Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story

- Text Size +

Scene 5

            Nurse Onatah was sleeping the serene sleep of the just—undeserved, in her case, though she wouldn’t have believed it. She was dreaming of promotions and exciting new opportunities. She had no idea that her life was about to turn upside down, that she would never again receive anything like a promotion…

            A hand clapping down over her mouth jolted her awake. She screamed, but no sound came. She couldn’t move, couldn’t resist the two dark figures who lifted her up out of her bed. She struggled, but her motions were as gagged as her voice. Terror crowded her in the dark room, her safe quarters on the Enterprise.

            “Marzat, beam us aboard,” a quiet—and strangely familiar—voice said. She must have passed out during the beaming, because everything was dark for a long time.

            “Time to wake up, Nurse!” boomed an unbearably chipper, deep voice in her ears. The darkness was yanked away with the cloth bag pulled off her head.

            She was sitting in a shuttlecraft, an unfamiliar one, completely immobile, bound with a forcefield to her chair. The terror hadn’t gone with the darkness.

            “Good morning, Nurse Onatah.” A tall man stood in front of her. She couldn’t identify him for a moment, not with fear dimming her eyes. But then—

            “Oh, excuse me. Let me remove your gag so you can talk.”

            “You’re that—that astrophysicist!” she gasped.

            “Actually, I’m not really an astrophysicist. I represent a more lucrative trade.” He leaned down, smiling into her face. The smile wasn’t echoed in his dark eyes. His eyes hated her. “Isn’t that right, Marzat?”

            The pilot leaned back out of his chair. “Right you are, Jarod!” His skin was bright green.

            “Ah, do you begin to guess? Let’s see if you’ve guessed right. I am a dealer in sentience, Nurse Onatah. You see, the Orion Syndicate—oh, that’s caught your attention now, hasn’t it? The Orion Syndicate doesn’t only deal in flesh. It also deals in minds. Valuable minds, like yours. Your Qinar frontal lobes alone—” he put out his hand to the raised ridges over her eyes “—could get me a small fortune. But let’s not be mercenary. Contained within the whole package of your highly functioning self, those frontal lobes could do a great deal of good for the well-being of many people.”

            “Well-being?” she spat. “Since when does the Orion Syndicate care about the well being of anything but its purse?”

            “Well, it depends on how you look at it, Nurse Onatah. If the Syndicate is happy, its people are happy. The richer it is, the better the overall economy. The wealth will trickle down; everyone will benefit from a thriving society.”

            “Everyone except the people whose backs it is built on!” she cried.

            His long face loomed down at her again, his eyes dark slits. “Exactly. Isn’t it amazing how logical it can be made to seem when you’re not the one in captivity? Aren’t you a participant in a slave trade of minds, Nurse Onatah? You should understand how it works. You have something in that head of yours that others need. I feel justified in taking it, because it will benefit my society. Isn’t that what you told yourself? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? Well, now you are the few.”

            “No—no!” she cried, trying to hold on to what she had been told. “That’s not how it was! We’re trying to save lives!”

            “By destroying others?” His voice had risen to a roar, chilling her. “By destroying the lives of children, the most precious thing you have? Did you ever see that child, that little boy, Krantregk, when you studied him? Did you see him as a set of lobes inside a shell? Or did you ever think to see him as a child who needs his parents, needs to love and be loved? Did you think about the effects on a child of being raised without parents and knowledge of who he is? No! All you thought about was an isolated brain in a package of bone. Well, you’re going to learn firsthand what that is like.”

            Inside her wild fear, it almost occurred to her to wonder why this man was so angry, what it was that raged so violently beneath his saturnine face.

            “Jarod, we’re approaching the coordinates,” the Orion pilot broke in.

            “Take a look at your new home, Nurse,” Jarod said, suddenly calm, moving aside so she could see the ship out of the viewscreen. I already have a buyer lined up. Contact him, Marzat.”

            In a moment another green face appeared on the screen. “Jarod, my friend! Do you have the goods?”

            “I do, Uehar. Have a look.”

            “Oh, a Qinar. Good catch, Jarod. Good catch.”

            “Thank you. We’ll be ready to beam aboard in a few minutes.”

            The green face disappeared. Jarod turned back to Onatah with a smile, dark and menacing. “Do you have any family? Parents, brothers, sisters—a lover? I’ll send them your goodbyes, when I tell them how you died in a shuttle accident.”

            “No, Jarod!” she screamed. “Don’t do this! Jarod, please! Think what you’ll do to my parents!”

