DOOMSDAY WORLD Read online

  This made some sense. She drummed her fingers restlessly on the desk, noting how much less stiff they were than usual. The motion actually felt good. In fact, many of her aches and pains had subsided as the crisis had drawn more and more of her attention.

  She felt like one of her ancestors, ignoring her wounds in the course of some great battle. She tended to downplay the warrior instincts in herself; all Andorians did. But maybe they were not so different from the K’Vin after all. But what if she were to change her strategy just a bit? Confront Gregach as one warrior to another?

  Inspired, she tapped her console and asked for a direct line to the K’Vin ambassador. Her people had apparently anticipated her move; there was an active channel ready and waiting.

  “Ambassador Gregach, I hope I am not disturbing you.”

  Gregach looked as if he had been napping, and she wanted to poke at him, keep him a bit off balance. And of course Gezor was right there, on the periphery of the communications field. “As it happens, I was in conference,” the K’Vin blustered.

  “I won’t keep you, then. I’m calling to ask if your people have seen the Starfleet officers.” She’d needed some reason to call him, to reopen their dialogue. This one was as good as any.

  He grunted. “You mean the ones who just might have caused this mess?”

  “You know better than that, Gregach,” she said calmly. “They arrived at our request and with your approval. Your documents are most thorough, and you know they have no interest in Kirlos beyond scientific curiosity.”

  “So you say. Anyway, they are indeed here. I have detained them pending satisfactory questioning.”

  This came as a shock to Stephaleh. She summoned some bravado and went after Gregach with a sternness that shook the K’Vin. “You held our representatives and did not bother informing this embassy? How dare you violate the treaty so blatantly! We’ve always had an understanding, Gregach, and now I begin to wonder if either of us truly understood the other. Why are they being held? What have they done?”

  “Done? Well, according to our people here, they were found in our territory, looking around. ‘Acting suspiciously’ is the phrase used in the report. And I thought it would be best if I talked with them personally.”

  “Fine. Talk with them—and then release them. You know they have done nothing. And you also know that as members of the Federation, they are entitled to counsel.”

  The K’Vin made a derisive sound deep in his throat. “You have no judge advocate general’s office to rely on in this sector,” he said. “You use a simple attorney who, I believe, is resting quietly in a medical facility at this moment. Under the circumstances, Ambassador, I merely asked the Starfleet officers to waive their right to counsel.”

  “And they agreed?” she asked incredulously.

  “In a way. Do you doubt me, old friend? Well, it doesn’t matter now, Stephaleh. What does matter is that someone has been causing havoc on this world, and I will see to it that we find an answer.”

  “Even if that answer might already be staring you in the face, though you choose to ignore it? The K’Vin have never been known for their deductive reasoning. They prefer to go ahead and take whatever they like.”

  Gregach shrugged. “Just as we should have taken Kirlos a long time ago. We have tolerated the Federation presence long enough. Maybe this will open some eyes back on the homeworld—and conclude the charade of negotiation.”

  Stephaleh liked neither the tone of the conversation nor the naked feelings she and Gregach were displaying. She knew better than to emphasize differences, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She was allowing her personal resentment to cloud her judgment.

  Get a grip on yourself, Stephaleh. Is this all you’ve learned in so many years of playing the diplomat?

  “This world actually belongs to the Ariantu,” she reminded Gregach, “not to anyone who lives here presently. Now, when may I expect the release of the Starfleet officers?”

  “When I am satisfied I have heard all they know.”

  She curbed her anger at that. “Very well. My protest will be filed with your government within the hour. I do not want them harmed, Gregach. I want this to come to a satisfying end. A fast and satisfying end.”

  Now it was Gregach’s turn to pause and think. He was actually a careful thinker, and Stephaleh regretted her earlier comment. Perhaps he would ignore it as something said in the heat of the moment. Perhaps not. Perhaps their friendship was torn asunder.

  “Then let me return to my guests for a fast and satisfying conversation. Gregach out.”

  Gregach turned from his chair and looked at Gezor, who was silently waiting near the door of the office. “Well, Gezor, what do you think of that? My good friend Stephaleh accuses me of treaty violations!”

  “Technically she is correct, Ambassador. However, I think it is best to stress that the Starfleet officers were found in K’Vin territory, making them the first transgressors.”

  “Damned right, Gezor. And she dares to resort to protocol at this stage. We’re on the brink of a war that could engulf Kirlos and she wants more words!”

  “But what will you do now, Ambassador? What is the best course of action?”

  Gregach stopped to think. His first inclination was to summon his old friends and have an old-fashioned war council. But he had learned that several of them remained purposefully ignorant of the goings-on and he did not want to waste time with repetitious briefings. He hungered for action—but what?

  Zamorh waited until he thought the ambassador had regained her self-control and then chose to speak. “It is most disturbing to have Lieutenant Worf and the others in custody. Could they know something?”

  “They know something, yes, but it may not be what Gregach wants to hear. Instead, it may anger him. And in this time of increased hostilities, that may be dangerous.”

