Bloodthirst (10 page)

The rec lounge was dimly lit and deserted except for two. For most it was late, and those who had to report early the next morning had already cleared out. The night shifters were on duty.

McCoy stifled another yawn.

“Go to bed, Doctor.” Kirk took another sip of his brandy and set the glass on the table. “I'm keeping you up past your bedtime.”

“Nonsense,” McCoy lied, taking another sip of bourbon. He wasn't talking about it, but it was clear he was worrying about Christine Chapel, although he was doing his best not to show it. “I'll go when I'm ready, thanks.” He leaned over the table surreptitiously, as if worried nonexistent others in the room might overhear. “Did I tell you I heard my first Iowa joke the other day? As a native, I'm sure you can appreciate”

Kirk groaned and slumped lower in his chair, one hand firmly around his snifter of brandy, the other pulled wearily across his eyes. “You've had too much to drink, Bones.”

“Not nearly enough,” the doctor answered tartly. “You're just trying to get rid of me.”

“You're still sober enough to be perceptive.” Jim smiled faintly. “Spare me, Doctor. I heard ‘em all when I was a kid.”

McCoy dropped the facade of good humor. “All right, Jim, I'm just trying to cheer you up. Now, you can stay up all night while I go get some sleep, or you can spill what's eating you. I assume this has something to do with Adams?”

Kirk asked the question before looking up. “Do you think he's capable of telling the truth?”

“About the murders? No way.”

“That wasn't exactly what I meant. Let me rephrase it. Do you think Adams might tell the truth in order to save his own skin?”

“Well, now, that's different but I'd be tempted to take anything he said with a grain of salt. Plus the disease is beginning to impair him mentally. His lucid periods are becoming shorter. I don't think it'll be long before he's delirious.” McCoy frowned at him. “But you didn't come here to talk to me about Adams' mental health. Out with it.”

“I told Adams we were turning him in to the nearest star base.” Kirk watched McCoy intently for a reaction. “He begged me not to turn him in. He said that Mendez would kill him.”

McCoy snickered. “Come on. Paranoia must be a side effect of the disease.”

Kirk didn't smile.

“Give me a break, Jim. Why would a Starfleet admiral like Mendez want to kill a small-time researcher like Adams?”

“So that word won't get out that Starfleet is secretly financing a biowarfare facility.”

“Well that's possible. I
did
see Fleet-issue stuff down there but now that I think about it, almost anybody can get their hands on surplus Fleet equipment.”

“I've been trying to dismiss it myself, but dammit, Bones, the man makes a convincing argument. Why do
you
think they told us not to answer the distress signal?”

McCoy's smirk faded; he became silent.

“I don't
want
to believe the man, Doctor. I'd like to believe that Starfleet would never get mixed up in something like this.” He paused. “But if they wouldn't, then why would they order us not to go to Tanis? And why is Adams so terrified of Mendez?”

“Again, he's not the trustworthy” McCoy began.

“Are you saying I should ignore this?” Kirk folded his arms. “Be a good soldier and not question?”

“Not at all. Don't ignore it.” All trace of McCoy's sarcasm was gone. “You've got friends in high places—how about calling one of your old drinking buddies at headquarters? What's-his-name. Waverleigh. Call him and ask him to check it out.”

“And what,” Kirk said slowly, “do I do if Adams turns out to be right?”

“I don't have an answer for you on that one, Jim.”

On the viewscreen, Quince Waverleigh looked a good twenty pounds heavier than he'd been during his Academy days, but he still looked every inch the ladies' man, with a headful of shocking red-gold hair, gray eyes, and even, white teeth displayed against a perfect tan. Despite his reputation at the Academy as a hell-raiser, Quince's grades were in the top percentile. He was three years ahead of Kirk, and decided it was his mission in life to teach his overly serious underclassman how to lighten up. To his frustration, Kirk staunchly resisted his efforts, but in spite of their differences of opinion as to life-style, they became fast friends. Later, when Waverleigh captained the
Arlington
, he'd raised hell of a different sort, receiving the Palm Leaf with Cluster twice. He was the youngest man in the Fleet to hold the rank of rear admiral—so far, at least, Kirk promised himself. Kirk took every opportunity to take shore leave at the same time and place as the
Arlington:
Quince's tall tales were not to be missed.

