A contest of principles, p.30
A Contest of Principles, page 30
“With all due respect,” Spock answered, “our Starfleet scanners are a generation more sophisticated than those available to your scientists. Moreover, the pulsar was merely passing through an adjacent region of deep space; it was not a permanent fixture in this sector, which is precisely why we seized the opportunity to study it once we detected it.”
Along with his comrades, Spock had been forced to trade his Starfleet uniform for local garb to avoid attracting undue attention. A cap masked his Vulcan ears, although his and Levine’s clean-shaven features still distinguished them from the average Ozalorian male, who appeared prone to displaying their facial hair. Chapel and Godwin blended in rather more easily.
“So you say,” Salokonos said. “And yet I wonder about your alleged ‘emergency.’ How convenient that you were observing a transitory phenomenon that we are unable to verify.”
“Facts are neither convenient nor inconvenient,” Spock replied. “They simply are.”
“Send them back where they came from, Your Excellency,” a robed woman urged Salokonos. Her bald head, which was adorned with curious tattoos, seemed hardly in keeping with the appearance of other Ozalorian women, such as Colonel Jaresi back at the military base. Unusual white eyes, all but lacking irises, held little sympathy for Spock and his fellow prisoners. “We want no part of the Federation and its spies.”
“If we are spies, we are exceedingly poor ones,” Spock replied, “considering how easily you detected our arrival.” He turned toward the woman. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”
“This is Lossu Vumri,” the monarch declared. “A healer of renown, as well as a valued member of my court.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, madam,” Spock said.
“Don’t be,” she replied. “I am no friend of the Federation.”
Duly noted, Spock thought.
“Nor am I,” Salokonos said. “To be frank, Commander Spock, I find your chance arrival on my world rather too coincidental for my tastes, in light of recent other disturbances.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “And those would be?”
Was their arrival, immediately following McCoy’s abduction, the coincidence to which Salokonos referred? Spock could see how the “accidental” arrival of a Starfleet landing party would seem extremely suspicious—if McCoy was indeed being held on Ozalor.
“None of your concern,” Salokonos said, “if your landing was as unplanned as you profess. I remain unconvinced of this, however. Therefore, I am reluctant to send you on your way until I am confident that you had no ulterior motive for violating our borders.”
“I regret that you doubt our motives,” Spock said, not entirely sincerely. As a matter of fact, Salokonos’s suspicions served Spock’s own interests; he was in no hurry to leave Ozalor before determining whether McCoy had indeed been abducted by Count Rayob and brought to the planet. “In any event, I believe our damaged vessel requires considerable repair and refueling before we can even attempt to depart your world.”
This was an exaggeration of sorts. Given the opportunity, Spock expected he could restore Copernicus to working order in no time.
“You need not concern yourself with that shuttlecraft, which is now the property of Ozalor,” Salokonos decreed, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “If and when you are allowed to leave us, you will be taken to neutral territory, such as Braco, where your people may recover you.”
Spock felt obliged to feign a desire to return to the Enterprise. “And when might that occur?”
“If and when I so choose,” Salokonos said, “and no sooner.”
“But why delay, Your Excellency?” Vumri asked. “Why harbor these Federation vipers in our midst any longer than necessary? Let us not forget that, even now, the Federation is consorting with Vok, our primal enemy.”
“All the more reason not to proceed rashly,” Salokonos said. “Make no mistake, Commander Spock, I am well aware of the Enterprise’s current assignment to Vok, and of the heated presidential election being waged there as we speak. Vok’s politics are their own affair, of course, but I would be a fool not to monitor what goes on there and what is being said by the various candidates about Ozalor and Braco. Given a choice, I would prefer not to fan the flames of war at this critical juncture, which makes your ill-timed presence here all the more delicate a matter.”
“I sympathize with your position,” Spock said, watching his words carefully. He had to avoid persuading Salokonos to release them while not making it too apparent that they wished to remain on Ozalor for the time being. “You may rest assured, however, that the Enterprise’s mission to Vok is simply to observe the election there and see to it that the planet’s president is elected fairly. We had no mandate to involve ourselves in Ozalor’s affairs at all.”
That much was true. Had Doctor McCoy not been abducted, and had the clues not pointed toward Ozalor, they would have had no reason to approach the planet at all, let alone force a landing here. Nor did he intend for his mission to influence the election on Vok if that could be avoided.
“I wish I could believe you, Commander,” Salokonos said. He looked past Spock to address the security detail that brought the Starfleet captives from the base. “How many individuals know of this incident?”
“Only those directly involved in the capture and transport of the prisoners,” the captain of the detail reported. “All such personnel have been informed that the subject is not to be discussed, upon penalty of court-martial.”
“Good,” Salokonos said. “I want this entire incident, including the existence of the prisoners, kept strictly classified.” He looked over Spock and the others. “Have them confined to a secure location in the palace until I decide how best to handle this. And do so discreetly. I want this kept off the books, understood?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Salokonos fixed his gaze back on Spock and the others. “I would apologize for not being more hospitable, but you are hardly invited guests. We will see to your comfort and safety, to a degree, but are under no obligation to do any more than that. Be grateful that we allowed your vessel to touch down on our planet in the first place.”
