Regarding him for a moment, Fisher said, “You look like hell. When’s the last time you had a decent night’s sleep?”
M’Benga shrugged. “I do all right.” As had become his habit, he would seek a few hours’ sleep in one of the ward’s unused patient beds, wanting to be close at hand in the unlikely event that T’Prynn’s condition changed to any measurable degree. Stepping away from the bed, he crossed the room toward his desk and indicated the computer terminal with a wave of his hand. “I do have one lead that hasn’t hit a dead end just yet.”
He reached the workstation and keyed a command string to bring up a log of communiqués he had received in recent weeks. “A friend of mine, a Denobulan physician who also interned at a Vulcan hospital, suggested that this could be the result of a mind meld that was forcibly interrupted. If, for instance, she was subjected to a meld against her will and that meld was broken, her own mind may have rallied in some sort of self-defense. If the other party’s melding abilities were far superior to her own, she may not have been able to extract herself from the union without inflicting severe psychological damage to herself.”
“That’s an interesting leap you just made there, Doctor,” Fisher said, pulling another chair closer to the desk and taking a seat. “What makes you think she was forced into a meld?”
Pointing to the computer screen, M’Benga replied, “Something my friend said. Remember what I told you about T’Prynn and the marriage challenge she underwent, where she ended up killing her fiancé in ritual combat?”
Fisher added. “Just don’t ask me to say its name.”
M’Benga ignored the joke. “Part of the original betrothal process involves a mind meld when the parties are children. Another meld takes place during the actual marriage ceremony. So, I started wondering, what if, during the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee,T’Prynn’s fiancé tried to force her to meld. Maybe she killed him in a desperate attempt to break that meld. That would almost certainly have some debilitating effects.” He shrugged. “Of course, without being able to talk to anyone on Vulcan about this, it’s just a theory.” To that end, he had sent all manner of messages to the Vulcan Science Academy, including a complete dissertation of his hypothesis. He had yet to receive a response to any of his queries.
“So,” Fisher said, “what’s the next step?”
Stifling a yawn, M’Benga shook his head. “For now? Continue to monitor her treatment and hope that she actually is in some form of healing trance. That, or fly to Vulcan, kidnap one of their doctors, and shanghai him back here.”
“You could take her to Vulcan,” Fisher said.
It was a thought M’Benga had considered himself, more than once. “It’s almost nine weeks’ travel from here.” Nodding toward T’Prynn, he added, “Before I subject her to that, I’d like to verify that someone will be willing to help her when we finally get there.”
Fisher said, “If she never comes out of that coma, someone on Vulcan likely will want her taken there, anyway. You might be speeding up the inevitable.”
“Maybe,” M’Benga replied, hearing his uncertainty lacing the single word. Still, the bio monitors overseeing T’Prynn’s condition told him enough to keep going. He was certain that somewhere deep in the recesses of her tortured mind, T’Prynn was fighting to escape whatever gripped her. Even if he could not offer assistance, he still wanted to be here when—if—she managed to claw her way to consciousness.
“Something inside her simply refuses to give up,” he said, studying T’Prynn’s still form once more, “and I don’t plan to give up on her, either.”
6
Though it often had a calming effect on his stomach and even went so far as to alleviate the collected stresses of a given day, the bowl of chilled Coferian oyster broth offered nothing for Jetanien on this night.
It probably has more to do with my choice of drinking companions.That, the Rigelian Chel ambassador decided, to say nothing of the subject of the conversation in which he currently was engaged. Jetanien pushed his bowl to the far corner of the desk and returned his attention to the tabletop viewer before him. On the screen, a burly Klingon regarded him with a look of disdain to which the ambassador had become all too accustomed.
“Lugok,” Jetanien said, reining in his growing exasperation and attempting to retain his composure, “how in the name of all that is civilized and sane do you think the Federation is going to react to this?”
The Klingon ambassador shrugged. “I imagine it will do what it always does: flail about, decrying the action as hostile, and make stern noises about swift and unforgiving retribution, all while quietly hoping something more serious comes along with which to occupy their attention. Earthers have no stomach for conflict, Jetanien. We both know that.”
An aggravated rattle exploded from Jetanien’s oversized proboscis. “You’ve been reading too much of your own propaganda, Lugok. If anything, humans have proven themselves to be among the most brutal of known sentient species. When provoked, they can and will fight, particularly in defense of those things they hold dear. Your ship attacked an unarmed farmingcolony, Ambassador. They obliterated a defenseless freighter for no reason.”
Not responding immediately, Lugok instead reached for something out of range of the viewer’s video pickup, and Jetanien watched as the Klingon brought a stout, wide-based mug to his mouth. When he pulled it away, a red film was visible on his mustache, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. “Rest assured, Ambassador, that if the empire truly had viewed this willful encroachment on our territory as of any real concern, the colony itself would simply have been removed, rather than allowed to leave unmolested. As for the freighter, it was a regrettable error, I admit. Our vessel’s sensors were overdue for refit with more modern systems. However, it’s worth noting that the Earther colony was trespassing on a world already claimed by the empire.”
Feeling his ire rising, Jetanien cleared his throat. “Lugok, setting aside the apparent fact that no sign of Klingon presence on the planet was detected prior to the colony’s establishment, tell me this wasn’t retribution for what happened to your people on Gamma Tauri IV.”
“This was not retribution for what happened to our people on Gamma Tauri IV,”Lugok said, his expression so neutral, so impassive, that Jetanien wanted very much to reach through the display viewer and throttle the Klingon. “Believe that, or don’t. Either way, it is no concern of mine.”
While he did not say so aloud, the Chel suspected the real reason for the empire’s interest in the planet, to say nothing of its willingness to use any means to defend that interest. Could it be that Lerais II was home to Shedai technology? There would, of course, be no way to determine that without a comprehensive sensor scan, something a colony transport would have been unable to accomplish. As had been demonstrated on several occasions, the Shedai artifacts found on other worlds throughout the Taurus Reach were curiously immune to detection unless one knew precisely what was being sought.
And if I’m right, the Klingons will never allow a Starfleet vessel with the proper equipment anywhere near that planet.Indeed, Jetanien decided, such an act might well spark another, larger confrontation.
For the first time since their dialogue had begun, Lugok abandoned his relaxed posture and leaned forward until his grizzled features all but filled Jetanien’s screen. “Unless I’m mistaken, there is no treaty between our governments requiring the empire to notify the Federation of its activities, particularly in open territories. It is unfortunate that your colonists suffered from a simple technical malfunction, but there is little to be done about that now. Perhaps if a greater level of trust existed between our two governments, this tragedy might have been avoided.”