McCoy pursed his lips and lifted his hand. "Hold on a minute. We're not out yet, just down. We have to return to the ship and discuss strategy. Since these people are all in prime physical condition and don't seem to need us right away, I presume that's allowed?"
"We have completed our first de-briefing," Spock said. "I believe it would be useful to return to the Enterprise. We can be replaced by a security team."
Radak protested. "We have no need for protection."
"It's part of the regulations," Kirk said. The boy irritated him. "Station One is now in extended status. There has to be a team in the station at all times." He flipped open his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."
"Enterprise, Uhura here, Captain."
"How does the transporter check out?"
Uhura brought Scott on the line. "Captain, there's not a thing wrong with it. It's in prime condition."
"Any explanation for what happened to Mr. Spock?"
"No, sir. But I cannot blame the machines. My crews have been over them four times."
"Will he guarantee my atoms won't be spread over known space?" McCoy asked.
"Aye, Doctor," Scott said. "That I will, or throw out my engineering degrees and become a brewmaster."
"Not a fair exchange," McCoy said under his breath.
"We'll need a security team to replace us. Transport all of us but Chekov, and send down two replacements for the next watch period. Kirk out." He turned to Chekov. "Brief your replacements and stay with them until the change of watch. Then I want you back within four hours."
"Yes, sir."
Spock, Kirk, McCoy and Chapel began to transport seconds later. When they were gone, Chekov smiled nervously at the Vulcans and stood stiffly by the door of the mess. "I hope the presence of my men won't inhibit you," he said.
"They are most welcome," Radak said, passing him to leave. Grake, T'Prylla and T'Kosa followed. Anauk ordered Vulcan food from the autochef, then followed his comrades out the door to eat in privacy.
"I'm sure we all have questions," Kirk said as they stepped down from the transporter stage.
"And I'm sure you know what my question is," McCoy said, guiding the medical pallet.
"In my quarters. We need to talk. Let our hair down." He looked at Spock. "Most of us, anyway."
McCoy left the pallet in Chapel's charge and followed Kirk and Spock to the elevator. Just as the doors closed, two ensigns began beaming down to the station.
Kirk walked through the doors to his cabin and ran his hands through his hair. "God help us," he said. "There's something—"
"Why did you usurp my authority as ship's doctor?" McCoy asked sharply, confronting him.
"Because they were clearly reluctant to be treated," Kirk said. "And T'Raus hinted they would refuse if the issue was pressed. Regulations are regulations, Bones, but can we actually force them to submit?"
McCoy backed off, hands on hips. He had no immediate answer, but his anger still hadn't subsided.
"Spock, why shouldn't we tell them about Ybakra shields?" Kirk asked.
"I cannot answer that question at the moment, Jim. But there is something clearly amiss on Station One, and we should come to grips with it right away."
"I'll tell you one thing that's wrong," McCoy said. "The TEREC analyzer picked up some anomalous data. It had no immediate bearing on the case, but it doesn't make sense."
"And what's that?"
"Jim, the people in cold storage have been interfered with. I couldn't figure out the analyzer displays until a few minutes ago, but I'd swear something has been tapping them, drawing information from their brains, or storing information there. Now while we're talking about regulations, may I point out how illegal that is?"
"Jim," Spock said, "T'Prylla evinced not the slightest interest when I mentioned that the Spyorna had undergone change. That is not characteristic. Nor, I must say, is the behavior of their son and daughter. A Vulcan youth is not allowed to guide the conversation of his elders, certainly not past the age of ka nifoor."
"So what does it all add up to?"
"There's trouble in River City," McCoy said.
"I beg your pardon, Doctor?" Spock said, genuinely puzzled.
"Never mind. Jim, we should clear them all out and comb that station centimeter by centimeter. I don't trust any of them."
"For once, Doctor, we are in agreement," Spock said. "Though I am reluctant to detail all of my misgivings, there is something definitely wrong on Station One."
