombing," Joanna says, getting right down to business. Uhura envies the ease with which she settles into the flimsy chair. She's comfortable with the realities of colony life in a way that Uhura never was.
"You assume I know anything about it at all."
"You haven't seen anyone suspicious coming or going? Anyone who didn't look as if they belong here?"
Rh'vaurek gives them a weary look. "Commander Uhura, Lieutenant McCoy--we're a colony of political dissenters, any of whom would be imprisoned or executed for entering Romulan space. We are not in the habit of making social calls."
The lights flicker and fade, plunging them into darkness. Uhura's hand immediately goes to her phaser, her spine a line of tension. A few groans can be heard drifting in from down the hallway in the few seconds before a generator kicks in and the festivities resume.
"We've lost a number of our engineers lately," Rh'vaurek says, gesturing to the light overhead, "and we're facing difficulties in maintaining adequate repairs to our power facilities."
Joanna shakes her head and frowns. "But there are a number of opportunities out here for independent work, new systems development...you should have your hands full."
"We're a small outpost on a colony whose residents look on us with suspicion." The corner of Rh'Vaurek's mouth turns up in a smirk. "The opportunities we have here are nothing compared to what Starfleet can offer them, especially if you're willing to play at being a Vulcan."
"Since when do the Romulans care about what Starfleet thinks?" Joanna mutters.
"Since the Federation lost its most important ally, of course. The destruction of Vulcan has divided us. There are many who call for us to seize upon this advantage, while others have doubts. The Federation has its fair share of enemies, but it also has many friends."
Joanna's expression sours. "Which side are you on?"
Rh'vaurek merely allows his lips to curl up in a smile "Preferably, the one that wins."
"I suppose the real question is, since when does the Federation need Romulan Engineers so badly that they're recruiting from an outpost colony?" asks Uhura. Like most military entities, Starfleet isn't averse to making use of the technological advances of its neighbors, whether friend or foe. But there's only one kind of Romulan-originated technology that would be enticing enough to the Federation to merit poaching Romulan scientists, and the last Romulan to make use of it is long dead. It just doesn't add up--Rh'Vaurek must know something that he's not telling. Uhura just needs to figure out what.
"The flux compression generator," says Jo, breathless. "You don't think that they--"
"We don't think anything, yet." Uhura warns. She can see Joanna's mind running off to unwarranted conclusions already. Uhura has been a member of Starfleet for more than half her life now, and she can't bring herself to think that Starfleet would go so far as to sacrifice civilians just to make the Romulans look bad. They do a good enough job of that themselves.
Uhura deliberately cuts off her own negative train of thought. "Is there anyone other than yourself who can corroborate this story? An eyewitness, or..."
"Rh'vaurek, please," Joanna begs. "If we can't prove that a Romulan didn't plant the device, we could have a war on our hands."
He draws a thumb across his lower lip and tugs at it thoughtfully, then pulls a stylus from the folds of his tunic. Uhura hands him her PADD, and he draws a quick sketch of what he believes to be the device used in the attack. His fingers leave greyish smudges on the screen. "I was a communication systems engineer myself, but from what I hear about the blast, the object you're looking for will look something like this. I only know one person here who has that level of familiarity with weapon systems."
"Well, who is she?" Joanna is practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Commander T'Rehu. But she disappeared, about two months back," Rh'vaurek's eyes slide over to the doorway. "I prefer to deal in fact rather than in rumor, but a few have stated that she left to work with the Federation on something more interesting than small weapons technology."
"But why just disappear like that? She's a free citizen of the colony," Joanna insists.
"T'Rehu has shamed her people by acting in concert with the Federation. It's an act of treason, and more than sufficient grounds for execution." Rh'vaurek pushes his chair away and stands, careful not to knock over any of the storeroom's precariously balanced wares. "I have already spent more time speaking to you than is appropriate. We must continue our conversation tomorrow."
Uhura nods, her mouth tight. "Until tomorrow, Rh'vaurek."
"Until tomorrow, Commander. Remember, our little outpost here is small. While I do not doubt that we would do our utmost to defend it, it would take relatively little firepower to destroy it all. I advise you to operate with the utmost discretion."
++++
The sun bakes away the little bit of coolness that settled into the earth overnight hours before Uhura and Joanna rise for the day and make their way out of the city center and through various hastily-constructed buildings to the residential part of town. Everything is designed to be as economical as possible, there are little surplus resources focus on infrastructural niceties such as paved walkways and street lighting.
