Star Trek - TOS - Death Count Read online

  DEATH COUNT

  By L. A. Graf

  Synopsis

  Another novel with the original star trek crew.

  POCKET BOOKS

  London Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either products of the author's imagination or are used

  fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the

  Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright 1992 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  .";' * STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster

  Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures. All rights

  reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof

  in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230

  Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN 0-671-79322-5

  First Pocket Books printing November 1992

  10987654321

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Chapter One

  AN UNEXPECTED BLAST of neutron radiation clawed across Sulu's helm

  display, obscuring his fix on the binary Beta Herculani star system for

  a crucial moment. The distress beacon from the crippled shuttlecraft

  he'd been tracking faded into static, overwhelmed by the fierce gamma

  ray emission of the neutron star coming up close on their starboard

  side.

  "Chekov!" Sulu's fingers raced across the board in a desperate attempt

  to restore their heading. He felt an ominous lurch as the ship slid

  into the binary's gravitational pull. "Get me a fix on the major star."

  "That's what I'm trying to do." The blood-red glow of ionized hydrogen

  filled the navigation screen, casting shadows onto Chekov's face as he

  bent over his panel. "I can't find it."

  "What do you mean, you can't find it?" Sulu spared just enough time from

  piloting to give his companion an incredulous glance. "It's a red

  giant! How can you miss a star that big?"

  "By having something go wrong with the ship's sensors, that's how!"

  Chekov sounded as irritated as the upward-slanting light made him look.

  "Our last fix was two eleven mark six. Try that." Sulu tapped the

  heading into his computer, then groaned when he saw the arc of their

  trajectory begin to build on the display. "Bad guess, Pavel." He swung

  his chair around to aim a punch at his navigator's shoulder. The fist

  rebounded from such tightly clenched muscle that he wondered if the

  Russian even felt it. "We're going down the gravity well."

  "Maybe we can slingshot ourselves back out." Chekov glanced up,

  scowling, as radiation alarms began to howl around them. "It would help

  if you'd pay attention to your screen."

  "No, it wouldn't. We're dead." Sulu leaned back in his cushioned chair,

  watching the main screen fill with the searing blue-white fire of pulsar

  emissions. "As long as we're doing a swan dive into a neutron star, I

  at least want to see what it looks like."

  "Sulu, that's not funny--" Without warning, the lights on all of their

  display screens went dark. Air hissed into the chamber, and the door of

  the space simulator popped and swung open. "Haven't you two managed to

  rescue that lost shuttle yet?" Uhura asked from outside. Her dark face

  gleamed in the mercury-orange glow of the space station lights, looking

  both amused and resigned. "You've been in here for half an hour."

  "We've rescued it five times." Sulu saw her baffled look and smiled.

  "Chekov keeps bumping us up to the next level of difficulty. If you ask

  me, I think he just misses working navigations."

  The security chief swung his chair around to glare at Sulu, a trace of

  red just visible on his neck above his dark shirt collar. "You're the

  one who noticed that the Exeter broke our old scoring record on its last

  shore leave here. Do you want to set a new one or not?" Sulu opened his

  mouth to reply, but the bone-deep roar of an arriving ship interrupted

  him. "Announcing arrival ofATS Shras at Space Station Sigma One," said

  the crisp, metallic voice of the traffic control computer. "Passenger

  transport Shras, of Andorian registry, is now docking at berth 416C."

  "This is our last day of shore leave on Sigma One," Uhura reminded them

  after the docking noise had faded. "You're not going to spend all of it

  in the simulator, are you?"

  "Why not?" Chekov looked surprised. Sulu snorted. "Because it's also

  our first day of shore leave on Sigma One, thanks to the Federation

  Auditor General and his on-site efficiency audit!" He spun his console

  around to watch their score click up on the control panel behind them.

  The number steadied in the low hundred thousands, and he heard Chekov

  grunt with disappointment. "Hey, what do you expect?" Sulu continued,

  "I've spent the last three days running so many efficiency drills for

  the Federation auditors, I've forgotten how to actually pilot a ship."

  "I hope you regain your memory before we leave port," the Russian

  retorted. "Otherwise, I'm staying here."

  "With the auditors?" Uhura asked mischievously. "Hmmm." An answering

  smile tugged at Chekov's face. "Maybe I'll take my chances with Sulu,

  after all."

  "I'm flattered." Sulu unhooked his safety harness,

  stretching the tightness from his shoulder muscles.

