By Marc DiPaolo
Doctor McCoy knelt beside the body of President Gwyneth Voss, noting grimly that his medical tricorder registered no brain activity. She was lying facedown on the cold marble floor in front of Il Torre palace’s massive entrance-hall staircase, which she had fallen down mere moments before. The freshly awakened Kirk and Spock stood beside McCoy, their tired minds rapidly coming to the conclusion that the chief executive had been pushed to her death by her vice president, Edmund Badler, who stared numbly down on the scene from the top of the stairway.
“Is she dead?” The innocent look of shock plastered on the vice president’s face was made all the more credible by his uncharacteristically ridiculous striped pajamas.
Kirk swore under his breath. There was no way they could have acted any sooner. The sound of the fall had been loud enough to jolt him from his light sleep. Not even stopping to throw a robe over his bare chest, he had jumped out of bed, flung the bedroom door open, and raced out of his room, meeting Spock in the hall shortly before the groggy McCoy had emerged from his guest room and stumbled after them. They were on the scene of President Voss’ fall an instant later, but it was already too late.
Only now were palace lights going on around them as the rest of the residents were emerging from their rooms to investigate. A male servant appeared on the second floor hall beside Badler and cried out in alarm upon seeing Voss. Badler warned the servant to keep back and promptly did just the opposite by creeping down the stairs himself. Descending cautiously, he brushed his unkempt hair back over his pointed ears, reminding Kirk that the twenty-two-year-old man was as much Vulcan as human. As the first baby born on this planet, Badler had come to symbolize Bifrost’s dream of a perfect cultural union between the peoples of Earth and Vulcan. Even now, after having been discovered towering over the body of a dead woman, he acted with the poise of a Vulcan and the sensitivity of a human.
“What happened?” Though Kirk was staring directly up at Badler as he spoke, the question was directed just as much to Spock and McCoy as to the official.
Badler stopped halfway down the stairs, a respectful distance from the dead. “I couldn't sleep. I was going to the kitchen for some tea.”
“And then what?”
“I heard a sound,” said Badler. “I thought someone might be hurt and ran out to help….”
“You did not see her fall?” asked Spock.
“I saw no more than you.” Badler edged along the railing, stepping around the body when he reached the lower floor. “I know this all looks very bad, but I can assure you I didn’t push her.”
Quickly confirming that her neck had been broken in the fall, McCoy could feel her body heat melting away under his touch. A part of him was aware that she looked very feminine dressed in her silk nightgown, and his blue-gray eyes started to water.
“Bones?” asked Kirk.
McCoy failed to register Kirk’s question, so Spock ventured an observation. “Presumably, she was killed by a fall down the stairway. What caused the fall has yet to be determined.”
There were now eight servants at the top of the stairs, speaking to one another in hushed, agitated voices. Kirk realized it was only a matter of time before Voss’ husband was aroused by the commotion, and he didn’t want the man to stumble on the scene unprepared.
“Captain,” said Spock, “fifteen-point-seven seconds elapsed between the instant I heard the fall and the moment I raced into this chamber. That is more than enough time for an attacker to have pushed her and escaped down the second floor hallway.”
“He would have to have been as fast as lightning,” said Badler, “because I didn't see him.”
Kirk began to speak a question aloud, enunciating each word slowly and carefully. “Either way, accident or murder...”
Spock completed the thought. “Why did none of us hear a scream?”
“Exactly.”
McCoy slipped the tricorder into his robe and rose to his feet. “She didn't scream because the fall didn't kill her. She was already dead before she dropped down the stairs.”
McCoy was about to elaborate when a scream came from above. There was a flurry of movement and the sounds of heavy footfalls as a large, athletic figure raced down the steps, taking them two-by-two. The man dropped to the floor next to his wife and felt frantically for a pulse. Horror spread further across his face when he found none. Weeping, he scooped up the woman in his arms, catching her head with his hand before it lolled back.