Quince's desk was cluttered, not with work, but with mementos: his medals, of course, prominently displayed with typical egotism; cat's-eye marbles; a nineteenth-century dueling pistol with inlaid ebony handle; a stuffed creature about the size of a large cat that looked to Jim like a cross between an opossum and a turtle; and a holo of Quince's family. The holo was a beach scene of mother and children. The woman was an exotic beauty, a blonde with Oriental features, the little girl strawberry blond like her father, the boy with platinum hair. He was throwing a ball into the air. His mother smiled broadly and the sister's mouth made an O as the three of them focused on the ascending ball.
The perfect family
, Kirk thought, and for only an instant, he felt a twinge of jealousy.

“Jimmy! What's up?” Quince's drawl was thick as taffy; he was a west Texas native who managed to resist losing his regional accent.

“Hi, Admiral. You look like life's agreeing with you.”

“It is, it is.” Quince leaned forward and found a clean spot to settle an elbow on. “I take it from your use of rank this isn't a social call.”

“I'm afraid not. I need a favor.”

“I hope it involves something adventurous.”

“Maybe,” Kirk answered. “It's about Admiral Mendez.”

“Rod Mendez? Head of weapons research? Huh!” Quince snorted contemptuously. “Another paper-pusher
par excellence
. Pardon my French, but you couldn't give me that ass-kissing job. He's pandering all the time to Command, to political lobbyists.… But enough of my opinion. What do you want to know about him?”

Kirk told him Adams' story. Somewhere in the middle of it, Waverleighs expression sobered and he started tracing the holo with his finger. When Kirk finished, Quince said, “That's a mighty shaky charge, coming from a very questionable source. Adams' current predicament isn't going to help any charges stick. You have to admit, they're pretty outrageous. To accuse an admiral, especially one with Mendez's reputation” He shook his head. “But I get the funny feeling you believe this guy.”

“Enough to check it out.”

“Well, that says something as far as I'm concerned. So you want me to stir up a little trouble, eh?” Waverleigh rubbed his hands together lasciviously. “Well, thank God. I'm tired of trying to create my own excitement around here.”

“I thought driving a desk was exciting,” Jim said sarcastically. From the moment Quince had been transferred to HQ, he had done nothing but complain long and loud of boredom to anyone who would listen.

The remark struck too close to home. Quince's lips twisted in a wry little grin. “Don't you ever let anyone talk you into a desk job, Jimmy. I'd give anything to be back out there again.” He forced a less serious tone. “I've tried a dozen times to get myself busted back down to captain, but they're wise to me now. No matter what outrageous thing I do, they ignore me.”

Kirk nodded at the holo. “That's because your captain's quarters would be a little crowded.” He meant it as a joke, but for some reason the smile that stayed frozen on Quince's lips went out in his eyes.

“Ke opted not to renew our contract,” he said shortly. “She's got the kids with her now. I get ‘em in a few months.”

“I'm sorry,” Jim said, feeling like a fool, “I didn't know.” He could think of nothing better to say.

“So'm I. But hey.” Quince shifted in his chair and waved a hand at the stuffed animal on his desk. “Jimmy, you've met Old Yeller here, haven't you?”

Jim's discomfort eased. He grinned and shook his head, more in resignation than in answer to Waverleigh's question. Quince was famed as a practical joker, and once he got a notion in his head, it was best to play along. “Quince, where in the galaxy did you get
that?”

Waverleigh looked scandalized. “Why, the folks back home sent him to me. Jimmy, I'm shocked. Haven't you ever seen an armadillo before?”

Jim shook his head. “I thought they were extinct. But I can't say that I've missed much.”

“It's a good thing he can't hear you say that.” He stroked the little animal protectively. “Actually, Yeller used to be a bit livelier, back before old age caught up to him.”

“Or the taxidermist, from the looks of it,” Jim said.