  "So--is it my turn to pick where we go next?"

  Uhura nodded, and Chekov threw him a hopeful

  look. "We could keep playing," he suggested.

  "Not a chance." Sulu scrambled out of the simulator chamber

  before Chekov could prompt it to start

  again. He never failed to be amazed by how persistent

  the Russian could be in pursuit of a goal. "I'm not

  going to spend my entire shore leave piloting a star ship. I

  can do that when I'm on duty."

  "I can't," Chekov pointed out.

  "Tough." Smiling at his friend's frustrated look,

  Sulu swung through the narrow hatch and straightened, brushing

  wrinkles out of his sleek gray jumpsuit.

  "Come on. There's one more place I want to go before

  we head back to the Enterprise."

  Chekov groaned and hauled himself out in turn.

  "We're not going to eat again, are we?" Around them,

  a crowd of mixed commercial spacers and off-duty

  Starfleet personnel surged through the station gallery,

  ducking in and out of storefronts. A few bulky forms

  in dark red police armor circulated among them,

  looking out of place amid the sparkling lights and

  signs. "I'm tired of trying to find restaurants you two

  haven't visited-yet."

  to."

  "Don't
worry, you won't have Uhura brought

  her hands out from behind her back and waved a steaming pastry under

  Sulu's nose. The spicy smell of baked fruit wafted through the

  overfiltered station air. "I found a new bakery while you were playing

  with neutron stars. Here, I bought a pie for each of you."

  Sulu took the fruit pastry from her, smiling. "Uhura, this is why I like

  to go on shore leave with you. Mmmm, this is great?

  Chekov lifted the pastry to eye-level, inspecting it suspiciously.

  "What's the yellow stuff inside?"

  "I'm not sure." Uhura reached in her bag for a third pastry. Her robe

  swirled when she moved, its dappled African colors almost as vivid as

  her fine-boned face. "I couldn't quite make out what the baker called

  it. I think he said Elysian cloud-apple--hey, watch where you're

  going!"

  A red-suited policeman shoved his way between them, paying no attention

  to Uhura's protest. The small communications officer was forced to skip

  sideways to avoid being trampled, losing her pastry in the process.

  "Hey!" she said again, more angrily, as bright. yellow filling

  splattered across the pavement. "Didn't you hear me?"

  "Apparently not." Sulu reached out to steady her with one hand as the

  armored officer swept past them. He used the other to hang on to Chekov.

  "This isn't the Enterprise," he reminded the security chief. "You're not

  in charge here; they are."

  "No, they're not." Handing Uhura his pastry, Chekov turned to watch the

  policeman disappear into the crowd. Sulu could tell from the set of his

  back that he wanted to follow. "Sigma One security guards wear black,

  not red. And they don't walk around dressed as if they're expecting a

  riot. I don't know who those people are, but they're not station

  security."

  "If you'd checked the station newsboards before you jumped into that

  simulator, you'd know who they are," Uhura informed him, swiping at the

  fruit stain on her robe. "They're Orions."

  "Orions?" Chekov swung around with a scowl. "What are Orions doing on a

  Federation space station?"

  "What are Orions doing in uniform?" Sulu turned to stare in surprise

  after the suited figure. Up until now, the only Orions he'd seen were

  the scruffy pirate variety, the ones Starfleet kept chasing out of the

  far corners of Federated space. These riot-suited aliens with their

  phaser riries and grimly visored helmets were a different breed

  entirely. "Did Starfleet let an Orion military ship dock here?"

  Uhura shook her head, making her earrings jangle. "It's an eden police

  cruiser, on some kind of seamh-and-seizure mission. The newsboards said

  Sigma One had granted it a temporary writ of authority, but I think the

  Orions just had the station outgunned."

  "Then they came in before the Enterprise did," Chekov said flatly. "How

  long have they been on board Sigma One?"

  "I'm not sure." Uhura glanced around as another outburst of indignant

  shouts marked the policemen's path through the crowded gallery. "I

  gather it's been long enough for them to be annoying. Of course, with

  Orions, that's not saying much."

  Quietly enjoying the tavern's collage of well-mannered patrons, his feet

  stretched beneath the table to re st on the chair across from him, James

  T. Kirk took note of the moment the wicked clock-spring of tension

  inside him uncoiled and melted away. He dosed his eyes and sighed

  deeply of the place's anchronistic smells--wet wool, warm oil-wood, the

  distinctive sting of the brandy he held cupped, untouched, between his

  hands. This wasn't the sort of place he'd have enjoyed on shore leave

  twenty years ago, but for an administration-badgered starship captain of

  just over forty, it more than fit the bill.