  “You know, of course, that the K’Vin have been known to use methods of torture—”

  “Never!” Stephaleh snapped. “Gregach would never torture members of Starfleet. Why, the diplomatic repercussions would . . .”

  “Would what, Ambassador? As I see it, the relations are as bad as they can get, short of armed conflict.”

  “You may be right, Zamorh. However, I will do whatever it takes to prevent arms from entering this. It’s bad enough Powell and his men have to walk the streets.”

  “Something needs to be done, if I am correct.”

  “You are, Zamorh, but I wish to the deities I knew what it was. I can’t produce the culprits behind this mess and I certainly can’t explain why Starfleet officers were in K’Vin territory, in violation of our treaty.”

  “But we can help expedite their release,” Zamorh said, with his head bowed a little. He was obviously being hesitant, and Stephaleh knew she would have to draw him out.

  “We can file protests and motions,” she said, “but there is no one here on the planet who can effect their release through diplomatic channels. In fact, those channels may have just closed indefinitely.”

  “As you know, Ambassador, my people were here long before the K’Vin or the Federation.”

  “Of course I know that, Zamorh. Do you have a point?”

  “We studied the old ruins before they were occupied by officials and traders. We know of tunnels and passageways that connect many buildings. The tunnels were part of an early system of transportation, or so we thought.”

  “Yes?” Stephaleh was growing a little impatient. She wanted to do something, and Zamorh was deliberately taking his time.

  “One such tunnel leads from Busiek’s, the pub near the border, to the K’Vin embassy. It may not have been damaged during the explosion.”

  “Are you suggesting we send someone in to liberate the officers? That would be just the provocation Gregach needs to break our people apart—or maybe even kill one of them. Relations, which have always been cordial here, would be shredded. Likewise, relations between the K’Vin and the Federation would be damaged beyond rep
air.”

  “I’m sorry, Ambassador. I am only trying to help by suggesting a course of action.”

  Stephaleh looked at her aide and wondered. Was this her only option? And if so, whom could she possibly send? Powell? Ekrut, who was certainly small and agile enough? She shook her head and put both hands flat on her desk. “No, Zamorh. We will not make a rescue attempt. It lacks the subtlety of diplomacy. Instead, I will have to choose carefully the words that will win their release, or at least placate Ambassador Gregach.”

  Gezor waited a few more moments and spoke again. “Sir, is not a response of some kind in order? If I understand the K’Vin way, that is.”

  “Yes, it is, Gezor, but it must be the right response,” Gregach said. “The K’Vin way is deliberate, and we must not overstep our place.”

  “Would some use of the hostages be appropriate?”

  “They are not hostages, Gezor. That is a poor choice of words. They are more like guests, as I told Stephaleh. Did you place Worf in a better room?”

  “Of course, Ambassador.”

  “Excellent. Maybe a fellow tactician can be of help.” With that, he turned and strode from the office.

  Alone in his room, Zamorh had time to think. According to the chronometers, synchronized nightly now, he was certain the time was coming. He had worked carefully to orchestrate his part of the plan, and he was pleased to see that Gezor had been useful, too. However, though things had reached a boiling point, neither side seemed able to take the next step. He understood the importance of that step and wondered if either side could be budged, setting the stage for the final act. Maybe, he considered, the time had come for a clear military action on the part of the Federation, one that might shake up the K’Vin a little, cause them to take Stephaleh’s position more seriously. He got to his feet, looked in the mirror, and was pleased to see he was well groomed. With a purpose to his step, he walked down the hall to Stephaleh’s office.

  The Andorian was seated at the desk, as he expected. She was busying herself with paperwork and did not notice his entrance. She rarely did, given the Sullurh way of being quiet around others.

  “Ambassador, if I may be so bold, a thought has occurred to me.”

  Stephaleh looked up from her desk and felt a crick in her neck. It hadn’t been there this morning, but now it felt as if it would never leave. “Yes, of course, Zamorh. Speak your mind.”

  “I may have been mistaken about a rescue attempt, and for that I apologize.”

  “It’s all right. None of us are thinking clearly in this matter.”

  “Be that as it may,” Zamorh continued, “since you are seeking some action to take, it may be best to consider reassessing our fortifications and supplies in case we ourselves are attacked. A heightened state of readiness may be called for here.”

  Now that was a productive contribution, she thought. In fact, it surprised her that this was the first time she had considered checking the defenses. Even Powell had said nothing about it. Compared to Worf, Powell left something to be desired. She made a note to herself to review his performance once this was over. “Yes, Zamorh. Please ask Chief Powell to tend to it. And thank you for your suggestion.”

  Worf was seated on the hard bed, wondering about the special treatment afforded him. He would have been perfectly content to remain in the small cell with Geordi and Data. The spartan conditions had suited his tastes, and the company would have been welcome, since there was much to figure out. Even if the android got on his nerves from time to time, Worf had to admit that as a superior officer, Data had acquitted himself fairly well.

  These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in a lock. The door swung open and in walked Ambassador Gregach. Worf immediately stood and Gregach patted the air, indicating that the Klingon should sit down. On a small table beside the bed was a half-finished game of dyson. Gregach had beaten the Klingon in their first match, reminding him of his bet with that Keenan woman on the Enterprise and the infuriating defeat that had landed him on Kirlos in the first place.

