Bloodthirst (22 page)

“It wasn't what you
said
.” She looked and sounded disgusted at his obtuseness. “It's what you
did
.” She glanced around her as if worried someone might overhear, then her image on Quince's screen grew larger as she leaned closer to her own terminal. “I thought you were happy with my work. You never said anything about being displeased with it.”

“Of course I'm not displeased with your work. I told you how very highly I thought of it.” He was becoming thoroughly confused.

“Well, then why am I in Personnel this morning?” She looked ashamed, angry, and near tears all at the same instant.

“Well, dammit,” he answered, exasperated at trying to figure out what she was getting to, “that's what
I
called to find out. What the hell
are
you doing in Personnel, Stein?”

They glared at each other for a minute, Stein apparently every bit as frustrated as he. Her eyes grew larger and larger, and when he thought they couldn't widen another millimeter, she burst out laughing. “
You
didn't request the transfer?” she finally managed to gasp out.

“Hell, no, of course not,” Quince said vehemently, and then it struck him what she was saying. He began to laugh with her, not out of a sense of amusement—the situation did not seem the least bit funny—but out of—sheer relief. “You mean, you didn't ask for it yourself?”

“No.” Stein was grinning from ear to ear. “Does this mean I can come back?”

“Consider it an order.” For the first time in weeks, Quince experienced hope. “But first, let me check around and find out who's responsible so I can skin the varmint. Who told you that I wanted you out?”

“Admiral Tsebili.”

“That's impossible,” Quince began, without thinking. “Bili told me” He stopped abruptly and closed his mouth. It would do no good for him to accuse Bili of lying to a junior officer.

“Told you?” Stein prompted helpfully.

“Never mind,” he said, looking at her curiously. Stein wouldn't lie to him. She might lie
for
him—little white lies, of course, to protect him from too many calls when he was busy—but the expression of absolute relief on her face was not feigned. She was telling the truth, and that meant that Bili was lying.

But why in hell would Bili lie to get Stein out of his office? There'd been no hint of impropriety between them. Bili obviously didn't even know he was attached enough to Rhonda to call her and find out her reason for leaving. And it wasn't that Bili wanted Stein's efficiency in his own office he outranked Quince enough to steal her with impunity, without shuttling her through Personnel.

“Look, Lieutenant,” he said finally. “You stay put, and don't worry. I'll pull a few strings and get you back here—just as soon as I find out what happened. Understood?”

She gave him a smart, military nod, and then another one of those beautiful wide grins. “Thanks, Quince.”

“You're welcome, darlin'.” He cut the channel and asked the screen for Bili again. By God, he was going to get to the bottom of this—but he'd have to watch his temper. He was too close to a promotion to the vice-admiralty to blow it with a careless, angry word to a superior.

The screen stayed dark. “Admiral Tsebili is unavailable at this time,” the computerized voice told him.

Damn.
Bili hadn't even bothered to tell the computer how long he'd be gone, and without a living aide there to talk to”

He turned in the direction of the anteroom.
Confound it
,
what was that Vulcan's name again? Sal something. Saloon. Saleen.
“Ensign,” he called.

“Yes, Admiral.” The young Vulcan appeared in the doorway. Sareel. That was it. Sareely glad to meet you.

“Sareel, do you know where Admiral Tsebili has gone?”

“Yes, sir. Perhaps I should route the admiral's calls through my terminal, since there is no aide”

“That would be a jim-dandy idea, Ensign.”

The Vulcan blinked at him. “I take it ‘jim-dandy' is a synonym for ‘suitable'?”

“Something like that.” Would he ever survive this man's literal-mindedness? Sareel obviously thought he had already answered Quince's question. Why couldn't they require all Vulcans to take a course in figurative speech? “Where has the admiral gotten to?”

“To a meeting, Admiral. However, he left no word as to when he can be expected to return.”

“I see. Thank you, Sareel, that will be all.”

Sareel nodded and retreated back into his office.

Quince stared at the dark terminal screen. Curioser than hell, this business with Stein.

