Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption (14 page)

“No to both questions. We may be gone for a while. Maybe you ought to tell him we suggested pemmican.”

“Hell, no,” Jan said. “If I do, he’ll figure out a way to make some, and it sounds even worse than sashimi.”

After Jan left, Del poured himself a cup of coffee, wandered down to his office, and checked to be sure he had got all his lab notes. The top of his desk was clear for the first time since he came to Spacelab. The office felt bare and deserted, as if he were moving out permanently. The framed piece of calligraphy on the wall was the only thing left: he saw no need to put it away, and it seemed silly to take it. He read it over for the first time in quite a while:

Del sat on the corner of his desk and sipped his coffee. Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him, dissolving the fine thrill of defiance into doubt.

Vance came in and straddled a chair, folding his arms across its back. Del waited, but his partner did not say anything. He reached for Del’s cup. Del handed it to him and Vance drank some of the coffee. He had always had a lot more endurance than Del, but even he was beginning to look tired.

“I can’t figure out what to take.”

“I don’t know, either,” Del said. “A toothbrush and a lot of books?”

Vance smiled, but without much conviction. He drank some more of Del’s coffee, grimaced, and handed back the cup. “How many times has that stuff boiled?”

“Sorry. I forgot to turn down the heat.”

Vance suddenly frowned and looked around the room. “Little brother…” he said.

Del started. Vance had not called him that since high school.

“Little brother, this is all bullshit, you know.”

“I
don’t
know. What are you talking about?”

“If the military decides to take Genesis, they will, and there’s not a damned thing we’ll be able to do about it.”

“There’s got to be! You’re beginning to sound like Dave.”

“For all our Lewis Carroll recitations, for all our doing our amateur comedian number at seminars—hell, even for all the fun we’ve had—we’ve been hiding out from the implications of our work. This has been inevitable since the minute we figured out how to break up quarks en masse without a cyclotron.”

“What are you saying we ought to do? Just turn everything over to
Reliant
when it gets here?”

“No! Gods, Del, no.”

“Sorry,” Del said sincerely. He knew Vance better than that. “That was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“I mean the exact opposite. Only…I don’t really know what I mean by meaning the exact opposite. Except, we can’t let them have it. No matter what.”

All of a sudden the lights started flashing on and off, on and off, and a siren howled. Vance jumped to his feet.

“What the hell—!”

“That’s the emergency alarm!” Del said.

They sprinted out of Del’s office.

Something must have happened when they tried to move Genesis, Del thought.

Vance, with his longer stride, was ten meters ahead of him by the time they reached the main lab. He ran into the room—

Two strangers stepped out of hiding and held phasers on him. He stopped and raised his hands but kept on walking forward, drawing their attention farther into the lab and away from the corridor. Del ducked into a doorway and pressed himself against the shadows, taking the chance his friend had given him.

“What the hell is going on?” he heard Vance say. “Who are you people?”

“We’ve come for Genesis.”

Damn,
Del thought. We spent the last two days running around in a fit of paranoia about the military, and not one of us thought to wonder if they were telling the truth about arriving in three days.

He opened the door behind him, slipped into the dark room, and locked the door. He felt his way to the communications console and keyed it on.

“Hi, Del,” David said cheerfully. “Can you wait a minute? We’re just about to move.”

“No!” Del whispered urgently. “Dave, keep your voice down. They’re here! They’ve got Vance and Zinaida.”

“What?”

“They lied to us! They’re here already. Get Genesis out, fast.”

He heard a strange noise in the corridor, searched his mind for what the sound could be, and identified it: a tricorder.

“Dave, dammit, they’re tracking me! Get Genesis out, and get out yourselves before they find you, too!”

“But—”

“Don’t argue! Look, they’re not gonna hurt us. What can they do? Maybe dump us in a brig someplace. Somebody’s got to be loose to tell the Federation what’s going on. To get us out if they try to keep us incommunicado.
Go!
”

“Okay.”

Del slammed off the intercom and accessed the main computer. He
had
to wipe the memories before he got caught. The tricorder hummed louder.

The computer came on-line.

“Ok,” it said.

“Liquid hydrogen tanks, purge protocol,” Del said softly.

The door rattled.

“We know you’re in there! Come out at once!”

“That’s a safeguarded routine,” the computer said.

“I know,” Del said.

“Ok. Which tanks do you wish to purge?”

Somebody banged on the locked door, but it held. Del answered the computer’s questions as quickly and as softly as he could speak. As a safety precaution, the liquid hydrogen tanks would not accept the purge command without several codes and a number of overrides. Del assured the program that he wanted everything purged except for one memory bath.