No matter how much he wanted to look away, McCoy remained strangely transfixed by the scene. He had seen emotional displays of grief countless times before, but this was different. For one thing, it was not long ago that he was the one who held his dying love in his arms, cursing fate for stealing her away. For another, the man cradling Gwyneth Voss' body in his arms – her husband, Seh’dar – was a full-blooded Vulcan.
* * * *
Seh’dar thankfully accepted the glass of brandy from Dr. McCoy's grasp and sipped it to steady his nerves. He sat in an armchair in the drawing room adjacent to the main hall, listening to the sounds of his wife’s body being moved to the lower-level medical facilities by Enterprise crewmen. Vice President Badler, apparently still feeling awkward about being the first one to discover the body, remained quietly in the darkness in the corner of the room.
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask when the last time you saw your wife alive was.” Now uniformed, Kirk sat across from Seh’dar and Spock stood impassively by his side.
The bereaved Vulcan's eyes seemed to lose their focus on the present as his thoughts drifted to the recent past. “We were in bed. She had a headache. She was going to get up for some medicine. I would have gotten up, but I was ... barely aware.” His mouth twitched oddly into an expression that was neither a smile nor a grimace. “Later on, it sank in that she was gone. I was worried about her, so I got up. I didn't hear anything until I got close to the stairs, and then I saw my wife, dead, on the floor.”
“Doctor McCoy thinks she may have died of a stroke,” said Kirk.
A disbelieving sigh escaped Seh'dar's lips. “She was only forty-three.”
“It is strange,” McCoy admitted, “but not unheard of. Did she ever complain that she was feeling unwell before this evening?”
“Not that I can recall,” said Seh'dar.
“Was she on any medication?”
“Some allergy pills that she takes during the winter. That's all. You'll find them upstairs.”
Vice President Badler finally felt comfortable enough to step forward and place a consoling hand on Seh'dar's shoulder. The Vulcan welcomed the gesture, shuddering only slightly at the discomfort of the physical contact. In the moment that Badler’s face came forth from the shadows, McCoy noticed again the vague resemblance between Badler and a young Jim Kirk. Badler's type handsome was just as boyish as Kirk’s, but his eyes and smile were far less playful. McCoy predicted that the subtle quality of harshness would gradually etch itself deeper into Badler’s face, making him tougher and meaner-looking with age.
“It pains me to say this at a time like this,” Badler said suddenly, “but there are certain protocols which must be observed from now on.”
Already understanding, Seh'dar nodded silently.
“Captain Kirk, I formally request that you, as the official representative of the United Federation of Planets, swear me in as President Voss' successor,” Badler said.
“What?” McCoy glowered. “Now? Her body isn't even cold!”
Badler folded his arms in front of his chest, challenging the Starfleet men with his regal stance. “If Bifrost is to remain a stable planet, it must always have a president.”
“Doctor,” said Spock. “I must point out that Mr. Badler's interpretation of planetary law is correct. He must be sworn in at the next convenient moment.”
Seh'dar stood up and placed the empty glass on the table beside him. “Yes. The transition must be smooth and swift. The people will need us to be strong for them.”
The eagerness that McCoy saw in Badler seemed all the more acute when the vice president consulted his wrist chronometer. “Captain, I will take only a few moments to groom myself. I would appreciate it if you met me in the president's office in twenty minutes.”
Seh'dar slipped quickly between Kirk and Badler, moving towards the hall. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have to tell my children what has happened.”
****
Edmund Badler, the fourth president of the United Federation of Planets' colony world Bifrost, was sworn into office with a reporter, a company of Enterprise crewmen, and representatives of the Voss Administration on hand as witnesses. Standing behind Badler was Seh’dar and his two children. Mina Voss, his six-year-old daughter, kept her red, tear-stained face looking down at the floor. The boy of fifteen, Joshua, directed a cold, steady gaze at the upstart vice president, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Once the oath of office was taken, Badler attempted to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a firm handshake and a gracious smile. “Thank you, Captain Kirk. Your professionalism and sensitivity in this difficult time has helped us all.”