Quince scowled at him. “Yeller passed out of this vale of tears long before that, I'll have you know. But he's still pretty personable. Go on, say hello to him, Jimmy.”

Knowing Quince, it was a trick, but Jim bit anyway. “Hello, Old Yeller.”

At the sound of Jim's voice, Yeller's long head poked out of the shell and his narrow muzzle yawned open. “Hello, Jimmy,” he said, in Waverleigh's voice.

Kirk started, then laughed. “Admiral, you are
weird
.”

“Yeah,” Waverleigh answered smugly. “You should have seen the look on Stein's—that's my aide—face the first time Yeller said hello to her.” He settled back in his chair. “Well, look, Jim, I've got to hop this morning, but I'll let you know what I can find out about Mendez.”

“Don't get yourself into trouble,” Kirk said seriously. “Just see what you can piece together about Tanis. Find out why we were ordered not to answer the distress signal. Find out who signed the order.”

“Some orders are confidential. Does this mean I get to bend the rules a little bit?”

“For God's sake, the last thing I want you to do is get yourself into trouble. Don't do anything illegal.”

Quince grinned wickedly. “Jimmy, I get the feeling you don't trust me.”

“I don't. I know better.” Kirk hesitated. “Just don't forget to consider the fact that Mendez just
might
be involved in something illegal, and be willing to do anything to protect himself.”

“In other words, be discreet.”

“In other words, don't do anything stupid. If you get too much heat about it, forget it. I'll find some other way.”

“I promise not to get myself into trouble,” Waverleigh said with a wink.

“You be sure and do that,” Kirk told him.

THE OBSERVATION DECK was silent and dark, its only source of light the stars that shone down through its invisible roof. Fierce, bright stars, undimmed by atmosphere or moons, rather like Andor's night sky, though the constellations were wrong. As a child, Lamia had thought it a great adventure to steal outside with one or two of the other children and sit in the open field gazing up at the star-littered sky. Sometimes, when she felt a need for it, she would sit alone.

She was alone now, and lonelier than she had ever thought possible; yet in the midst of her grief, she could not have faced another living being, not even Lisa Nguyen.

Thank the stars the deck was deserted, except for one or two shadowy figures, their faces turned up and reflecting starlight.

The message had been waiting for Lamia when she got off duty. The light on her terminal was flashing, and she keyed the message onto the screen. No face, no voice, no name. A written transmission that could have been sent by a stranger. And yet she knew immediately, crushingly, who had sent it.

You are no longer ours.

With that ritual phrase, she was cut off. No family, no tijra, no home, nothing to tie her to Andor or anywhere else in the universe, for that matter, save the small, impersonal cabin she shared with Lisa. She was free now, free to float among the stars free to float aimlessly, outnumbered and alone.

Lamia crossed the deck quickly, her footsteps absorbed by the thick carpeting. She was intent on one thing: reaching a cubicle reaching safety, privacy, darkness, so that she could properly grieve. She made it to a cubicle and reached for the door just as someone else did. She brushed against a warm hand and opened her mouth to apologize.…

And closed it again as she recognized Jonathon Stanger.

Well, hell,
Stanger told himself pessimistically,
isn't that just your luck? Try to find a little privacy, a little peace of mind only three people on the whole deck, and you get to wrestle with one of them for a cubicle.

But the hand he touched was pool, inhuman. He gaped up at the Andorian. In the starlight, her hair shone like spun silver. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “Go ahead.” And then berated himself for forgetting that he was supposed to be annoyed with her.

She had clearly not forgotten. “No, thank you.” She turned away with a graceful, sweeping motion that also managed to express her disdain.

“Lamia,” he began helplessly. He should have let her go, should have pretended to be disgusted himself, should have held on to the humiliated anger that had erupted in him in the rec lounge. But he couldn't.
You fool, why do you give a damn about what she thinks of you? Isn't this how it started with you and Rosa?

He did not let himself answer his own questions.

She stopped with her back to him, breathing heavily as if she had been running, and he watched as her wide, triangular shoulder blades rose and fell under the red uniform. It made him think of an insect fanning its wings. “I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I was rude yesterday. I wanted to apologize.”