Bloodthirst (29 page)

Behind his desk at Starfleet Headquarters, Mendez was looking unusually haggard, as if he had spent a sleepless night.

Guilty conscience, Admiral? I hope it eats you alive.

“What is it, Kirk?”

“Admiral,” he said smoothly. He was quite surprised at his own ability to be pleasant to the man. “I take it Commodore Mahfouz informed you of Adams' escape onto the
Enterprise
.”

“He told me,” Mendez said tiredly. The folds under his eyes reminded Kirk of a bloodhound. “I assume he's been captured, or else that you're looking for a new security chief.”

“The first,” Kirk lied. Lying to this man was somehow gratifyingly easy. “Adams has decided to cooperate. He's told me some pretty interesting things about Tanis base. As we suspected, it's an illegal biowarfare base. Apparently a secret group within the Fleet is funding it.”

He stared at Mendez, waiting for a reaction; the admiral's brow wrinkled slightly, distastefully, but the expression in the eyes never wavered. “Rather a ridiculous charge, don't you think, Captain?”

“I'd prefer to think so, of course, Admiral, but Adams says that he has the evidence to prove it on Tanis base.”

“I see.” Mendez nodded. “I'm not surprised. We've been doing our own investigation for some time, Kirk, but frankly, I'd be surprised if anyone other than private citizens are involved. We'll check out Adams' claim. All that remains for you to do is to take him to Star Base Nine.”

A consummate actor
, Kirk thought. The idea that Adams might have been lying all along occurred to him, but he dismissed it without a second's consideration. Instinct told him that Mendez was the liar here. He made himself smile slightly. “Actually, Admiral, I was offering to collect the evidence for you. We're probably the closest Fleet ship out, and we may as well find the evidence before someone has the chance to destroy
it
."
Such as yourself, sir

“It's a hot lab, Kirk, and while we're aware you're equipped, I'd rather not risk the
Enterprise
again. I'd rather send in some specialists.”

“With all respect, sir, by this time we are experts on dealing with this particular virus. And my entire crew has been vaccinated.” He let the smile widen a bit more. “I can't think of a better”

Mendez rubbed his hairless temples with thick fingers as if the exchange was giving him a migraine. “Kirk, you have your orders. Proceed immediately to Star Base Nine and have Adams put in Mahfouz's custody. Mendez out.”

The screen darkened. Jim swiveled in his chair to face Spock and McCoy.

The doctor spoke first. “Well, what now?” There was disappointment in his voice. “What are you gonna do?”

Kirk was still wearing the artificial smile. “Follow orders. Take Adams to Star Base Nine.” He paused and let the smile fade. “Via Tanis base.”

Stanger was sliding toward madness. Most of the time, he couldn't remember why he was no longer Ensign Jonathon Stanger, serving aboard the
Enterprise
, but a shivering creature who hid from the light.

The hunger was the worst part. Not a real hunger, for food, but a horrible craving, like a drowning man's need for air. And in his desperate, blind thrashing, he would pull anyone down with him to get it.

He had wakened and opened his eyes to glistening black awash with a faint blue glow. Initial calm curiosity had given way to mindless panic as he realized he had been interred in a stasis tube. A vivid image tore at him: the prematurely buried victim, struggling with his last breath to push open the nailed-down coffin lid.

His terror was short-lived. The blue field parted to let him through; the lid to the tube opened without effort. Gasping, he clambered out. The tube next to him was glowing in the darkness, even its faint light making him squint painfully. Chris Chapel. He thought of opening it and saying,
Did they make a mistake with you, too?
but a vaguely superstitious discomfort at the thought held him back. Chris had really died. He hadn't

Or had he? He could not think clearly, because of the monstrous ache that consumed him. He escaped into the corridor, sobbing as the light pierced him.

The craving had pulled him so hard he'd gone to the first person he could remember: Ingrit Tomson. Even then, he hadn't been sure of what he sought from her until he drew the knife. Perhaps the few remaining shreds of the real Stanger had known all along and had chosen Tomson out of a deeply harbored desire for revenge.