"Okay, we're agreed on that. Now for the next problem. The monitors aren't going to let us revive the sleepers."
"That just confirms our worst fears," Kirk said.
"Yes, and I'm not totally unprepared. I'm going to go up against the monitors. I'm going to fool them, Jim, and to do that, I'll need—"
"Bones—"
"I'll need both of you to help me."
"Bones, if we mess with the monitors, it means my command. Worse, it means all of us will face court-martial."
"They sent us here to rescue the people on Station One, and we can't do it because of a prissy computer with prissy laws built in! My job is to save lives, Jim, whether regulations allow it or not!"
"Clearly, technology has outstripped Federation laws," Spock said. "I, too, have investigated the possibility of failings within the monitors."
McCoy stared goggle-eyed at Spock, then smiled. "By God," he said. "I'm beginning to like this tall green-blooded fellow."
Kirk sat down heavily on his couch and laid both palms on the low table before him. "It would take two weeks for a subspace message to go out to Starfleet and come back. I've taken risks in my career, and I've stretched the regulations often enough that you should know I'm not squeamish. But I do worse than disobey Starfleet if we circumvent the monitors. I disobey my oath to serve the Federation. Every one of us owes our allegiance to the Federation, the civilian branches of government."
"Jim, I don't ask that we shut the monitors down. Only that we tickle them a bit."
"And how do you suggest we do that, Doctor?" Spock asked.
Kirk glanced between them. "I never thought I'd see the day when you two would be in cahoots."
"Why, Spock, seeing that you're so sympathetic, I was hoping you might be able to suggest something."
Chapter Thirteen
Mason stepped up to the door of the computer control center and braced herself. The door opened, and she was vastly relieved to find Veblen inside; Spock was not present. "The captain says I can find all the debriefing materials in the open log."
Veblen looked at her blankly, then leaned his head back and opened his mouth in an O. "You can access the open log through your quarters terminal. You don't have to come down here."
"I do," she said, "if I want to find out what's really going on. Is there anything not being put in the open log?"
Veblen smiled and shook his head. "I'm not the one to ask, Miss Mason."
She sat down in the console chair across from him and sighed deeply. "Thank God for someone who's willing to call me Miss instead of Mister. The captain did it once, but I'm sure he was being tactical. Why shouldn't I ask you?"
Veblen looked away, still smiling. "No comment to the press. But it should be obvious."
"I shouldn't come to you just because you're the odd man out, that's what you're saying?"
He nodded. "It's only natural. I bring the bad news. Since I'm staff instead of line, I don't get to do much else but bring bad news. And the bad news this time is in the open log; the captain put it there himself."
"Save me the trouble. I have to file a dispatch soon and I can't afford the luxury of deep research."
"The monitors are refusing to revive the frozen station personnel."
"In God's name, why?"
"Because they are legally dead."
"That's nonsense. If they can be revived, they aren't dead!"
"I only bring the news, I don't justify it."
Mason leaned forward. "Are the monitors ques
tioning Kirk's ability to command?"
This took Veblen aback. "Not at all," he said. "The captain has satisfied the monitors completely."
"And Dr. McCoy?'
"Dr. McCoy hasn't done anything but ask the monitors to make a judgment."
"There's no possibility Dr. McCoy is doing something wrong, and the monitors are balking because of that?"
"No possibility at all," Veblen said. He finished typing a series of commands into his console and pushed his chair back. "I think we should go … what's the phrase … off the record now."
"Certainly," Mason said.
The door opened and Spock entered. Mason sat straight up in the chair and avoided Spock's eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Veblen," she said, her voice higher pitched than before. "We'll talk later."
After she had left, Veblen prepared the screen for Spock's file work. "I don't think she's used to you, Mr. Spock," Veblen said.
Spock did not react. "Mr. Veblen, Dr. McCoy requests a list of the monitors' medical reference files."
"Yes, sir. I've finished processing the station data on Ybakra. As soon as I've made a hard copy for the doctor, I'll take a rest, unless you have further need of me."