“You may rely on that, sir,” Spock said.
He was not looking forward to being held captive again, nor was he entirely certain how to continue searching for McCoy from a position of confinement; nevertheless, he felt they were making progress in their investigation—and were perhaps one step closer to finding the missing doctor.
First, we made it onto Ozalor. Now we are in the Yovode’s palace.
But where was McCoy?
Thirty-Six
Ozalor
Spock was becoming a connoisseur of captivity.
The rescue party found themselves confined to a well-equipped gymnasium beneath the Summer Palace. Medieval-looking shackles and oubliettes, preserved as décor, suggested that the subterranean vaults had been employed as dungeons in bygone days before being converted to less barbaric purposes. Compared to his other recent prisons, the accommodations were more comfortable than the Pit but less so than the luxury hotel suites on Braco. The amenities included showers, lavatories, padded mats, exercise equipment, temperature controls, and even a handful of virtual-reality booths for entertainment. Spock contented himself with simply resting on a workout bench, while his companions occupied themselves as best they could. He imagined that they were being confined to the gym, instead of a formal containment facility, in order to keep their captivity out of any official records. Or perhaps Salokonos simply wanted to avoid treating them too harshly for the present?
“How long do you think he intends to hold us?” Chapel asked. She paced restlessly about the room.
“Perhaps only until the election is over on Vok?” Spock speculated. By his calculations, the balloting was already underway on that other world. “So that the news will not influence the results?”
“Or maybe it depends on who gets elected.” Godwin worked out on a weight machine; Spock had noted earlier that any individual free weights had been removed, no doubt to prevent them from being employed as weapons. “What if Salokonos is waiting to see who ends up in charge on Vok?”
“That’s no good.” Levine was on his back, exercising his legs via a wall-mounted treadmill similar to the one used for physical examinations in the Enterprise’s sickbay. “We’ve got things to do, if you know what I mean. We can’t just cool our heels here indefinitely.”
“I quite agree, Lieutenant,” Spock said.
The possibility that they were being monitored hampered their ability to speak freely. Granted, the gymnasium was not designed to be as secure as an actual prison, but Spock preferred to err toward caution anyway. He discreetly eyed the entrance to the shower room; it was likely it lacked any security cameras for reasons of privacy, which presented definite possibilities should they need to conspire with less fear of being overheard.
“All right, up against the wall, away from the door!”
The command issued from an intercom unit on the wall near the entrance. Spock and the others complied, lining up at the opposite end of the gym. A barred door, with transparent aluminum panels between the antique metal bars, slid open to admit a uniformed jailer.
“You have a visitor,” the man stated, sounding none too pleased about it. He patted the disruptor holstered at his hip, as though there was any chance of them overlooking it. “Mind your manners and don’t even think about trying anything.”
“Acknowledged,” Spock said, curious as to who their visitor might be.
The guard took a deep breath and assumed a more formal tone.
“Announcing Her Highness, Avomora, Yiyova of Ozalor.”
A young woman glided into the gym upon a mobile chair. Spock recognized Avomora from her official portraits, while recalling that Yiyova was roughly equivalent to crown princess, although the palace’s automatic translators clearly preferred the local term. He noted the agate bracelet on her wrist, which would someday be joined by her predecessors’ bands when she eventually took the throne. More mysterious was why she was apparently confined to the chair. A quilted blanket covered her lower body, making it difficult to determine whether there was any obvious defect with her legs. A half-dozen armed guards accompanied her. Their expressions ranged from wary to hostile.
“Are all these soldiers truly necessary, Sergeant Muzla?” she asked, indicating the guards. “These are Starfleet officers, not Orion pirates.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I can’t deny you access to the prisoners, not if you command it, but I’m not going to take any chances with your safety.” He scowled at the gym’s unwilling inmates. “Keep your distance. No sudden moves. There will be no warnings if you even appear to pose a threat to the Yiyova.”
“We would not think of it,” Spock said.
“See that you don’t,” Muzla said redundantly.
“We are honored by your visit,” Spock said to the royal. He noted her familial resemblance to her father, but remained puzzled by her seeming infirmity, which he did not believe to be a matter of public knowledge. Certainly, Spock had noted no reference to her being disabled when prepping for their arrival on Ozalor. It seemed the royal palace guarded its secrets well.
“I heard through the grapevine of your presence in the palace and could hardly stay away,” she said. “I could pretend I am simply extending a courtesy to travelers from afar, but I’ll confess to a healthy amount of curiosity as well. We don’t get many visitors from the Federation.”
Interesting, Spock observed. She had not said they never received such visitors. “Few at all, I imagine.”
Avomora opened her mouth, as though to reply, then glanced cautiously at the guards surrounding her, who were paying close attention to all that transpired. Spock got the distinct impression there was more she wished to say, but that she was inhibited from doing so.
“So one would think,” she said cryptically.
Muzla cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but we should watch what we say to these prisoners. They may well be Federation spies, operating in collaboration with our enemies on Vok.”