Or perhaps he had meant to turn himself in, and in the end, had been too weak.

Weak. Too weak. Quite frankly, Mr. Stanger, I can't trust you not to screw up.

Either way, he hadn't killed her. He felt satisfaction at that—and a growing need as well. He was insane, he was diseased, but he would not sink to what Adams had become.

From Tomson's quarters he had thrashed deliriously through the halls, remembering enough to avoid the security checkpoints.

He found peace and darkness on the observation deck, though the hunger still gnawed at him. It was at an hour between shifts when the deck was silent, deserted. The weak light from the stars was unpleasant, but tolerable enough. He collapsed next to one of the meditation booths and rested, gathering the strength to open the door and go in. Perhaps he would find what he needed here, if he had the patience to wait.

At the other end of the deck, there was movement. Stanger hid himself behind the booth so he could watch without detection. Oddly, he could see quite clearly in the darkness.

A figure in a deep-colored cloak glided fleetingly across the deck. Stanger suppressed a gasp and leaned forward for a better view, but he couldn't seethe face. Even so, he knew it was Adams, clutching a portable transfusion unit in his bloodless white hands. The cloaked figure stooped down and disappeared into a cubicle, closing the door behind him.

Adams was holing up on the observation deck.

Impossible. Stanger himself had been through the observation deck twice in the past few days. The tricorder had revealed nothing.

Of course, the tricorder only worked if the man had life-sign readings.

Stanger, they said you had died.…

He swallowed hard. The action was distinctly unpleasant; his mouth was dry as a bone.

As a bone, get it?

Dear God, he and Adams were walking corpses. Stanger shivered.

Suddenly, the security chief surfaced in him.
Wake up, you fool!
Here was Adams, the prey he'd been stalking the past few days, the man who had done this unspeakable thing to him.
Done an even more unspeakable thing to Lisa Nguyen
, he thought, with an odd mixture of titillation and revulsion. Here was one chance in his life to get even. Fear and need were eclipsed by an overwhelming fury, a desire for revenge on the man who had taken his life, however bitter, from him.

And he would not let Adams do the same to anyone else.

At the same time, Stanger licked his cracked lips at the thought of the portable transfusion unit. He caught himself and tried to direct his confused whirl of thoughts back to Adams.

I'm your last victim
, Stanger promised silently, and sat back on his haunches to gather the strength needed to kill.

Security second-in-command Lisa Nguyen stood in front of the portal to the observation deck, rubbing the back of her neck and frowning. She felt a headache coming on, and it was not helped by Ensign Esswein's resentfulness.
It's not my fault Tomson chose me instead of you. Believe me, you can have the job. Maybe you will, as soon as I'm gone.

Esswein shrugged in the direction of the deck.
Bright blue eyes adrift in a sea of freckles
, Nguyen thought. Acker's wiry auburn hair was the same shade as the freckles that covered most of him. “How many times are we going to comb through that? For that matter, how many times can we comb the entire ship before we find him? I think he's made it off the ship.”

Lisa sighed and squinted down at her tricorder dial rather than face his accusing stare. “Then how do you explain what happened to Stanger?”

She didn't like talking about it. She was glad that Jon was still alive, but for him to become what Adams had become the thought for her was somehow more painful than if he had died. At least that way, she could have remembered him as the good person he was—instead of a monster.

“He could have gotten infected two days ago,” Acker persisted. “I still say Adams made it off the ship.”

How?
she almost asked, then stopped herself from falling into an exact repeat of last night's conversation. There was no point in going through it all again. She was not up to dealing with what had happened to Jon, and Acker's subtle defensiveness, too. She turned to him. “No point in you walking through this with me. Go ahead and secure the cargo hold.”

“Wouldn't it be safer to stick together?” Acker said, his impossibly blue eyes all innocence.

What are you afraid of, if you're so sure Adams is already off the ship?
Lisa thought, but didn't say it. She would not grace such a bold attack on her authority with a response. She composed her features into the coldest possible approximation of Tomson, looking displeased, and turned them full force on Acker.