He got busy after a while, too busy to have time to call Bili, too busy to remember. The delegation from Znebe, a new admission to the Federation, showed up, ready for their tour of Starfleet Headquarters. They were pleasant enough, although as a race they shared certain physical characteristics with Hortas, and he had difficulty figuring out which end he was supposed to be looking at when he talked to them. The tour took the morning and the early part of the afternoon.

After that, he got tied up working on a proposal to turn Star Base Twenty into an agricultural warehouse and granary. Twenty had originally been a sentry outpost; now that that area of the galaxy was colonized by Federation members and the border moved parsecs out, it was time to adapt. Since several planets in the area were subject to periodic famine, why not change Twenty to an agricultural outpost?

He worked longer than he realized on it. When he looked up to rest his eyes, he noticed the time in the upper right corner of the screen. He blinked in amazement: it was already after 1900. The evening shift had started. His new aide must have slipped out a couple of hours ago; Bili was no doubt gone, too.
Damn.

“Close file,” he yawned, and the data on the screen in front of him faded. A message took its place:

REMINDER TO ALL PERSONNEL: CENTRAL TRANSPORTERS WILL BE CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE TOMORROW BEGINNING 0100 HOURS. PLEASE SEEK ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORT HOME.

He rubbed his face and repeated the message silently to himself so he wouldn't forget to drive the skimmer in tomorrow morning. The message faded, and was replaced by another one.

QUINCE: YOU'RE BRINGING THE SKIMMER TOMORROW, AREN'T YOU? CAN I HITCH A RIDE HOME TOMORROW P.M.? TSEBLI

Still no mention of the file, Quince noted with disappointment. He was going to have to remind Bili of it tomorrow—though Bili was not the type to forget things. Especially something as memorable as finding out whether a colleague is involved in illegal research And then there was the strange business of Stein. He wasn't sure at all how to approach the admiral about that.

Why would you lie, Bili? What do you have to gain by having Stein out of my office?

Nothing, probably. It had to be some kind of mistake, something one or the other of them had said that Bili'd misinterpreted. It would all be set right tomorrow.

He rose from his chair and stretched. Time to go home, though there seemed to be little point in it these days. The apartment was oppressively silent lately. God knows he'd complained about the ruckus when the kids were there. Now, he'd give anything for a little noise. He reached absently for the holo, wanting to stroke Nika's silken hair, but his fingers passed through her.

Miss you, kid.
He knew that in four months, he'd have Nika and her brother back again, for half a year, but it didn't help the loneliness any now. The contract he and Ke had stipulated that Nika and Paul would always be together, even if their parents weren't.

If it weren't for the fact that the kids were coming to stay, he'd get himself busted down to captain and back out in space so fast He stopped the guilty thought. Nika and Paul were worth any price to him, even that.

He sat down in his chair again. He couldn't face going home just yet. Now that things were quiet in this department, he could do a little snooping about Mendez.

Something had been simmering in the back of his head all day, some piece of information Jim had sent along about Tanis.

He glanced in the direction of the aide's office. It was completely quiet. No telling when the Vulcan had gone home, but rather odd that he hadn't bothered to tell Quince he was leaving.

“Computer,” he said. “Access to star maps, one square parsec, center reference Star Base Thirteen.”

The neatly labeled charts showed up on his screen and he stared at them uncomprehendingly for a moment before speaking again. “Highlight location of Tanis base in relation to Star Base Thirteen.”

The two bases glowed at him in bright, blinking white. Tanis was less than one hour's journey from Star Base Thirteen at warp speed.