“Have no fear, Sergeant,” she said breezily, laughing off his concerns. “I’m not about to give away any state secrets or royal scandals.” She smiled at the landing party. “You must forgive the sergeant. He’s afraid that I’ll carelessly reveal—what is the expression?—the ‘bones in the cupboard.’ ”
“Skeletons in the closet?” Chapel suggested.
“Ah, we obviously need to adjust our automatic translators,” the princess said. “Funny, though, I could have sworn the phrase was ‘bones,’ not skeletons, as in heaven forbid I should tell you where the bones are hidden.”
The stress she placed on the word “bones” was not lost on Spock, although he easily concealed any obvious interest or reaction. Was she indeed confirming that she had encountered McCoy—and that he was being kept in some secluded corner of the palace?
“I take your meaning,” he replied. “A venerable edifice such as this palace must inevitably have its fair share of bones tucked away out of sight. Figuratively speaking, that is.”
She nodded. “I see Vulcans are as perceptive as they say.” She peered at the exposed points of his ears. “You are a Vulcan, correct, and not a Romulan?”
“Romulans are unlikely to serve in Starfleet,” he said.
“So I understand,” she replied. “Despite my rather cloistered existence, I make it a point to learn a great many valuable things.”
“That much is clear,” Spock replied. “I applaud your curiosity. It was, in fact, the pursuit of knowledge that led us to your world, albeit indirectly.”
“Ah, yes,” she said. “A scientific survey gone amiss, I believe?”
“Something like that,” Chapel said. “Speaking of bones and such, I’m a nurse by profession. I’d be happy to volunteer my services at whatever infirmary or medical facility you might have on the premises.”
“That’s very gracious of you,” Avomora said. “I can’t make any promises, but let me see what I can do about—”
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” Muzla interrupted, “but that’s probably enough for now. You mustn’t tire yourself.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Sergeant,” she said, frowning.
“I wish I could, Your Highness, but I answer to your father as well, and he’s not going to be happy about this visit as it is.”
“You were acting on my orders,” she said.
“Yes, Your Highness, but even still…”
“… I’m only the Heir, not the Yovode.” Avomora sighed. “Very well, Sergeant. I have no desire to get you or your guards in trouble with my father. I will not linger much longer.” She turned toward the landing party. “Before I go, is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? More blankets and pillows, perhaps?” She shivered theatrically. “Even with modern climate controls, these old vaults can get drafty, I know.”
“That would be most kind,” Chapel said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She tugged on the quilt covering her lap and legs. “Here. This will make a good start.”
“Your Highness,” Muzla protested. “Is this wise? You didn’t say anything about passing objects to the prisoners.”
“It’s just a blanket, Sergeant,” she said, visibly exasperated. “Stop being so paranoid. You’re embarrassing me.”
Muzla blanched. He was young enough, Spock noted, that he could reasonably expect to serve under Avomora someday, when she finally ascended to the throne.
“My apologies, Your Highness, but please allow me to personally transfer your gift to the prisoners… for security’s sake.”
“If you must.”
She carefully folded the quilt into a square and handed it to the jailer, who crossed the gym to give it to Chapel, before returning to the princess’s side.
“Now then, Your Highness,” he prompted, “if we’re quite finished…”
“Yes, yes, Sergeant, I get the message. Just let me bid farewell to our guests… for now.” She looked at the prisoners. “Have a pleasant evening. I regret we cannot talk longer. Perhaps we will speak again, sooner than one might think.”
She winked at Spock.
“This way, Your Highness, if you please.”
“Lead the way, Sergeant.”
Rotating her chair, she exited the gym, taking the guards with her. The transparent door slid shut behind them, leaving the prisoners alone in the vault. Spock waited a brief interval, to be certain that their jailers would not return, before turning toward Chapel.
“Excuse me, Nurse. May I borrow that quilt for a short period?”
“Of course, Mister Spock. Are you chilled?”
“To a degree, but I also find myself interested in studying the local textiles.”
Avomora had demonstrated an interest in communicating more than the guards might allow. Spock pondered what lengths she might go to achieve that end.
“I don’t blame you,” Chapel said, playing along. It was evident she realized Spock’s interest was more than merely academic. She eyed him quizzically as she handed him the blanket. “It’s lovely work.”
He quietly retreated to a corner of the gym, betraying no unusual eagerness or curiosity. Chapel casually positioned herself between him and the transparent door, shielding him from view. Levine and Godwin followed her lead by engaging in vigorous calisthenics in front of him as he methodically palpated the quilt in search of… what?
It was possible that he was overestimating the Yiyova’s deviousness, yet he preferred to think that her parting wink had been a signal. Such hopes were rewarded when his probing fingers detected a small, solid object within one of the quilt’s corner panels. He deftly tore open the panel at its seam and reached within, extracting a compact metal earpiece minute enough to be detectable only by a close physical inspection. Glancing about warily, he activated the device by pressing a button at one end, then swiftly inserted it into his right ear. That both Ozalorian and Vulcan ear canals conformed to basic humanoid design meant it fit snugly enough to remain in place.