The warmth seemed sincere enough, but Kirk wondered how cordial Badler would have been if a reporter hadn’t been present.
It was not long before President Badler’s office was cleared of everyone save Kirk, Spock, and Badler himself.
The new president stood awkwardly at the center of the room, displaying a sudden reluctance to claim the vacant executive seat behind Gwyneth Voss’ desk. “I assume you have something to say to me, gentlemen.” “You know that the Klingon Ambassador and I were in the middle of critical negotiations with President Voss about the future of this world. As a Federation ambassador, I'm afraid I cannot leave until certain issues are resolved.” Kirk had paused several times in the middle of his sentences, weighing each phrase carefully before uttering it. The captain’s earnestness did not fail to make an impression on President Badler, who seemed to be suddenly aware of the weight of responsibility that had settled on his shoulders.
“Namely, The Voss Declaration of Secession,” said Badler. He looked down on what was now his desk. Still sitting freshly atop its surface was the declaration President Voss had drawn up to officially break Bifrost’s ties with the Federation. She died before signing it.
“I don’t expect an answer tonight, of course,” said Kirk.
The president tilted his head thoughtfully to one side, as if trying to recall something. “`Each morning when I wake up and look at myself in the mirror, I have to forgive myself for not being George Washington. The only way I can keep forgiving myself is if I always try to act in the best interests of my people, my conscience, and my God. Reconciling the demands of all three is an impossible task, but it is a goal I will never stop trying to reach.’”
“Is that a quote?” asked Kirk.
“President Voss said it in her address three months ago, on the eve of this colony's twenty-second anniversary,” explained Badler. “She was a remarkable woman.”
“She seemed so,” Kirk said slowly, not knowing where the conversation was heading.
“In the general election two days ago, sixty-five percent of the planet voted in favor of her agenda. They agreed it would be better to break away from the Federation than to allow it to establish a Klingon refugee colony on our soil.”
“The Federation does not want to lose Bifrost,” said Kirk. “But there are so few other locations to move these refugees. If this planet rejects them, the others will surely follow suit. And then, these refugees will be without a real home.”
“That is why I am in an unenviable position.” President Badler snatched the Act of Secession from the desk and held it before Kirk's face. “If I tear this up, I will be defying the will of the people, disrupting Bifrost’s mission charter, and spitting on the memory of a beloved president.”
“Yes, you will be,” Kirk said. “You will also be preserving a very important union between Bifrost and the Federation and you will be offering aid to a people in dire trouble.”
The president exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'd be a fool to veto this, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know it.”
“Come on, Kirk! What do you care if I sign this or not? Either way, you're out of here in the next day or so, leaving me behind – alone – to face the consequences.”
“History will remember the role you'll play in forging a lasting peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire,” Kirk replied.
Badler laughed. “Excellent! I can be the most beloved one-term president of all time, especially if the refugees decide to take the whole planet for themselves.”
“That’s absurd.”
“You know, Voss was not afraid of a military clash with the Klingons. What she really feared was the Klingons who came to our world with their families. Slow, friendly colonization is the real way to take over a planet. That’s a lesson the Native Americans learned all too well after they made foreign settlers welcome.”
“What does this mean?” asked Kirk. “Are you saying you’ll sign the declaration?”
President Badler walked deliberately around the desk and lowered himself into the seat. “I believe it is a mistake to secede.”
“Then tear up that declaration and let some good come out of tonight’s horrible event.”
The president laced his fingers together on his lap and pushed the chair back into a reclining position. “Perhaps.”
****
Like the rest of the planet Bifrost, Gwyneth Voss' bedroom was a historical study in itself. A mix of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Europe, its decor was rich in elegant fabrics – velvet curtains, silk bed sheets, and lace decorations – that would seem frivolous to the primarily functional sensibilities of modern-day Earth. The plush surroundings appealed to Kirk, who himself preferred the earthiness of wooden furniture to glass tables and plastic chairs. He, Spock, and McCoy had entered the room with Seh'dar's blessing to obtain Gwyneth's pills. McCoy found them quickly enough, slipping them into his trouser pocket.