"Thank you, Mr. Veblen, no."
Veblen caught up with Mason at a crew reference terminal outside the non-commissioned officers' lounge. "Could we talk for a moment?" he asked.
"Off the record, or on?"
"Off. About you, and about what I said just a few minutes ago."
"Sure." They took the elevator to Area 39, the all-crew recreation room, and found a seat at an empty games table in an isolated corner.
"First," Veblen said, "I don't appreciate your coming to me as if I were the weak point in the Enterprise crew."
"That wasn't my intention at all—"
"Second, I think you're on the wrong track, and I think you have some problems of your own to solve."
"Where do you get off—"
"Wait a minute. You said you'd hear me out." He stared at her with an intensity which cut off any further protest. "I'll tell you why I'm angry all of a sudden. Sure, I wear my uniforms a little out of regulation, and I'm not in the best shape compared to the rest of the crew. And I'm staff, the only staff officer aboard this ship. But I am no weak point, and my work proceeds no matter what anyone else's attitude to me is."
"It wasn't my intention—I mean, I've never thought of you as a weak point."
"Good. Then maybe my next shot will be more on target. I'm in charge of maintaining and testing the monitors. Incidentally, I work with Mr. Spock on all the ship's computers, because the monitors interface with virtually every system on the Enterprise. And I work with the captain because the monitors are very complex, and no command officer should be expected to be completely familiar with such a new and difficult system."
"Yes," Mason said, watching Veblen closely.
"If you think there's a story in the captain's problems adjusting to the monitors, that's fine. We may be uncomfortable with that kind of coverage, but that's the way things are; it's a legitimate story. But if you think you're going to find material proving that Captain Kirk is trying to frustrate the monitors, to somehow get around them, I'm here to tell you that's a dead end. I've had the captain question me, even harangue me, about some point or other, but not once has he suggested I was at fault, or that I am not a part of the Enterprise. Any alienation you see is largely due to me, not to the captain or the crew."
"I have to follow my instincts, Mr. Veblen."
"We're in a very tough situation here. Even tougher than you know." Veblen looked down at the table. "I'm sorry if I've been angry with you. What I say next has to be doubly confidential …"
To Mason, it was obvious that despite everything he had just said, Veblen needed to let his hair down with someone. "We've been off the record. I keep my word."
"The monitors—aren't perfect. They're only as good as the people who programmed them, and the laws they follow are not perfect. Dr. McCoy is up against a brick wall. I'm not going to say why, just yet, but I want you to understand. I want somebody to understand. They're going to have to do something, and if worse comes to worse, they're going to have to find a way around the monitors. And I am going to have to oppose them. I don't want to, but I will."
Mason regarded him with new understanding and respect. Veblen was deeply troubled; Why, she thought, he's probably as enamored of Captain Kirk as the rest of the crew!
"So maybe that's where your story should be. If the Federation wants to keep track of every little thing a starship does, perhaps we should find ways to monitor those who make the laws and expect us to carry them out. It should work both ways."
"What's the doctor going to do?"
"I don't know. I don't want to know. What I don't know won't hurt me, right?"
She nodded "So we're both outcasts here," she said. "By occupation, if nothing else."
"I hope you'll excuse me," Veblen said, flushing now. "But I believe you're having some problems, too."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I believe you're having difficulty facing up to Mr. Spock, perhaps even to Mr. Yimasa."
"What gives you that impression?" It was Mason's turn to redden.
"When I joined Starfleet, I came from an allhuman enclave on Titan."
"Where's that?"
"Saturn's largest moon. My folks were among the terraformers. They were great people, but they fed me a lot of nonsense about Vulcans and Andorrans and all the others—not those who don't have human shape; we hadn't even met any—but humanoids. I had a lot of garbage in my head to overcome. From the way you avoid Mr. Spock, and—" He paused. "Well, I've read parts of the file FNS sent up from Yalbo."
"My file?"