The streets of the colony grow increasingly wider as they pass through the tightly-structured homes of the initial colonists and work their way out to the newer arrivals, more secure in their ability to protect themselves out here. The only navigational clues they receive are from the map provided by Rh'Vaurek, a simple graphic with only a few identifying landmarks. Uhura resists the temptation to adjust her utility belt as a steady trickle of sweat crawls down the small of her back. It's been some time since she was out of doors in anything other than the layered dresses that are customary on Vulcan; they're much cooler than the synthetic fabrics that make up the uniforms of Starfleet.
The door to the squat structure that serves as Rh'vaurek's quarters sits wide open. Uhura's own residence looks like some kind of opulent palace in comparison--inside there's little more than a screened-off sleeping area, a table, and a few chairs. A large, multilegged insect skitters across Uhura's foot and disappears inside. A chill passes over her that has nothing to do with the temperature, and she puts an arm out to prevent Joanna from advancing further. A few agricultural tools sit in one corner, an efficiency kitchen in another. It's oddly quiet.
"What is it?" Joanna hisses, curious.
"I think someone else already paid a visit to your friend," Uhura replies. She has her phaser at the ready as she pushes aside the little privacy screen, and comes face to face with Rh'vaurek's motionless body sprawled out on his sleeping cot. His eyes are wide open, and a trickle of blood stains the corner of his mouth. Joanna makes a little choked-off noise behind her.
"It must have been a surprise," Uhura say. This was supposed to be an easy investigative mission, in and out again with enough information to go off looking for their next clue. Rigor mortis is already setting in; whoever did this is long gone by now. "No Romulan would allow someone to invade their home like this without a fight."
"Computer, lights," says Joanana, keeping the command simple. Even on the Vulcan section of the planet, the computers that control home electronics are a far cry from the sophisticaed systems back on Earth. On and off is sometimes more than they can manage.
The wound site is an ugly burn directly through the chest. Congealed green blood stains the dark fibers of his tunic. Joanna immediately pulls out her tricorder and begins scanning the body, all traces of her earlier shock pushed to the background.
"Well, looks like our mystery is solved," she says. She hands it over to Uhura, who sees nothing out of the ordinary.
"There's nothing here."
"Exactly--Romulans usually carry disruptors; if one was used as the murder weapon, the antiproton particle density would be off the charts." Joanna stands again and returns the tricorder to her holster.
Uhura holsters her phaser with a frustrated sigh, taps her foot against the pitted rock that makes up the floor. This is turning out to be uglier than even she thought it would be. "Because a disruptor didn't kill Rh'vaurek--a phaser blast did."
+++++
At Uhura’s insistence, Joanna spends the night at her house; Jim has gone back to the Carson for the night. She checks in with her father to assure him she’s not dead and doesn’t mention that someone else is.
She sleeps badly and wakes with the sun already up in the sky and a dry-mouthed late-for-work feeling, only to realize that her office has been functionally destroyed. She’s got vital information obtained from a dead witness to present to an admiral, and she’s under the same roof as the woman she’s secretly in love with. She feels rootless and alive and important, and Uhura ruins it a bit by handing her a cup of hot tea and saying, “I ran your shirt through the sonic; it was a little stinky. And your dad is wondering, and I quote, ‘when the hell he’s going to get to visit with the daughter he came halfway across the God-damned galaxy to see’.”
“Soon,” Joanna says with a laugh. “Let’s give the information to Jim, and then I can deal with my dad.”
They catch up with Jim between a Council meeting and an event at the Science Academy. Joanna catches sight of his dark blond head above a gaggle of Starfleet officers, about to disappear into the Academy’s main administration building.
“Admiral!”
The functionaries turn to look; one moves to block Jim and another reaches for his phaser. It occurs to Joanna that running pell-mell into an Admiral in a public place might not be the smartest idea, but at least it’s not the most dangerous one she’s had all day.
“Jo, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Jim looks puzzled, and then catches site of Uhura behind her. “Uhura?” His glance takes in her tight, un-Vulcan black pants and her phaser on her hip. “Aren’t you on administrative leave?”
“She wanted to go to the Romulan colony. Dr. McCoy asked me to go along with her. ”
“Go to the-- That’s crazy,” he says, but he looks rather pleased.
