Leone sighed as he noted the arrival of Muller’s dining companions, both of whom were taking an interest in the conversation. “That’s where you and I have a problem, Lieutenant. You see, as the ship’s doctor, it’s part of my job to ensure that the crew’s morale remains high at all times. Your bad-mouthing Captain Khatami erodes that morale. That’s a problem for me.”
“You don’t say?” asked Muller.
“In fact,” Leone said, his voice raising in volume, “it looks like it might be a problem for you, too.” He made a show of squinting as he stared down the other man. “Come to think of it, you’re looking a bit worn right now. Maybe you ought to excuse yourself to your quarters. You know, relax, get some rest.”
“Forget it, Doctor,” Muller said, offering a smug grin. “I feel just fi—”
The rest of his sentence was lost, shoved back into his mouth as Leone’s fist impacted with the lieutenant’s jaw. Muller’s head snapped back and he fell like a limp doll, unconscious even before he hit the deck.
Leone turned, fire in his eyes, to stare at Muller’s two friends, who still stood nearby. “Mr. Muller’s condition looks contagious,” he said. “How do you gentlemen feel?”
“Uh, I feel great, sir,” the ensign in security red replied, his head nodding so fast Leone thought it might break loose from his neck. Looking to his companion, he asked, “You okay, Brad?”
The crewman in the jumpsuit simply nodded.
“I’m thrilled to hear it,” Leone said, nodding to each of them. He indicated the insensate Muller with a wave of his hand. “I suggest the two of you help spread the word about this…disease I’ve just treated. Mr. Muller here just might be Patient Zero if we’re not careful. You think?”
The two men mumbled something which to Leone’s ears sounded like acquiescence. Offering a curt nod, the doctor turned and marched up the corridor toward the turbolift, ignoring the stares of baffled onlookers. No doubt word would make its way with undue haste to Captain Khatami, who was sure to address the issue with a rich, verbose dressing-down.
He ignored that thought for now, though. Waiting until he was well around a bend in the passageway and out of sight of the milling of officers near the mess hall, he lifted his aching right hand and flexed his fingers, already noting the discolorations on his knuckles, which appeared to be well on their way to becoming full-blown bruises.
Damn, that hurts worse than the horseradish.
30
He knew it was his imagination, of course, but the longer Reyes studied the star chart as displayed on the viewscreen in his office, the more he believed that he could see the hole in the galaxy where the planet Palgrenax once had been.
“What do we know?” he asked, his attention remaining focused on the computer-generated representation of the Taurus Reach. The map had been redrawn several times during the past months, regularly updated with new territorial borders, lines representing patrol routes, points of interest, and potential hazards in accordance with the increased presence not only of Federation colonies and ships but also those of the Klingon Empire.
Standing to the left of the screen, her hands clasped behind her back, T’Prynn replied, “According to telemetry received from long-range sensors, the planet exploded at 2247 hours, station time.”
Reyes turned from the viewer and crossed the office to his desk. Dropping into his chair, he reached for his cup of coffee, his second since being roused from a fitful sleep less than thirty minutes previously. As he drank generously from the warm brew and despite every fiber of his being telling him to look elsewhere, the commodore could not help but glance at the chronometer situated at the base of his desktop computer terminaclass="underline" 0342 hours.
The start of another beautiful day.
“To say that speculation is running rampant would be an understatement of epic proportion,” Ambassador Jetanien offered from where he stood before Reyes’s desk. The commodore was gratified to note that the towering Chelon apparently had chosen to forgo imbibing the hateful beverage he normally consumed in great quantities and the odor of which usually sent Reyes looking for something in which to vomit.
Taking a generous sip from his coffee cup, Reyes said, “But they don’t know what we know.” He looked to T’Prynn. “Do they, Commander?”
The Vulcan shook her head. “Correct, sir. The Klingon vessel that was in orbit of the planet until the moment of its destruction reported significant power readings emanating from multiple subterranean sources, all of which were working in concert to introduce massive tectonic destabilization. Prior to that, no geological anomalies which might account for such an event were detected.”
“And these power readings,” Jetanien said, “they were the same as those observed by the Endeavourat Erilon?”
“The indications are that technology similar to that discovered on Erilon was in use on Palgrenax, though on a much greater scale, of course.”
Frowning as he considered the information for the tenth time since being roused at this unholy hour, Reyes asked, “You’re saying that whoever built those structures on Palgrenax included what was basically a planetary self-destruct?”
Pausing a moment as if to consider the notion, T’Prynn then offered a curt nod. “That is essentially correct, sir.”
“Any chance the Klingons did this to themselves?” Reyes asked. “An accident of some kind while investigating something on or beneath the surface?”
T’Prynn replied, “That is a possibility, of course, though nothing in any of the communications we have been able to decipher to this point provides any such indication.”
“Perhaps the Tholians found a way to trigger the event,” Jetanien said. “Though I suspect you would have found something in their communications to that effect.”
“Much of it has defied our attempts at decryption,” T’Prynn said, “but we have translated enough to know that the Tholians are blaming the Klingons, accusing them of unleashing some form of heretofore unknown superweapon on the planet. As expected, the Klingons are leveling similar allegations toward the Tholians, claiming the Assembly is exacting vengeance for the isolated encounters that have already taken place.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Reyes released a small sigh. “So, everybody thinks someone else did it, but nobody knows who, to say nothing of why.”
That latter question burned in the commodore’s mind, even more so than wanting to know the identity of whoever might have carried out such a calamitous action. There was more to consider here than conflict between the Klingons and the Tholians, he knew. Whoever or whatever had destroyed Palgrenax, they had done so without any apparent regard for the race of intelligent beings that had sprung up on that world. It suggested that the responsible party had an agenda which did not include the fate of innocents as a priority.
Not for the first time, Reyes felt the pull of regret as he considered the consequences of the Federation’s movements into the Taurus Reach on those civilizations native to the region. While Starfleet had taken great pains to avoid contact with local species—especially those that had not yet progressed to warp flight—the Klingons of course had felt no such compelling need. Seven planets had fallen under the empire’s banner, four of them inhabited.
Could Starfleet and the Federation have done more to prevent that unchecked expansion? The question had nagged at Reyes more times than he had bothered to count. While it could be argued that the Klingons might eventually have ventured into this region of space on their own, planting their flag on various worlds in the same manner in which they already had done so, Reyes also believed that it was an argument put forth by weaker men.