“I'll be sure to test these while I'm downstairs,” said the doctor.
Though there was nothing else keeping him from the examination room, he felt compelled to linger and investigate the bedroom with his comrades. There was so little he knew about Gwyneth Voss. Before last week, he didn't even know she existed.
McCoy noticed immediately that Seh’dar was strangely absent from the plethora of family photos hanging on the walls. And, after briefly perusing the president’s bedside bookshelf – which contained 1984, A Man for All Seasons, and The Stepford Wives – Spock pronounced that her library was comprised entirely of political tragedies concerning the social establishment’s defeat of an idealistic iconoclast. Kirk was drawn immediately to the bedroom's most provocative decoration - a wooden ventriloquist's dummy dressed in a tuxedo and top hat. The doll sat, partly slumped over, atop a wooden clothes chest at the foot of the bed. “I haven't seen one of these in years.”
McCoy couldn't help but smile at the strange object. “Gwyneth liked to entertain her children with that doll.”
Spock arched his right eyebrow. “Indeed?”
McCoy nodded. “She spoke kind of quiet about it when she told me, like she was sharing a little secret. She said it was a dark day for Badler when the political cartoonists found out about her `talent for animating lifeless wooden men.'”
Kirk gave McCoy a quizzical look. “When did you two have time to make small talk like that?”
McCoy shrugged. “In-between her debates with you and Spock she'd come talk to me. I guess she felt comfortable speaking to me about regular, ordinary things … you know, other than secession.”
Spock seemed about to say something, but cast his eyes warily on McCoy and stopped himself.
“What?” asked McCoy.
“Doctor McCoy, I admire you for placing your respect for life above all things,” said Spock. “However, because you are so sensitive to human suffering, it is sometimes difficult to speak freely before you without offending your sensibilities.”
McCoy placed his fists against his hips and glared back at Spock. “I know what you're gonna say, Spock. You're gonna say that President Voss' death, though tragic, could be a great boon to both us and the Klingons, right?”
“Which is what makes the timing of her death so convenient for her political adversaries, and so suspicious in my eyes,” Spock replied. “I am almost convinced that Voss was assassinated, but I will reserve judgement at least until you have had a chance to carefully examine her body.”
McCoy’s angry expression softened. “You may have a point. I’ll get right on it.”
****
Over the years, McCoy had visited dozens of civilizations that had molded themselves after past Earth societies, but the city of New Siena struck him as a particularly impressive replica of the Medieval metropolis of Siena, Italy. The stone-walled capital looked strangely beautiful in the darkness. Narrow cobblestone streets wound between powerfully built brown homes that seemed as old and sturdy as if they had actually been built in eleventh-century Tuscany. Il Torre Palace, the home of the Bifrost presidents, was a broad, rectangular castle with a massive bell tower rising out of its left side. It was modeled after the original Palazzo Pubblico – built centuries ago as the seat of government of the ancient Republic of Siena.
McCoy stood in the courtyard outside the presidential estate, just beyond the yellow barricades that Chekov had set up, nursing a mint julep in his right hand. While it was a strange time for McCoy to have a drink – it had been two hours since he pronounced President Voss dead, it would be another three before sunrise – he needed it. He didn't feel tired because he was fueled by nervous energy, but he realized sleep would soon become a necessity.
McCoy instinctively sensed Spock approaching from behind. Although Spock had never said as much, McCoy was absolutely certain that the spiritual link between them was never fully severed after Spock’s resurrection, since he could still feel Spock alive within him even though he no longer carried Spock’s spirit, or katra. He was always able to sense it when Spock was close, and he sometimes even had a feel for the Vulcan's state of mind. He also knew that, if he lived to see Spock die again, he would feel it with more poignancy than any pain he ever felt before, because a part of his soul would die with Spock. Spock stood wordlessly by McCoy's side and joined the doctor in his contemplation of the cityscape. Through the quiet of the sleeping city, the two men could hear the faint nocturnal chirps of Bifrost’s insect life. McCoy found the sounds strangely comforting.