“I had a feeling the Romulans weren’t responsible, and I was right. We talked to Rh’vaurek, one of the leaders, and he was murdered right in front of us.” The words tumble out; she a little breathless and feels like she can’t talk fast enough. “It was a phaser--”
“Wait!” Jim’s command is sharp; the functionaries have fallen silent. “Let’s not discuss this here. I have a meeting that I can’t skip, but I’ll be in touch. Uhura, I’m relying on you; if anything happens to her, her father will skin us both alive.”
Joanna watches him leave, still vibrating with the need to tell. Just before the group vanishes, one of officers turns to give her a considering look, and she thinks about the long, silent reach of phaser blasts.
+++++
Joanna complains to Uhura about people not taking her seriously over a lunch of pok tar, but within the hour, Uhura gets a coded message from Kirk summoning everyone up to the U.S.S. Carson.
It takes some time for Joanna to convince her father that she’s well enough to beam up, as he’s convinced that a transporter will tax her in some way that a long, hot walk among Romulans did not. Saiehnn, Spock, and Winona beam from different locations so as not to draw attention to themselves; an unknown enemy, Jim reminds them, should be treated as omnipresent.
It’s been a year and half since Joanna has been in uniform or on a starship, and the Carson, though it’s a Newton-class science vessel of modest size, looks sleek and glossy. Walking its cool, blue-carpeted corridors, Joanna realizes how her eyes have adjusted to the sun-blasted rust and brown of New Vulcan.
Jim meets them in the transporter room and leads them to a conference room. Joanna watches crewmembers’ spines stiffen as they pass by and reminds herself that the easy familiarity she enjoys with Jim planetside is not appropriate here, on a flag officer’s ship.
They settle into plush chairs around the conference table and Joanna feels like she’s dropped into one of her father’s Enterprise stories: Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Uhura, sitting in the ready room of a starship ready to save another planet.
“Sorry for the unnecessary drama about getting aboard,” Jim says. “We’re here at the urgent request of Lieutenant McCoy, who’d like us to consider an alternate theory in the bombing. It’s your dime, Lieutenant.”
Five chairs pivot toward her, leaving her surprised and dry-mouthed. “Uh. Thank you, Admiral. I don’t--I don’t really have a formal presentation or anything. But I visited the Romulan colony this morning with Commander Uhura, and I’m convinced the colonists weren’t responsible for the bombing. In fact, the Romulan we made contact with was murdered after telling us about a number of defections to the Federation. It seems the Federation may have been recruiting spies or double agents from the colony.”
“A serious charge,” Spock says. “I assume you have proof?”
“Yes, sir.” A year of getting grilled by Vulcans at staff meetings is standing her in good stead. “I’ve submitted a preliminary list of names, and Commander Uhura got the Romulans to agree not to prepare Rh’vaurek’s body for burial until his death is investigated.”
“Well done, Lieutenant. That does, however, not alter the fact of the Romulan device found in the wreckage,” Spock says. “I presume you have another conjecture for how it got there, other than being placed in the building by a Romulan?”
“Not exactly.” Joanna flushes a little. “But it’s just a Romulan device, right? That doesn’t mean a Romulan put it there. Security’s been over weeks of surveillance vids and there were no Romulans going in or out.” She feels that she’s finding her footing now. “Someone else could have obtained the Romulan device and planted it, to incriminate the Romulans.”
“You say that no Romulans were observed on camera,” Saiehnn says. “May I ask how you visually identify a Romulan?”
Joanna’s mouth goes slack. Of course, Romulans look exactly like Vulcans; it’s only their clothing and certain mannerisms that set them apart.
“I. Uh.” Think fast, don’t look stupid, her brain urges, making her do the opposite. “Maybe--”
“All visitors to the Teslau project site are bioidentified on the way in and out,” Winona says, coming to her rescue. “If a Romulan had passed herself off as a Vulcan, she would have had to create a false identity and maintain it for months.”
“Not an impossible undertaking, in order to achieve a military objective,” says Spock.
“No, but we also do individual genome sequencing and genetic analysis,” Winona counters. “I think we can rule out undercover Romulans.”
“An inside job, then?” Jim says. “Someone who hates the project enough to do the Romulans’ dirty work for them?”
Winona frowns and fidgets with her PADD. “T’Pau unloaded on me the other morning about how the whole project was a massive affront to Vulcan identity, but I can’t see her being willing to injure Vulcan women. The Vai Ba’Tak abjure violence.”