            “Did you think what you would do to Krantregk’s parents?”

            “You’re right, Jarod! I didn’t think! I didn’t think about that at all! But I’m thinking now! Jarod—Jarod—don’t sell me to the Orion Syndicate! Please—I’ll do whatever you want!”

            “Tell me who recruited you,” he snapped at her. “Was it the Vulcan Sirok?”

            “Yes, it was,” she sobbed. “Two years ago, soon after I came aboard. I wanted to do something significant for the Federation, and just being a nurse wasn’t enough. I though if a Vulcan was involved, there couldn’t be anything wrong with it.”

            “You thought that, did you,” he said softly, like a growl. “Well, you were wrong. Logic can be a weapon as well as a tool. And now you will pay for your illogical judgment.”

            “No—no! Jarod, I’ll help you! I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”

            “Where do you keep the information you collect? How do you report it to your superiors? What codes and communications channels do you use?”

            Sobbing, she told him everything she knew, which was little enough and, she feared, not enough to satisfy him. But when she was done, he sat down in the seat next to her and stared at her.

            “It never ceases to amaze me,” he said, his voice calm, “how people can do so much wrong for a cause they believe is right. But listen to me, Nurse Onatah. Nothing is more significant than helping hurting individuals at their weakest time. You should never have given that up.”

            This from the man who wanted to sell her? “What—what are you going to do with me?” she gasped.

            To her surprise, he grinned. “Turn you over to Starfleet Intelligence, of course. You didn’t really think I’d made a deal with Orion slavers, did you?” He stood up. “Computer, end program.”

            All the breath left her lungs as pilot, shuttle, Orion ship, and her own restraints disappeared and around her appeared the familiar grid of the holodeck.

            Jarod leaned down close to her. “You never left the Enterprise. Surprise!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scene 6

            Worf and Riker came onto the holodeck, and Jarod handed Nurse Onatah over to Worf. “Lock her up, Mr. Worf. Make sure she’s completely alone so she has space to rethink her life.”

            “Yes, sir.” Worf touched his communicator. “Two to beam directly to the brig.”

            “Very ingenious, Commander,” Riker said. “Very unorthodox.”

            Westmore flashed him a smile. “I’ve never been orthodox, Commander. I must say, having a holodeck at my disposal puts a whole new spin on things. I very much appreciate your and Captain Picard's willingness to go along with this.”

            “Your orders from Headquarters gave us very little choice. You really know Admiral Zeubin? How’s that beagle of his doing?”

            “The one that died last month or the new one his daughter gave him, Commander?” Jarod asked softly.

            “Oh, the dead one, naturally,” Riker grinned.

            “He’s at dinner.”

            “Dinner?”

            “Not where he eats but where he is eaten.”

            Riker frowned. “Julius Caesar?”

            “Hamlet. Admiral Zeubin’s favorite. He would think the quotation macabre but appropriate. Excuse me, Commander. It is time for me to deal with Sirok.”

            Riker looked after him as he strode from the empty holodeck. He was almost beginning to like the man. What he had had to say to the nurse had been something that might have come from Captain Picard’s mouth, or Beverly’s, or Riker’s own, only it had had not only total conviction in it but the even greater force of total emotional involvement. The man had felt deeply every word he said, just as Deanna insisted. So why did Riker still get a funny feeling about him? It was a pity Admiral Zeubin was out of communication with anything Federation at the moment. A strict rest leave, his doctor said. Riker was inclined to think it was more along the lines of a secret mission. It sure would be good to talk to him about his prodigy Jarod Westmore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scene 7

            Jarod slipped into the Vulcan’s quarters. He had monitored the teacher’s movements and knew when he would be taking the small amount of sleep he required.

            “Sirok,” he hissed in Vulcan. “Sirok, wake up.”

            The Vulcan was instantly awake, sitting up, his nearly-blond hair gleaming in the pale candle light. “Who are you? What are you doing in my quarters?”

            Jarod’s back was to the candle light, his lean length and Vulcan-like haircut all that could be seen from Sirok’s position. “Your position has been compromised, Sirok,” he said in the language of a superior to an inferior, language that automatically stiffened the Vulcan into an attitude of proper respect. “Onatah has been found out.”

            “Onatah? What do you mean? Who are you?”

            Jarod leaned in close. “She is being taken to the brig as we speak,” he said in his crispest Vulcan. “They are bringing in special interrogators, including some of our people, who will be able to get beneath her Qinar surface.”

            Our people?” Now Sirok recognized him. “Commander Westmore? You are not Vulcan.”