“Beyond the borders of New Siena, there are numerous other landscapes and settlements molded from human and Vulcan civilizations of the past,” Spock said.
“They seem to have this one pegged pretty good, if the pictures I've seen of the original Siena are accurate,” McCoy replied.
“This world,” Spock began thoughtfully, “above all others in the Federation, has preoccupied me.”
Now it was McCoy’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You never said anything before.”
“A Federation colony with a population that is half-human and half-Vulcan.” Although there was no audible impatience in the statement, McCoy sensed it nevertheless, and felt foolish for not making the connection sooner. Still, there had been a lot on his mind lately.
“Oh, of course. Well, it is a fascinating idea.” Spock nodded. “Two vastly different cultures occupying the same planet, trying to reconcile their differences, learn from one another's strengths, and grow beyond their mutual limitations.”
Clasping his hands behind his back and looking up at the stars, McCoy unconsciously copied Spock's stance. “Well, if they're half as successful in the task as you have been, Spock, then they're in good shape.”
Spock stiffened only slightly at the unexpected compliment. “From what I have heard, they have done well so far. There has been a great deal of intermarriage and almost no racial incidents. The humans have grown more sober and pragmatic, the Vulcans more emotional and artistic. I would be curious to see how this world progresses, with or without a Klingon social presence.”
****
Captain's Log, Stardate 9583.7:
No one was happier than I was when the Enterprise was granted a reprieve from retirement after the Roy Moss incident. But now it seems as if this ship and its crew have staved off decommission only to bear witness to a succession of untimely deaths.
First Dr. McCoy’s wife Jocelyn and now Gwyneth Voss. I’ve seen hundreds of people killed during my time in Starfleet, but somehow ...somehow it’s always worse when it’s a woman.
Mr. Spock and I have returned to the Enterprise to issue a full report to Starfleet.
Dr. McCoy is on the planet below, continuing his own investigation into President Voss’ death. His discovery of Lexorin in her bloodstream has raised some alarming questions that need answering.
Hopefully a meeting with her personal physician – an old associate of McCoy’s, Gabriel Manzoni – will make things clearer.
In a few moments, I will be meeting with the Klingon Ambassador in his quarters to inform him of recent events…
The Klingon Ambassador didn't even look up from his cooking, but continued to stir what looked like a plate of moving seaweed over the oven flame in his quarters aboard the Enterprise.
“What would you have me say, Kirk? That I am sorry she is dead?” The Ambassador raised a hand from the cooking pan to cut off Kirk's response. “No, I am not sorry. She was a bigger bigot than even you ever were. She would rather have seen all of the refugees of the Praxis disaster die than offer them safe haven on this planet.”
The Ambassador paused to add a spice to the writhing mass of tentacles he called an early breakfast. Although it had been frying under a high flame for several minutes, the heat had not yet killed whatever it was that was cooking. “She threatened to withdraw this planet from the Federation if it forced her to bend to its demands. If that is not racial hatred of the highest order, I do not know what is.”
“And she insulted you, personally,” said Kirk.
Kirk could not tell if the Klingon curled his lips up into a smile or a snarl. “That was the most honorable thing she did in my presence, Kirk. Her defense of you was sheer poetry.”
“I want you to know I didn't ask for it.”
The Klingon scoffed and waved a dismissive hand at Kirk. “Its not important. She is not the first person to throw my words back in my face since Camp Kittimer.”
This did not surprise Kirk at all. A grand statement like “There will be no peace as long as Kirk lives” does not easily pass into history.
“We've all said things we've wished we could take back. I've been quoted back to myself several times lately. I've rarely liked the sound of my own words.”
The meal completed, the Ambassador emptied the contents of the frying pan onto a plate and brought the dish over to his dining table. “Your galley cooks and your food dispensers could never do justice to this dish, Kirk. It is only palatable when served live.”
