Death Count Read online

  Kirk cast a short, grim glance at the closed transporter room. “Do we actually have enough mass to account for all three people?”

  McCoy snorted, scowling. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  “Well, you’re the doctor, Bones, you seemed the logical one to ask.”

  Clearing his throat, Chekov moved a little away from the wall to stand beside the doctor. “Security will be taking care of cleanup, sir. Once we’ve had a chance to—” He hated having to pause and search for words to disguise the awfulness of their task. “—assemble everything, we’ll have a better idea how much is there.”

  “Och, this is a sorry business.” Setting down his diagnostic kit, Scott stepped close enough to the door to trigger it. Chekov was forced to glimpse the thickening sheen of red again when he didn’t glance aside quickly enough, and Scott made a gruff noise of disgust before turning away.

  “I’ve seen it before at public cargo transporters,” the engineer said as the door slid shut behind him, and the hideous smell slowly drifted away. “The lads there don’t always wait to get verification that a ship has dropped her screens; they try to send the payload through—” He slapped his hands one against the other, mimicking a payload ricochet. “The shields bounce back the transporter beam, usually along its transmittal path, and you end up materializing the cargo all over the origination chamber.” He scrubbed self-consciously at his face, and Chekov wondered if Scott felt as sick as he did. “It leaves you with a bonnie mess, not to mention a misaligned transporter.”

  “Why didn’t they rematerialize as people?” Kirk asked.

  “Interaction with the shield energy scrambles the signal,” Scott told him. “It’s the same thing that keeps phaser shots from coming through during combat.” He started to glance over his shoulder, then seemed to catch himself and stopped. “The worst part about this is, the backlash probably wiped most of the system’s automatic records of the accident. It’s going to be shameful hard to figure out what happened.”

  “Oh, my God—” Taylor came down the hall toward them at a near run, his eyes fixed on the transporter room door. “It’s true, isn’t it? Oh, my God, it’s true!”

  Chekov and Kirk moved to stop him at the same time, each catching an arm and together dragging the tall man away from the portal before his presence could signal it to open. Please, keep it closed! Chekov prayed as he helped push Taylor back against the wall. He didn’t think he could handle the smell even one more time.

  “What happened?” Taylor demanded. His sallow face looked honestly frantic, and Chekov felt the first sympathy he’d ever had for the man. “Where’s Ms. Gendron?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kirk said, “there’s been an accident.”

  McCoy tried to take over, gentle doctor role intact. “You don’t want to go in there. Ms. Gendron and Mr. Purviance tried to beam somewhere through the ship’s screens.”

  “No, Bones.” Kirk glanced away from Taylor long enough to shake his head at the doctor. “We weren’t running with screens on.”

  McCoy only stared at Kirk in confusion, but Scott raised his eyebrows and pulled a thoughtful scowl. “We’ve got ourselves a problem, then,” he mused. “The transporter tech said Purviance was explaining beaming procedures to Gendron when he left—he’s not even sure how Sweeney got in the room. I’ve been assuming one of them accidentally activated the transporter and then tried to direct the beam through the screens. However, the screens were off, and without screens to bounce the signal off, somebody had to scramble the transporter beam on purpose. There’s no other way we’d have gotten the matter back into the transporter room—any other malfunction would’ve just scattered them out into space.”

  Chekov felt his nerves go cold at the thought of what Scott was suggesting. “You mean murder.”

  “Aye, lad, I think I do.”

  “Where the hell was security?” Taylor shook off both Kirk and Chekov, glaring back and forth between the two. “Aren’t they supposed to prevent things like this from happening?”

  “A security guard died with them,” McCoy said stiffly. “What more do you want?”

  “I want to know what happened,” Taylor shot back. “I want to know when it happened!” He glared down at Chekov, and the lieutenant felt a sudden resurgence of his old dislike. “Was this guard actually assigned to help Ms. Gendron?”

  Considering he’d systematically thrown every auditor out of security over the past weekend, Chekov thought this a ridiculously optimistic question. “No,” he said, as civilly as possible. “Ensign Sweeney was assigned to guard a weapons locker ten meters farther down the corridor.” He pointed, even though the curve of the hall would keep Taylor from seeing anything.