“Maybe the injuries were an accident,” Joanna says. “An EMP device causes a lot of damage, but it didn’t kill anyone. Jim-- I mean, Admiral, Engineer Kanu said the position of the device in the building magnified the damage. So maybe the EMP discharge wasn’t supposed to be so powerful.”
“Or maybe they just didn’t care,” her father says. “Everyone knows you can’t say boo to a pregnant woman and not expect there to be consequences.”
Uhura, who’s been tapping away on her PADD with her long fingernails, looks up from the jumble of schematics scrolling by. “The Romulan we spoke to this morning was ex-military. He said rigging one of these EMP devices to a portable fuel source and a timer would be a lot of trouble and very bulky--hard to smuggle, hard to hide. What I don’t get is why the bombers didn’t go for a simple explosive. Why go to such lengths to use such a distinctive device--”
“--Unless you were trying to pin it on the Romulans. Exactly.” Joanna slaps her hand on the table, startling Saiehnn and getting a couple of amused eyebrows from her father and Jim. “They might as well have stamped the Eagle of the Tal Shiar on it.”
“Your argument is persuasive, Lieutenant,” Spock says. Joanna has enough experience with Vulcans now to know she’s not being patronized. “But until we can explain how the device was introduced into the Teslau building, we have no way to track it to its point of origin and therefore no basis for speculating on a motive.”
“I suppose you’ve considered the obvious, Jim,” Winona says. “That the device was beamed into the building? There’s no transporter block.”
“We already checked the logs of the five transporter pads on Vulcan. There’s nothing matching the morphology in the buffers, and believe me, this thing is quite distinctive.”
“The public transport sites on Uzh Shi'Kahr are not the only ones in range,” Saiehnn says. “I know of at least one other.”
“Yes?” All eyes are now on Saiehnn; Joanna’s have never been off.
“The transporter on this ship.”
Joanna feels her heart skip a beat; her eyes dart to Jim, but he’s wearing an indulgent expression: Vulcans and their passion for precision. She can see him start to shake his head--
“I know,” she says quickly, not sure what she’s going to say afterward. “I know it’s really unlikely, but wouldn’t it make sense just to check? I mean, it would prove that you’re being thorough, that you’re not showing favoritism.” She halts, a little breathless, aware that she’s just implied that Admiral Kirk could reasonably be thought careless or biased.
“You tell ‘em, baby girl,” her father says into the silence.
Jim, nonplussed, shrugs and taps his comm badge to call down to Engineering. Joanna is surprised not to hear Scotty’s voice, but of course he’s off on the Excelsior. Her feelings are conflicted; she doesn’t want to be right, but she also doesn’t want it to look like she’s grabbing at any crackpot theory to exonerate the Romulans, despite the fact that she knows, knows that the colonists aren’t responsible.
The suspense builds over long minutes. Just as her father’s offering to get out a deck of cards, Engineer Kanu comms back.
“Sir, we transported something with the morphology and mass matching the flux compression generator schematic three days ago. It went down with a load of equipment to the Teslau building.”
Jim’s formidable eyebrows draw together, and the set of his lips promises rolling heads later on. “And nobody bothered to check the shipment against the manifest?”
“We were getting around to that, sir. We usually purge the buffers and file the reports after we leave orbit.” His voice moves into a more desperate upper register. “We’re a science vessel, Admiral.”
“Anybody ever hear of a simple inventory?” Joanna’s father grumbles.
Jim, however, is looking much more pleased. “So the suspect object’s still in the buffer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then,” Spock says, “it will be possible to reconstruct it, given some phase matter and a bit of time.”
“Nothing you can’t handle, then?”
“Not at all,” Spock says. “This is, as the engineer noted, a science vessel.”
“Good.” Jim swivels around to Joanna. “Lieutenant, I appreciate your insight and the intelligence that you and Uhura picked up in the Romulan colony. But since it seems we might have a suspect on board--” he taps his comm badge. “Security, escort Lieutenant McCoy to VIP quarters and put a double guard on the door.”
“Admiral!” Joanna stares in disbelief as her father nods approvingly. “Please let me help, I can--”
“Saiehnn should go, too,” Uhura says. Joanna’s protest dies on her lips.
“It’s just for a little while, Jo.” Jim smiles at her, but there’s a crease of worry between his eyebrows. “A precaution; I wouldn’t let anything happen to you on my ship. Besides, you’ll be in good company.”