            “I play many roles,” Jarod said mysteriously. “I am whatever I want to be. And in this case, I am here to tell you that you have compromised your mission.”

            Sirok scrambled off his bed and activated the lights. He stared at Jarod with the intimidatingly level gaze only Vulcans can give. Jarod, who in that moment was Vulcan, gave him the same stare back.

            “What mission are you speaking of?”

            Jarod raised an eyebrow and said quietly the few identifying words Onatah had told him. For a moment he was afraid she had lied to him, for Sirok only stared at him. But then Sirok pursed his lips with what might have been a sigh in anyone but a Vulcan.

            “Who are you, sir?”

            “I am the man who has been sent here to see that you and Onatah are doing your jobs properly. They always send out observers, Sirok, who rarely ever need to identify themselves to the field agents. I ought not to have done so, but you are now in danger. Your choice of Onatah was…unwise.”

            “Has she said anything?”

            “Very little, other than her indiscreet comments to Doctor Crusher, which landed you both in this mess. I have promised Captain Picard that I would attempt to discover everything I could about her mission, which has given me an opportunity to cover up as much as possible, but I do not think it will be enough. What error in logic led you to Onatah as a candidate for this job?”

            “I can see no error, sir. She was a perfect candidate, precisely as we were taught.”

            “Perfect, Sirok? Logic teaches that perfection is unattainable. Has living among so many Humans made you arrogant, Sirok? Logic lies in humility. Arrogance blinds, and you have been blind. Has it occurred to you that her perfection might have been intended?”

            “Intended…” Sirok repeated. “You think she was planted to expose me?”

            “What do you think?” Jarod said viciously. “You have compromised the entire project. There are already elements within the organization who are questioning the logic of the project—”

            As he had hoped, this got a rise out of the Vulcan. “Questioning the logic, sir? It is logic rather than sentiment which drives the Savant Project. It has been refreshing to find Humans who will put aside their weak emotion and act on logic. Admiral Joda herself recruited me through a faultless use of logic. Now the Humans are rejecting it again?”

            “It is the Vulcans who are questioning the logic of members like you, Sirok. Is it logical for Section 31 to draw attention to itself by depriving parents of their children? Is it logical to oppose the course of nature by taking children from parents? Is it logical to create an intellectual force that will one day turn against you when it realizes it has been exploited? The day always comes when slaves turn on their masters, and you will have given the slaves their greatest weapon, intellectual development. Is it logical to see only the short-term benefits and ignore the long-term risks?

            “However, I have not come here to debate your faulty logic with you. I have a chance for you to escape, because, despite everything, you are a good operative. You will receive a message tomorrow that your mother is dying and requires your presence as her heir. You will leave immediately and report to Section 31 headquarters. I will cover up your involvement, but you must arrive and be ready to face your judgment before interrogators can get information out of Onatah. Otherwise you and all you know will be lost.

            “Tonight you must make a complete deposition to me. I want to know everything—I mean everything. Onatah might have learned from you, whether you know it or not. Not only everything you told her but everything you did not tell her. Remember that she is Qinar, and the Qinar have mental abilities they do not tell even other Federation members about. Sit down and begin.”

            Jarod rejoiced to find that, while Sirok was a Vulcan and an excellent teacher and intelligence operative, he was also rather stupid. Underneath his Vulcan control, he was frightened. He was not used to being frightened, and it confused him. He knew more than Jarod had imagined, more than he even he was aware of, and he told it all to Jarod. Jarod filed everything away in his photographic memory and knew he would be able to extrapolate much more than Sirok was aware he was telling. The one missing piece was where the already kidnapped children were being held, the one piece Jarod needed most to learn. Needed? Yes, needed, both for the children and for himself. If he could not save them, it had all been pointless.

            Krantregk came into his mind. No, not completely pointless. The boy was safe. He would be happy and healthy. He would never be another Jarod. When Jarod finally fell, exhausted, into bed, it was that knowledge that let him go to sleep. Sirok had given him the information he needed to be able to find out where the children were. He would rescue them, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scene 8

            Five highly-placed Federation officials received five nearly identical messages at the same moment. Each message was from a Section 31 field agent who identified himself as a double agent for Starfleet Intelligence and offered to not turn them over to Intelligence if they would pay him a large amount of gold-pressed latinum. The messages contained enough evidence that they knew it was more than a mere bluff. Each one made preparations to meet the agent at a certain location in five days’ time. Each one made preparations to kill him.










You must login (register) to review.