  The auditor looked anyway, frowning. “Then what was Sweeney doing in the transporter room?”

  “Gendron and Purviance must have asked him to help them with some procedure.”

  Chekov knew that was somehow the wrong reply when Taylor snapped his head around to peer at him. “But you don’t actually know?”

  “There’s no one left we can ask,” Chekov pointed out. “Your auditor and liaison officer were killed along with him.”

  “What’s the point of this?” Kirk demanded before Chekov could go on.

  Taylor snorted as though Kirk didn’t have any right to interfere. “The guards are supposed to call in before abandoning their positions, aren’t they?”

  This time, Kirk deferred the answer to Chekov with a glance, and Chekov nodded.

  “But Sweeney didn’t, did he?”

  “No.”

  “He didn’t even request a replacement before leaving a locker full of phasers unattended?”

  “No, Mr. Taylor,” Chekov flared, “he didn’t. And now he’s dead, so I can’t very well discipline him for it, can I?”

  Taylor tipped his head back against the wall, and the laugh he barked sounded both bitter and sad. “My God, Lieutenant, this is exactly what I was talking about! Hasn’t it even occurred to you that this boy might not be dead if you were stricter about enforcing these sorts of regulations?”

  “Mr. Taylor!” Kirk snapped, but Chekov already spoke over him, the urge to strike Taylor nearly unbearable.

  “Since I assumed command of security, department fatalities have dropped more than 28 percent! What matters more to you? That we do our jobs, or that we do them in a certain way?”

  “It matters that you take care of the people entrusted to you!”

  The comment stung like a phaser burn. “I would give my life for my people,” Chekov grated. “They know that.”

  Taylor snorted. “That supposed dedication didn’t do much for your ensign this morning, did it?”

  “What was your auditor doing inspecting sensitive equipment that she didn’t know how to operate, Mr. Taylor? Didn’t she have anything better to do than call a security guard away from his post just to prove that nothing on board this ship is sacred to you?”

  “Gentlemen!” Kirk pushed between them, silencing Chekov with a penetrating glare. “That’s enough.”

  “Please don’t interrupt, Captain.” Taylor extricated himself completely but didn’t walk away. “I’m interested in hearing Lieutenant Chekov’s rationale.”

  “Your interest—” Kirk began, but the intercom a few steps away slashed across his words with a shrill whistle.

  “Bridge to captain.”

  Glowering darkly—whether at Chekov or Taylor, Chekov couldn’t tell—Kirk backed toward the panel to punch the button with his thumb. “Kirk here.”

  “Spock here, Captain. We have detected a civilian distress beacon two parsecs off our current course. Mr. Sulu has not yet been able to identify the ship’s registry, but Federation articles do require we render the needed assistance.”

  Chekov saw Kirk’s attention shift bridgeward, and the captain dipped a nod toward the intercom panel. “Bring us out of warp speed, Mr. Spock, and radio Commodore Petersen at Sigma One that we’re altering course. I’m on my way up. Ki
rk out.” He punched off the intercom and waved for Chekov to follow him. “Scotty, Bones—do whatever you can here. We’ll continue our discussion later. Mr. Taylor—” Kirk speared the auditor with a cold hazel stare that would have had Chekov ready to apologize for every wrongdoing since the Romulan War. “I don’t want to find out that you’ve interfered in any aspect of this investigation. Understood?”

  Taylor’s jaw clenched with anger. “Completely, Captain.” He scowled across at Chekov with a smugness that made the lieutenant’s stomach burn. “We’re not finished, either, Lieutenant. Your captain will see my report before I file it, and, I promise you, he won’t like a damn thing I have to say.”