  "Mr. Scott," h sighed aloud to his chief engineer, "this is the best

  idea you've had in ages."

  "Aye, sir." He could practically hear the smile in'he engineer's thick

  brogue. "I thought it might be."

  A good-natured snort from beside Kirk made the captain crack one eye. "I

  could stand it if they served some real food," Leonard McCoy complained

  as he scowled over a printed menu card. "What the hell is

  'bubble-and-squeak'?"

  "Something my father used to threaten us with when we were children."

  Scott scooted his chair around next to McCoy's and tipped the card so he

  could read it. The red-and-black splash of wool tartan over one

  shoulder stood out brightly against his white cardigan. "Not all

  Scottish food is something to be proud of, I'm afraid," he cautioned the

  doctor, looking worried. "We gave the world haggis, too, you know."

  "Oh, good Lord ...."

  Kirk laughed, pushing up the sleeves on his summer-weight blazer. He

  was already regretting having left the ship in something so light--he'd

  forgotten how chilly space stations could be with only one ship's worth

  of crew wandering around on board. "Be daring, Bones. Bubble-and-squeak

  is just a name."

  "Sounds like boiled mice." McCoy flipped the card to the wood table with

  a sigh. "Next time, I'm going on shore leave with Uhura. At least, she

  knows where all the good restaurants are."

  Kirk grinned and closed his eyes again. "Man does not live by bread

  alone."

  "Man doesn't live by bubble-and-squeak, either," the doctor retorted.

  The captain laughed, but didn't answer. Personally,

  he hadn't thought about eating for a while--and wasn't surprised to find

  the thought still didn't interest him much. After spending the last

  three days chewing up his stomach in frustration over four nosy

  Federation efficiency auditors poking through his ship, he didn't think

  he'd want to put food down again until the Enterprise was well away from

  Sigma One. He intended to start that departure just as soon as the last

  shore leave personnel returned to the ship this evening--himself

  included.

  "Jim, are you going to drink that brandy or just stare at it?"

  "You're the one that keeps telling me that staring at it is healthier,

  Bones."

  McCoy swatted the bottom of Kirk's foot with one hand, and Kirk had to

  jerk fully upright to keep from sloshing brandy all over the lap of his

  trousers. "Don't get smart with me, Captain. You're supposed to be

  here to relax."

  Pursing his lips around a half-hearted scowl, Kirk brought both feet to

  the floor and set his brandy on the table. "I am relaxing." He sniffed

  the brandy again, decided he still didn't want it, and pushed it toward

  McCoy. "What's the matter? Aren't I relaxing efficiently enough?"

  Scott chortled appreciatively, and McCoy's leathery face opened into a

  sly smile. "Aha! Do my trained medical senses detect some lingering

  hostility here?"

  "What lingering?" Kirk folded his arms, decided that seemed too

  defensive and settled for leaning his elbows on the table instead. "I

  haven't even expressed enough hostility to be down to just 'lingering.""

  "That's all right, sir." Scott raised his glass in ironic salute. "I

  think my lads have expressed enough hostility for the lot of us."

  Kirk acknowledged h
is engineer's sentiment with a tip of his head. "What

  is it with these people, anyway? The Enterprise needed an efficiency

  inspection like Spock needs a psychologist." He thumped back in his

  chair, arms folded after all. "I've got the best, most efficient crew

  in the Fleet, and the Auditor General knows it as well as anyone. Eating

  up our leave time with interviews and inspections was a waste of

  everybody's shore leave."

  "They had auditors down in sickbay, too." McCoy sounded dangerously

  close to placating, and Kirk slid him a warning look to stave off the

  worst of it. The doctor acquiesced by throwing his hands up between

  them. "I'm just saying the irritation was mutual, Jim. But orders are

  orders--it's not like you could have done anything to keep them from

  coming on board."

  Kirk thought that he could have told Chekov to position guards at every

  transporter station and use phasers on anyone carrying a clipboard and

  inspection manual. That probably wasn't what McCoy had in mind, though.

  "At least it's over," Kirk sighed, willing his muscles to relax and his

  irritation to bleed away. "We won't have to worry about it again in my

  lifetime."

  Scott ruined the moment by glancing over his captain's head and aiming a