  At least Worf’s game was improving a little. So far, this second match was too close to call.

  “I have come,” said the K’Vin, “to talk about things.”

  “Things?”

  “Yes, Worf. We are facing times of action and perhaps desperate measures. I find my own colleagues wanting; they are old men now and have no fire left in them. The Sullurh serve me well, but as far as I know they have never been in any armed conflict. You, on the other hand, must have seen considerable action.”

  “I have,” replied Worf, wondering where this was going.

  “The Klingons have always fascinated me, and I am sorry that we never met in a full-scale battle. I would have liked that. Never mind, though. I’m here to talk to you about the situation. Obviously everyone is pointing fingers, but no one is certain of anything.”

  “Actually, Ambassador, a few things are clear. One, the attacks on both sides seem to have been timed exactly and appear to indicate a planned attack. Two, since both sides have been attacked and people died in both Federation and K’Vin territory, this assault was not aimed at any one government. Three, the goal appears to be something on Kirlos itself; there must be some aspect of this world that has escaped everyone’s notice.”

  Gregach stopped Worf by coming over and looking at the officer. “Something on Kirlos? Such as what?”

  “We do not know. But the fighting is for something, not someone.”

  “Do you have any other conclusions?” Gregach genuinely admired Worf’s clear thinking.

  “Yes. Finally, we have reason to believe the conspiracy involves your aide, Gezor—but that is an assumption you seem to ignore.”

  Gregach walked about the small room, noting that he had never been here before. It was used by visiting dignitaries and in his years on Kirlos, he had never been visited. That had been all right with him; he had never missed the visits—until now. Could this Klingon be right? Could Gezor be part of a conspiracy? Worf spoke plainly and clearly. His first three points made sense, but this fourth . . . Why would Gezor betray his employer?

  “Why would Gezor be behind this?” he said aloud.

  “He may not be behind it, sir. He may be a part of some larger conspiracy.”

  “You’re certain of this, aren’t you, Lieutenant?” He turned to look directly at Worf, to see for himself the obvious sincerity behind the words. Worf merely nodded and looked straight ahead severely. “What, then, would you suggest I do?”

  “You could apprehend Gezor and ask him all the questions you seem intent on asking me and my fellow officers.”

  “And then?”

  “Get answers. Deal with the problem and be done with it. We should either stop the destruction or find a reason to fight—and then fight.”

  “You would like to fight, wouldn’t you?”

  “I enjoy battle, yes—but it must be a battle worth fighting, not one over bruised feelings; wasted efforts have been the downfall of many an emperor. The Klingons’ best battles occurred when worlds were at stake.”

  “You’ve gone through a lot of emperors, I would imagine.”

  Worf grunted. This aspect of his people, the calculated killing for mere political gain, seemed pointless to him. He was a purist. He wanted a battle to mean something.

  “You have given me much to think on; I thank you. Please get some rest. I imagine the coming days will tax us both.”

  Gregach turned and knocked once on the door. A guard opened it and allowed the ambassador to leave. Worf sat patiently on the bed, knowing that his time to act would come.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ILUGH WOULD HAVE PREFERRED to be near the K’Vin ambassador, where he belonged. But Gregach had deemed it more important for him to patrol the Strip.

  And now, finally, events had proven Gregach right. No sooner had Ilugh gotten word of the riot than he had commandeered a ground car and taken off in that direction. It wasn’t far enough away to think about transmatting
and besides, that was no longer a viable option, what with vandals having wrecked some of the booths in the area.

  As his driver tore through the winding city streets, Ilugh felt light-headed, dizzy. As if the plethane were still in his system. Of course, that was impossible—all traces of the gas had been purged from his bloodstream. No doubt this was one of the psychosomatic incidents his doctors had warned him about. What had they called them? Recurrences? But they’d said the incidents would be mild and of short duration.

  That showed how much they knew, he told himself, fighting off a wrenching wave of vertigo. Ilugh watched the street corners whiz by on either side of him. Maybe the doctors had never had an incident in a fully accelerated ground car.

  Not that he was going to complain about it. It had been difficult enough getting himself restored to active duty; he wasn’t going to ruin that now.

  Moments later, they hit the fringes of the riot. In keeping with his training, the driver didn’t slow up in the least. He bore down on the rioters until they finally noticed the car and gave way. Only when the crowd had grown too dense for anyone to move quickly did he decelerate and give the citizens more time to scatter.

  Ilugh was in the thick of the crowd before he realized the extent of the riot. It was big—much bigger than he would have guessed. So much for the vaunted K’Vin discipline; in times like these, it seemed, it was shed like an old skin.

  He and his driver spotted the beleaguered border guards at the same time. Even from a distance, Ilugh could tell that a couple of them had gone down. And if training had held, at least twice that number of civilians had been stunned in retribution.

  The guard in charge looked glad to see him. Ilugh knew him by sight, but not by name.

  “What’s going on?” he snapped as his ground car screeched to a halt. He leaped out in the space that the car’s arrival had cleared.