  Kirk tugged on Chekov’s arm, glaring coldly at the auditor. “Believe me, Mr. Taylor, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The long wail of the universal distress signal echoed through the bridge of the Enterprise like a child whose crying couldn’t be silenced. Sulu’s fingers tightened uneasily on his helm controls. He knew the distress call had been designed to pierce subspace static and shipboard noise, but that didn’t make the sound any easier to listen to. Its endless cry for help kept hurling images of possible accidents and disasters through Sulu’s mind, images that were all too easy for him to picture after what he’d seen that morning in the transporter room.

  “Looks like some kind of freighter,” Lieutenant Bhutto observed quietly. Sulu nodded, watching the disabled ship expand across the viewscreen as the Enterprise came closer. The blue-white glare of Cygnus Eridani made details hard to see, but the blunt sausage shape of multiply-linked segments clearly belonged to a hauling ship. “I wonder why they haven’t responded to our hail.”

  “I don’t know.” Across the bridge, Sulu could hear Uhura trying to open a hailing frequency, still to no avail. “They must have subspace radio capability, or we wouldn’t have heard their distress call.”

  Bhutto’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe there’s no one left to talk to.”

  “I was trying not to think about that.” Sulu gritted his teeth, repressing memories of a charnel-splattered room. “What is it about navigators that always makes them so gloomy?”

  The turbolift doors slid open before Bhutto could reply. Sulu didn’t have to turn around to know Kirk had come on deck—he could feel the decisive crackle of energy that ran through the bridge crew. From the corner of his eye, Sulu saw Chekov stride past the captain’s console to take his place at the security station.

  “Update, Mr. Spock.” The captain’s chair whispered on its hydraulic bearings as he swung it around to face the viewscreen.

  “We are approaching the distressed ship now, Captain,” Spock said calmly. “She either cannot or will not respond to our inquiries. Sensors indicate only that she is an interstellar freighter of somewhat antiquated design.”

  “Current distance, Mr. Sulu?”

  Sulu glanced down at the white line blinking across his monitor’s display. “Twenty thousand kilometers and closing, sir. Our estimated time of contact is four and a half minutes.”

  “Hmm.” Kirk’s fingers drummed a speculative tattoo on the arm of his console. “Mr. Spock, can you find any physical evidence of damage to the ship?”

  “None, sir. Judging by the output of ionizing radiation from her engine banks, her field generators appear to be in working order.”

  “Captain.” Chekov’s voice was grim. “Weapons scan shows probable phaser banks in both port and starboard hulls.”

  “Phasers on a freighter?” Kirk vaulted out of his chair and came down a level to lean over Sulu’s board. “Bring us to a full stop, Mr. Sulu, just out of phaser range.”

  “Aye, sir.” Sulu shot a glance at Chekov, and, a moment later, the approximate radius of fire rippled across his monitor display, transferred from the security officer’s computer. Sulu floated the Enterprise to a stop just outside that dark red sphere. “Full stop, Captain.”

  “Keep us there.” Kirk swung around. “Uhura, I want you to stop trying to hail our friends over there.”

  “Stop trying, Captain?” The communications officer sounded startled.

  “That’s right. I want them to wonder about us for a change.” Sulu risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw Kirk settle back into his chair, eyes glinting with intensity. “Now, we wait.”

  Silence fell across the bridge, the tense but trusting silence of people who had seen their captain’s maneuvers work time and again. Against that disciplined quiet, the shrill cry of the distress signal seemed even more grating. One moment crept past, then another.

  “Orion freighter Umyfymu calling Federation starship.” The dark, growling voice sent a shudder down Sulu’s back, reminding him of previous encounters with Orions. The viewscreen stayed suspiciously dark. “Federation starship, can you hear us?”

  Kirk nodded at Uhura, and the communications officer tapped open a channel for him. “This is the USS Enterprise,” the captain said crisply. “What seems to be the problem, Umyfymu?”

  A long pause sizzled across the open channel. “Engine difficulties,” the Orion on the other end said at last. “Partial destabilization of field control has crippled our warp drive.”

  Sulu heard Spock quietly clear his throat behind them. Uhura toggled her controls without being ordered to, then said, “I’ve closed the audio channel, Mr. Spock, so the Orions won’t hear you.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” The science officer turned to face Kirk. “Captain, even a partial field destabilization should have left a trail of subspace radiation behind the Umyfymu when she decelerated from warp speed. Our sensors detect no such trace anywhere in the vicinity of Cygnus Eridani.”