Kirk stood a respectful distance from the table, allowing the Ambassador to begin eating. “The new president opposes any notion of Bifrost breaking away from the Federation, but we don’t know how committed he really is to helping your people.”
“Wishful thinking, Kirk. Badler will either bow to the demands of his people or be replaced by someone who will.”
****
In the three days since the Enterprise had entered orbit around Bifrost, McCoy had only had two opportunities to walk along the streets of its capital city. The sun was close to rising on day four, and he found himself strolling along the winding, hilly streets in search of Doctor Manzoni. He and his former classmate had agreed to meet by a statue of Garibaldi on Main Street, but the problem now was finding it.
McCoy noted with muted interest that the street he traveled along had grown so narrow that he could touch buildings on either side simply by raising his arms laterally. Six yards further downhill, he came upon a crimson banner pasted up on his right that read "Protect Freedom: Vote Secession." It was left over from the election earlier in the week. Irksome-yet-useful, he remembered the slogan from before and used it as a landmark to find Main Street.
Three turns later, McCoy linked up with the walled city's pivotal roadway, finding with some surprise that absolutely nobody was walking about. The contrast between New Siena at 5 a.m. and at 5 p.m. was staggering. The last time he had seen this wide path was immediately after the away team had first beamed down to Bifrost’s surface. It seemed like ages ago simply because so much had happened since then… Transport had been more disorientating than usual because Sara, the transporter chief, had once again energized the beam without giving McCoy proper warning. Caught in mid-sentence, he had the wonderful pleasure of feeling his mouth dissolve and reassemble as he spoke. The rest of the statement begun on the transporter pad tumbled out on the threshold of Main Street before McCoy could stop it: “… cash it in right now. Oh, for Pete's sake! Just one time, I wish that woman would give me a proper warning.”
McCoy tested his jaw to see if it was okay. One small mercy was that he didn’t catch sight of it happening to himself this time. He hated that part of the beaming experience more than anything else. “Stuff like this never happens when Scotty runs the transporter,” McCoy complained. “That’s it. I don’t care that she’s been with this Enterprise since its maiden voyage - I’m not letting her transport me ever again.”
Kirk had smiled playfully back at his chief medical officer. “Have it your way, Bones.”
Once recovered from the sudden jolt, McCoy had realized that they were all standing at the edge of Main Street, where throngs of people were walking about and none of them seemed to be headed anywhere in particular.
“Let me guess,” said Kirk to Spock. “Passegiata.” “What's this?” asked McCoy, not wanting to attempt to pronounce the word Kirk had used.
“It's an old Italian social ritual,” responded Spock. “In self-contained cities like Siena on Earth, the entire population goes out for an evening walk in the hopes of casually encountering friends and family members. It is a means of maintaining a sense of community and preventing the city from growing impersonal.”
Why am I always the only one who doesn't know about these things? McCoy had thought.
They stood at the threshold of the street, watching as wave upon wave of people flowed by. Twice McCoy tried to step out into the street, but each time he felt overwhelmed by the crowd.
“How can anyone be social in this?” asked McCoy. “It looks like a goddamned stampede.”
“Look,” Kirk pointed. “Isn’t that her?”
McCoy followed Kirk's gaze and caught his first glimpse of President Gwyneth Voss. Dressed in a simple white blouse and a pair of slacks, she was socializing with the people on the street while moving in their general direction. The lines on her face gave her a classy, respectable beauty, and her shoulder-length brown hair had so far managed to stave off any trace of gray. McCoy couldn’t help but take instantly to the easy way in which she interacted with the ordinary people. She put on no airs at all. She was like Jim on the bridge of the Enterprise.
But that was three days ago. In the time that had elapsed since then, Voss had died and Badler had risen to succeed her. The very same street McCoy had first seen her striding confidently along amidst the crowd was now empty and silent. But not for long.
“Leo!” The scheduled appearance of Gabriel Manzoni was an agreeable one, bringing back more pleasant memories of years gone by.