“Do it, Esswein.” She narrowed her eyes until they were slits.

“Yes, sir,” he said, but there was a trace of defiance in the “sir.” She ignored it and gratefully watched him leave.

She walked through the doors onto the deserted observation deck and sighed when she heard them close behind her. The room was blessedly dark and quiet. She would have given anything to crawl into one of the meditation cubicles and close the
Enterprise
out. The day had exhausted her with its continual barrage of strong conflicting emotions: her unhappiness at staying in Starfleet, her unhappiness at leaving, her terror of finding Adams.

It was dark, but she did not turn on her flashlight. Between the starlight and the glow from the tricorder dial, she could see well enough to keep from stumbling. Besides, the darkness seemed to help her headache.

She began to walk up and down the rows of cubicles, keeping her eyes on the tricorder dial. She was not afraid; she had been through this room yesterday with Acker, and no one had been here. Maybe Acker was right. Maybe Adams
had
gone. Even if someone were here, she had her phaser, and her communicator to call for help.

She walked to the end of one row. She was tempted to close her eyes, to lie down on the cool floor. Acker wouldn't know. No one would know. There was no one in here.
Besides, you're leaving in a week. What are they going to do, demote you?

Of course, she had too much self-discipline to do it. Instead, she walked to the end of one row of cubicles and started scanning another, her concentration firmly on the tricorder readout.

When she got a reading, she nearly stumbled. She looked up, but it was too dark to see anything. She fumbled for her flashlight.

Take it easy. It's nothing. Someone just came here to relax. For God's sake, ask first and shoot later.

She turned on the flashlight. “Who is it? Who's here?”

No answer. And then, in the darkness, a shadow moved.

She directed the beam at the crouched form of Jon Stanger.

The light made him scream in real anguish, until Lisa lowered it and the pain faded enough for him to be uncomfortably reminded of another encounter, with Adams on Tanis base.

I'm just like him now
, Stanger thought miserably. He cringed at the edge of the light.

“Jon,” Lisa said dully. Her expression as she clutched the flashlight was one of concern mixed with loathing, the way Stanger's must have been when he'd first seen Adams. “It'll be all right. Just stay there. Don't come any closer.” Without taking her eyes off him, she took the communicator from her belt with her free hand and spoke into it.

She took a few steps toward him, past the cubicle where Adams was hidden.

Her tricorder did not signal. It was true, then: Adams had no life-sign readings.
Then why
, Stanger asked himself,
is the tricorder detecting
me?

She was close enough now so that he could see her clearly, even the faint traces of the seam where M'Benga had sealed her neck wound. Stanger closed his eyes and shuddered, the sweet, seductive call of blood thrumming in his ears. His fingers dropped to his belt, to his utility knife.

He opened his eyes and moved toward her, unsure what he was going to do. He was almost close enough to touch her.

“Stanger,” Lisa whispered. She was near sobbing. He could not tell if it was from grief for him or fear.

Behind her, Adams floated silently from his cubicle. The velvet cape spread out behind Lisa like dark, ominous wings.

“Lisa! No!”

She followed his terrified gaze and dashed to one side as Stanger rushed forward into the cape and took the blow intended for her. The knife ripped across both his arms. Fighting the frenzy evoked by the scent of his own blood, Stanger ignored the knife in Adams' hand and grabbed his throat. Insanity and rage filled him with strength. With his hands still around Adams' neck, Stanger pulled his enemy off his feet and dashed his head against the wall of the cubicle.

The thud of Adams' head against the wall gave rhythm to Stanger's thoughts.

I'm your last victim, understand? Your last victim, your last
vic
tim.

His head slammed once, twice, a thousand times, while Lisa and Acker yelled and waved their phasers, and Adams screamed

Until everything went beautifully, blissfully dark.

Infrared visor in his hand, Jim Kirk walked over to the darkened section of sickbay where Adams and Stanger were being held. There was no longer any reason to keep them in an isolation unit, especially since McCoy believed in the value of hands-on treatment. But both were strapped onto the diagnostic beds with restraints, and a visored Ensign Nguyen stood over them.