He nodded. "I think you have some of the same garbage to throw out. If it proves to be a problem, perhaps I can help."
"Thank you for the offer," Mason said, standing. "And I hope I've helped by being a sounding board."
Veblen shrugged.
"But from here on in, I think I'll want our interviews on the record. I have to get down to the station. I can't file reports when I haven't even been on the scene." She nodded curtly at him and left Area 39.
Chekov briefed his replacements, ensigns Pauli and Wah Ching, then called the Enterprise to be beamed back on board. As the transporter effect began, he saw Radak watching from the storage dome hatch. Parallel red lines crossed his vision as the beam disassembled his visual cortex; there was nothing unusual in that. But the expected reverse effect, and the appearance of the transporter room on the Enterprise, did not follow. Instead, Ensign Pavel Chekov found himself in a very dark, very lonely place, filled with a multitude of precisely phrased questions …
"Transporter interrupt!" Shallert punched the engineering alert button and immediately brought the backup systems on line. The transporter hummed a deep bass tone, which began to rise in frequency until it was a sweet, high whistle. Then the bass tone repeated.
"What is it, Mr. Shallert?" Scotty asked from the main engineering control deck.
"There's a delay in Ensign Chekov's assembly," Shallert said. "I have the backups—"
"Is he in form memory?" Scotty asked.
"I don't know, sir. The transporter isn't reporting anything."
"I'm on my way."
Just as Scott left the com, a single transporter effect began on the assigned disk. Shallert watched in amazement as Ensign Chekov assembled on the transporter deck—precisely forty seconds after he had been disintegrated on Station One.
* * *
"There's nothing wrong with the equipment," Scott repeated. He stood between McCoy and Kirk in the transporter room, his short black hair hanging in strands across his forehead, his uniform smudged and his hands clutching a pair of engineering diagnostic tricorders.
"Well, until you find out what is wrong," McCoy said, "I'm decertifying that monster." Scott turned to Kirk, his face betraying the most extreme anguish.
"Sir, if there had been ennathin
wrong, Chekov wouldna' ha' come back at all!"
"Scotty, there was a delay. He wasn't beaming through solid steel, he was coming up through vacuum. There has to be some explanation. I believe the transporter is operating correctly, but I must go along with Dr. McCoy. Until we find out what caused the anomalies, we will take the shuttle and avoid transporting personnel."
Scotty agreed with a nod, but his shoulders slumped. "I'll take enna suggestions you have, gentlemen."
Chekov surveyed his quarters with wide-eyed interest. He picked up the glass artifact he had purchased from an Andorran crewmember two years before; it scintillated in his hands, appearing as spiky as a sea-urchin, but feeling like a smooth sphere to the touch. "Glass with the same index of refraction as air," he said to himself, in his own voice, though he did not do the talking. He turned to the screen and touched the keyboard beneath hesitantly.
"Perhaps I should speak to the ceptain," he said. "This does not feel right. I should not feel like this." He forced himself to reach out to the wall com, but his hand slowly withdrew before touching the button. Sweat broke out on his forehead. "I only wish to be left alone, and to feel well," he said. The presence interfering with his actions, and using his voice, did not respond.
Mason finished composing her dispatch and handed the data pack to Uhura on the bridge. Uhura plugged it into her console and asked, "Are we making the grade?"
"It's a very tame report, if that's what you mean," Mason said. "I can't get close enough to the action."
Kirk and Spock came on the bridge. "Rowena, we're taking a shuttle to the station," Kirk said. She stared at him expectantly.
"Dr. McCoy doesn't like the idea, but you're invited."
"I'll go," she said firmly. "I'll go, and thank you."
Chapter Fourteen
Very early in his life, McCoy had learned to disguise his deepest emotions. He had reached the conclusion that most other people did not feel as he did, or hid themselves even more effectively; either way, it was best not to demonstrate the extremes he often felt. The best disguise, he had discovered, was camouflage—hence, the brusque exterior he showed to even his oldest friends.