The banging and thumping grew louder. He was almost done.

“All right!” he yelled. “All right, I’m coming.” They didn’t hear him, or they didn’t believe him, or they didn’t care.

“What?” the computer said.

“I wasn’t talking to you that time.”

“Ok. Codes acceptable. Safeguards overridden. Purge routine ready. Please say your identity password.”

“March Hare,” Del said.

“Ok. Purge initiated.”

A moment later, the computer’s memory began to fail, and the system crashed.

A laser-blaster exploded the door inward. The concussion nearly knocked Del to the floor. He grabbed at the console and turned it off. The screen’s glow faded as the invaders rushed him.

He raised his hands in surrender.

The tanks were venting into space. In about one minute, nothing at all would be left in any of the station’s computers. Except Mad Rabbit Productions’ Boojum Hunt.

Four strangers came through the ruined door, three with phasers, one with a blaster.

“Come with us.” The one with the blaster gestured toward the exit.

Del raised his hands a little higher. “All right, all right,” he said to her. “I told you I was coming.”

They herded him into the main lab. About twenty people guarded Vance, Zinaida, Jan, and Yoshi. The strangers, rough and wild, sure did not look like Starfleet personnel.

Vance gave Del a questioning glance. Del nodded very slightly: mission accomplished.

A white-haired, cruel-faced man stood up and approached them. Nearly as tall as Vance, he was arrogant and elegant despite his ragged clothing.

“I’ve come for Genesis,” he said. “Where is it?”

“The scientists shipped out of here a couple hours ago,” Vance said. “They didn’t tell us where they went or what they took. We’re just technicians.”

The leader of the group turned to one of his people.

Del recognized Pavel Chekov, and cursed under his breath. Captain Terrell stood a bit farther back in the group. Neither appeared to be a prisoner—in fact, they both carried phasers.

“Is this true, Mister Chekov?”

“No, Khan.” Pale and blank-looking, Chekov spoke without expression.

“Who is he?” Khan gestured toward Vance.

“Doctor Vance Madison.”

Khan took a step toward him. Two of his people grabbed Vance’s arms. Del saw what was coming and fought to go to Vance’s aid. One of the people behind him put a choke-hold on him.

Khan struck Vance a violent backhand blow to the face, flinging him against his captors. Dazed, Vance shook his head. He straightened up. A thin trickle of blood ran down his chin.

“Do not lie to me again, Doctor Madison.”

Khan went back to questioning Chekov.

“Who are these others?”

Chekov said he did not know Yoshi or Jan, bat he identified Zinaida and Del. Del tried to figure out what was going on. What were Chekov and Terrell doing with this bunch of pirates?

“You can save yourselves a great deal of unpleasantness by cooperating,” Khan said.

No one spoke.

“My lord—”

“Yes, Joachim?”

“There’s nothing in the computer but this.”

Khan joined Joachim and gazed down at the computer screen. At first he smiled. That scared Del, because it indicated that Khan had either seen Carol’s grant application, or otherwise knew a good deal about Genesis. The opening Boojum graphics closely resembled a Genesis simulation.

Del looked across at Vance, worried about him.

“You okay?”

The woman behind Del tightened her hold on his throat, so he shut up. But Vance nodded. The dazed look, at least, had disappeared.

Khan suddenly shouted, incoherent with rage. “A game!” he screamed. “What do you mean, a game!”

Yoshi was the nearest to him of the station personnel. Khan swung around and grabbed him.

“A game!
Where is Genesis?
” He picked Yoshi up and shook him violently.

“I don’t know!”

“He’s telling the truth! Leave him alone!” Vance struggled but could not get free.

Khan set Yoshi down gently.

“This one knows nothing of Genesis?” he asked kindly.

“That’s right. Whatever you’re after, Jan and Yoshi have nothing to do with it. Leave them alone.”

Khan drew a knife from his belt. Before anyone understood what he planned, he grabbed Yoshi by the hair, jerked his head back, and cut his throat. Yoshi did not even cry out. Blood spurted across the room. Warm droplets spattered Del’s cheek.

“My God!”

Someone—one of Khan’s own people—screamed. Khan reached for Jan. Del wrenched himself out of his captors’ hands and lunged. The knife flashed again. Jan’s scream stopped suddenly and arterial blood sprayed out. Del grabbed Khan, who turned smoothly and expertly and sank his blade to its hilt in Del’s side.

“Del!” Vance cried.

Del felt the warmth of the blade, but no pain: he thought it had slid along his skin just beneath his ribs.