“Story?” There was something about the way Batanides said the word that made Garrett uneasy. “Are you saying you don’t believe my first officer?”
“I said we were interested.”
“May I ask why?”
Batanides blew out, backhanded a wisp of hair fluttering along her cheek. “Captain, I can’t.Please understand my position. Most of what you want is classified.”
“At what level?”
“Need to know.”
“And you don’t think I need to know.”
“No, you don’t,” said Batanides, with such bluntness that Garrett blinked. “I’m sorry, but if the gloves are off here…”
“Please,” Garrett held up her hands, palms out, “don’t pull punches on my account. The gloves are off and…?”
“And the simple truth is, Captain, you and your crew are unimportant. You are not part of the bigger picture.”
Ouch.Well, at least the woman got to the point. “Bigger picture.”
Batanides dragged in a deep breath. Exhaled. “Lieutenant Laura Burke is part of an ongoing covert investigation into certain aspects of, shall we say, governmenton Farius Prime.”
“Government.” Garrett chewed the word. “A euphemism for?”
“The Asfar Qatala and Orion Syndicate.”
“Organized crime. Okay.” Garrett spread her hands, hiked her shoulders. “So what? What about them? It’s not like they’re some sort of secret.”
“But it’s not every day that a Starfleet officer chooses to go to a place where organized crime substitutes for law and order.”
Garrett had known that; in fact, she had a couple questions of her own about Halak’s choices. Still, she shook her head. “It’s not a proscribed world. Commander Halak didn’t break any rules.” She decided not to add that she thought Halak’s judgment stunk. Need to know, Marta.
“We’re aware of that aspect of the case. But he might be.”
“Be what? Involved? Halak?” Garrett had a sudden inspiration. “Does this have anything to do with that flap over the Ryns eight months back, before he transferred here?”
“Possibly. I’m sorry,” Batanides said quickly, in answer to Garrett’s grunt of exasperation. “That’s all I can say. Really. Try to understand myposition. Just how covert would anything be if I, or any other intelligence operative, had to explain every nuance, every move?”
She had a point; Garrett gave her that. “And the Vulcan?”
“Lieutenant Sivek, yes. We have enlisted the cooperation of Vulcan’s security agency, V’Shar. Sivek’s on loan.”
“Why is Vulcan interested?”
“Same reason as the Andorians, the Threllians, the Pythagos Clans. They’re all Federation worlds, and the Federation, as a whole, is more than a little concerned about red ice.”
“Red ice.” Garrett searched her memory. “A genetically altered opiate.”
“Right. At first, it showed up on a colony or two, none of them Federation. It may seem cold and calculated, but the Federation has enough to worry about. Playing the universe’s policeman means your resources get stretched, so you pick and choose what to worry about.”
Garrett knew it wasn’t fair, but she said it anyway. “So as long as red ice killed other people—non-Federation worlds, of course—then it was okay?”
“I’ll just let that pass,” said Batanides dryly. “Two years ago, red ice started popping up on Federation colonies. The remote ones, mainly, as if whoever distributing it knew that bypassing busier worlds would keep them in business longer. The Federation wants to stop the spread of the drug; they’ve asked for our help.”
“Fair enough. What does this have to do with my first officer?”
“We just want to listen to what he has to say. He’s been on Farius Prime; for whatever reason, he became a target. We want to know why. Other Starfleet officers have been to the planet and left without incident. Now Burke and Lieutenant Sivek are trained investigators and excellent intelligence officers. I… we’dlike you to give them access to Commander Halak’s ship.”
Ah, the royalwe. “For what purpose?”
“First, a complete and thorough search. Then the inquiry, and it’s more than likely we’ll want to ask Commander Halak some questions. Maybe have a few revelations of our own. Then, depending on what we… youfind, we go from there.”
“We.”
“Yes, Captain, we. We will consult with one another; we,in conjunction with other Starfleet officers, will decide what to do.”
“Just how much weight will myopinion have?”
For the first time, Batanides smiled. “Don’t you think that depends on what we find, Captain?”
And, with that, Garrett had to be satisfied. After Batanides rang off, Garrett punched up the bridge, and gave the appropriate orders at which point Bulast informed her that Dr. Stern wanted to see her in sickbay. Now.
“Actually,” said Bulast, “the way she said now…”
“Meant yesterday.”Garrett sighed. Stern was probably the only person aboard she let boss her around—to a point. “I got it. Tell her I’ll be right down.”
Great.Garrett ducked out of her ready room, bypassing the bridge, and scuttled down the hall toward a turbolift. The doors swished open; they hissed closed; and, as if on cue, Garrett’s migraine thumped to life. This is just turning out to be another great day in a string of great days.
The Enterprise’s chief medical officer, Jo Stern, eyed her captain as Garrett stepped into Stern’s office in sickbay. “You look like hell,” Stern said.
“Thanks,” said Garrett, dropping into a chair across Stern’s desk. She winced, blinked against the overhead lights. “You always keep it so damn bright in here?”
“Headache?” Stern depressed a control and the clear soundproof glass door to her office hummed shut.
“Worse.” Propping her elbows on Stern’s desk, Garrett washed her face with her hands. “Migraine.”
Stern commanded the lights to half. “Want something for it?”
“No.”
“Good, I’ll have some, too.” Stern pushed back from her desk and crossed to a thermos she kept filled with hot coffee for precisely these occasions. She siphoned out two gray stoneware mugs’ worth and popped the top of a container of chilled cream. “Too early for a drink, so coffee will have to do. Lucky for you, caffeine does wonders for migraines. That’s cream and two sugars, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Garrett said, accepting the mug of steaming coffee from her friend. Stern’s brew was nearly as good as her own. Garrett inhaled, blew then sipped. She sighed, this time with pleasure. “You don’t know how good this tastes.”
“Bet I do,” said Stern, sliding behind her desk again. She eyed Garrett through the steam rising from her own mug. “You ready to talk about that call from Ven yet?”
Stern was an old friend and knew about Garrett’s divorce and the agony Garrett felt over her and Jase having to live apart. Still, Garrett wasn’t really in the mood to rehash it all. So, instead, Garrett sipped, swallowed. “Not really. Thanks, though.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Anyway, that’s old news. A lot’s happened since then.” (The call had come a few days ago, but Garrett felt like she’d aged twenty years.) Garrett cradled her mug in both hands, enjoying the warmth that came through the stoneware. “So what’s on your mind, Jo? You gave Bulast the impression that this was some sort of emergency.”
“In a way.”
“Halak?”
“You could say that.”
“How is he?”
“He looks like hell, too.” Stern had a smoky voice that always reminded Garrett of dim bars. This was apt: Stern, like Garrett, took her bourbon neat. “But I’d say it’s a toss-up who looks worse, you or him. Of course, Halak’s got a lot of reasons. On the other hand, so do you. Other than the reasons we all know, like worrying about crew morale, having to make notification to next of kin, and whipping your acting first officer into shape…how is Bat-Levi doing, by the way?”