  “So the Orions are lying. But why?” Kirk tapped one fist reflectively against his chin. “They can’t possibly hope to take out a Constitution-class starship, even if they are pirates—”

  “They’re not pirates, Captain.” The knowledge welled up inside Sulu before he even realized how he knew it. “No Orion pirate I’ve ever met spoke English that well.”

  “No,” Chekov said soberly. “But Orion military officers do.” His gaze darted back to the viewscreen, and Sulu’s followed, fueled by the same sudden suspicion. “Look at the shape of that hull—”

  “—without the extra radiation shielding,” Sulu added. “Then take away those cargo sections—”

  “—and it’s an Orion T-class destroyer!” Chekov finished triumphantly.

  “A military vessel!” Kirk leaped to his feet, scowling. “Mr. Chekov, I want full shields—now!” A phosphorescent shimmer ran across the viewscreen as the security officer obeyed. “Mr. Sulu, take us back another ten thousand kilometers, out of photon torpedo range. Uhura, put the ship on yellow alert.”

  “Aye, sir.” Strobing golden light splashed across the normal soft blue of the bridge, accompanied by the tense whir and click of console chairs locking into battle positions. Sulu took a deep breath, feeling the sharp kick of adrenaline through his blood as he sent the Enterprise racing back to a safer position.

  “Federation starship, you are abandoning a ship in distress.” The growling Orion voice on the bridge startled Sulu, until he remembered that Uhura had left their communication channel open to reception. The viewscreen showed no changes in the apparent freighter’s position. “This is a first-degree violation of interstellar conduct. We demand an explanation.”

  Kirk snorted, motioning Uhura to re-open their channel. “If you know interstellar codes so well, Orion destroyer Umyfymu,” he snapped, “you may recall that misuse of a universal distress signal is also a first-degree violation, punishable by exclusion from all Federation space ports for up to a standard year.”

  Blank silence hissed after his words, then shattered with Uhura’s tense voice. “Captain, the Umyfymu is signaling on another subspace channel. The message is coded, but I think they’re calling for help.”

  Spock bent over his sensor display, already tracking the path of the Orion transmission. “Long-range scan indicates another ship appro
aching, Captain, at warp three. She has just entered detector range.” He tapped thoughtfully at one of his controls. “Scans also register a sensor ghost behind her—possibly a smaller companion ship, traveling in her shadow.”

  “Is the main ship Orion?” Kirk demanded.

  “According to initial readings, yes. However—” Spock glanced up from his monitors with lifted eyebrows. “—she appears to be approaching from Federation space.”

  “Captain, I am receiving a transmission from the second Orion ship.” Uhura paused, eyes widening as she listened to her board. “They’ve identified themselves as the Orion police cruiser Mecufi, sir—and they say they’ve been sent from Sigma One to arrest us.”

  Chapter Eight

  KIRK SCRUBBED A HAND across his face. “I feel like I just fell down a rabbit hole,” he complained. Sulu nodded silent agreement as he turned back to watch the viewscreen. Beyond the luminescent shimmer of their shields, the blue light of Cygnus Eridani now glared off two ships: Umyfymu’s deceptively ungainly sprawl and the sleeker wedge of the Mecufi. Neither had ventured within the Enterprise’s firing range. “Uhura, can you make direct contact with the Orion police commander?”

  “I’ll try, sir.” The communications officer bent over her board for a moment, dark face intent as she spoke to her counterpart on the Orion ship. “Contact coming through now, sir.”

  “Put it on the main screen.” Sulu heard Kirk’s chair hiss behind him as the captain stood to face the image now rippling into focus. The Orion police commander’s broad form, heavy with high-gravity bones and muscle, seemed stuffed into his crimson uniform. His thick black beard had been razored off with military precision across his chin, leaving two long plaits braided with silver grommets below his ears. Bronze eyes glittered against dark green skin.