This was getting interesting. Mendez could go to Thirteen under the pretext of demonstrating the new system to Tsebili, then slip away to Tanis without anyone being the wiser. Quince smiled grimly to himself. So Mendez could recover the incriminating microbe, or destroy evidence.…

And there was something else. He called up Adams' bio, scrolling through pages of useless information about the man's schooldays (brilliant kid), his career as a genetic microbiologist, the emerging pattern of minor offenses, fraud, financial irresponsibility. History of ill health and debt. Quince waded through Adams' life until he sat staring at his medical history. He'd almost died in a Romulan attack on a passenger ship that'd strayed too far into the Neutral Zone. Quince vaguely remembered the incident himself, though it had happened almost twenty years ago. There'd been a huge outcry, he remembered, and the Romulans finally agreed to amend the original treaty, adding the clause about not attacking if it could be undeniably shown to be an accidental intrusion on the part of the ship. What was the name of that ship? He scrolled down a few lines.
Brass Ring
, that's right. The
Brass Ring
Incident had brought the Federation and the Romulan Empire to the brink of another war.

And it was setting off another alarm in Quince's subconscious. There was a connection with Mendez somehow. He directed the computer to close Adams' file and show him Mendez's.

He remembered before he even found the information. Mendez's wife had been one of the casualties aboard the
Brass Ring
. Quince went through the file, swearing softly as each page lingered a second longer than usual after his command. What was making the machine so damn slow tonight? Were they maintenancing the computers, too? He found that the admiral's son, Yoshi Takhumara, had also been a passenger, but had survived. Yoshi, the man Adams was suspected of killing.

He felt a ripple of excitement at the discovery. Mendez, Yoshi, Adams. There was a connection between the three, a connection based on more than blood kinship or accusations.

All three had good cause to hate the Romulans.

And out of the blue, Quince thought:
Bili fired his aide last week for
No, it was too ridiculous. He shook the thought away, but it left him feeling clammy.

He wanted to look up Lara Krovozhadny's file, too, but his terminal was molasses-slow. He decided to try the terminal in Stein's office—that's Sareel's office, he corrected himself, but not for long—to see if the slowdown was system-wide or affected only his screen. Intrigued, excited, Quince pushed himself away from his desk and moved with light, quick steps into the outer office.

Sareel apparently did not expect him. The Vulcan was still seated at the desk, and as Quince stepped up behind him, he snapped off his own terminal and turned quickly to face the admiral.

But Quince had already seen enough to recognize Mendez's file. The slowdown on his own terminal had occurred because it was first being routed through Sareel's machine.

“How long have you been monitoring my terminal?” Quince snapped.

Sareel said absolutely nothing.

“You work for Mendez, don't you?”

The Vulcan remained silent, which Quince took as an affirmative. He can't say no, Quince thought; being Vulcan, he doesn't want to tell an outright lie. “You're fired,” Quince told him.

Sareel studied him with dark, impassive eyes. If he felt shamed at being caught spying, he did not show it. What lies must Mendez have told him to convince a Vulcan to spy on a superior officer? “You cannot fire me, Admiral. You do not have the authority.”

“Get out,” Quince nearly shouted. “That's an order, Ensign!”

Sareel apparently considered him capable of ordering him to leave the office, for he walked past without further comment. Quince sank, shaking, into Rhonda Stein's chair.

In a clear flash of insight, he understood why Bili had lied about Stein's transfer.

He went home with Old Yeller tucked under his arm. Lately, he'd taken to carrying the critter around with him. At least there would be someone to talk to at home—or rather, at the apartment. He couldn't really call it home anymore. It was too neat, except for the gathering dust, no children's toys strewn all over the carpet, nothing out of place. He transported into the living room, in front of the window overlooking the bay. The fog was rolling in, pea soup from the looks of it, but through the mist he could see the black, choppy water beneath a darkening purple sky.

He was still stunned from the encounter with Sareel, but he was certain of one thing: he wanted to contact Jimmy Kirk. Not direct contact, since he doubted it was safe. But a message, at least some sort of way to warn him of Quince's growing suspicions without letting Mendez know. He walked into his study, sat Yeller down on the desk, and began to speak to the terminal screen before he stopped himself.

That was particularly stupid of him. If they could monitor his terminal at HQ, why wouldn't they monitor it here? “Help me, Yeller,” he said absently. “Tell me what to do.”

The little animal wriggled at the sound of his voice. “I love you too, Quince.” A damn shame Yeller spoke with Quince's own voice. He would have liked to hear a different voice saying that right about now.