“How are you, Gabriel?” McCoy shook Gabriel’s hand and quickly looked over the man he hadn’t seen in seven years. The strong, chiseled jaw had softened, the stomach had filled out and the hair had thinned, but Gabriel nevertheless looked remarkably good for his age.
“Okay, under the circumstances, Leo. It's really good to see you.” He gestured towards the road ahead. “Shall we walk?”
“Sure.”
The two started off along the level ground as the sky started to lighten several shades of blue.
“I heard about Jocelyn,” Gabriel said hesitantly, “and I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry.”
“Thanks. Now, don’t say anything more about it. It's bad enough that Jim and Spock have been walking on eggshells around me the past two months. I don't need you doing the same.”
“I promise I won’t, Leo.”
McCoy nodded. “Good.”
“You wanted to know about the Lexorin in the president’s blood?”
“Yes. Where did it come from? The pills were clearly for her allergies, as Seh’dar said.”
“I gave her heavy doses of Lexorin each night for the past four nights.”
“Why?”
“I was asked to keep it a secret, but I guess it'll all have to come out now.”
“Would you stop being cryptic already and just spit it out?”
Gabriel gave a resigned shrug. “Okay. Four nights ago, I got an emergency call from her husband to go to the palace. When I got there, I found her thrashing about on her bed screaming and shouting.”
“Was it some kind of seizure?”
Gabriel licked his lips thoughtfully. “It wasn’t that exactly. She kept yelling snatches of political speeches and slogans. The funny thing was she seemed to be debating herself, taking both sides of every issue. I’d heard stories that Bobby Fischer used to like to play against himself at chess, and it was like she was doing the same thing with political rhetoric.” “What was she yelling about?”
“Not surprisingly, Klingon refugees and secession. One minute, she'd yell something about why the Federation was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and the next she'd talk about how important it was for Bifrost to break away and forge its own destiny. She was saying a lot of stuff about wanting perfect union between humans and Vulcans and not letting the Klingons mess that up.”
McCoy massaged his jaw thoughtfully. “Did it seem like there were really two distinct personalities arguing the points?”
“Yes, it did. It really did.”
Just then, they came across the overlook at the edge of the fortress-like city, where a waist-high wall was all that stood between them and a hundred-foot plummet to the ground. The sky was still too dark for the men to see more than a few yards beyond the city limits, so the spectacular view of lush, Earth-like greenery that could be seen from the overlook during the daylight hours was now little more than a veil of murky black soup. Gabriel stopped walking and seated himself atop the wall, instantly giving McCoy paranoid visions of his friend toppling backwards into the abyss and cracking open on the ground like an Italian Humpty Dumpty.
“She had another fit the next night,” Gabriel continued. “After that, she seemed to get a little better, but I gave her some more medicine to prevent a relapse. It was horrible, because she was perfectly healthy before last week.”
“Why didn't she have one of those fits during her negotiations with Jim and the Klingon Ambassador?” “I don't know. Outwardly, at least, she was always fine during the day. I have no idea what was going on in her head while she was at those meetings.”
“If you knew about this, where were you last night?”
“I was called away,” Manzoni said. “An old man who lives nearby almost had his arm cut off in a freak accident. I was busy saving his life.”
McCoy shook his head sadly. “You should have warned me about her condition. If I had known ahead of time, I might have been more alert.”
“No, I couldn't have contacted you. Seh'dar pleaded with me not to tell anybody. He didn't want me to embarrass the president.”
“Well, there's no danger of her feeling embarrassed now, is there?”
“Don’t take it out on me!” Gabriel snapped. “It’s not my business to go around advertising privileged medical information about public figures. If anyone should have told you, it was her husband!”
“Gabriel, listen to me,” McCoy said quietly, holding his hand up for emphasis. “I’ve got some fairly strong suspicions about President Voss’ death. If I’m right, then I know from personal experience it’s a horrible way to go.”
Gabriel frowned. “That sounds pretty ominous there, Leo.”
“Don’t ask me to explain yet. It may not be too healthy for you to know any more than you do. I’ll tell you after things quiet down a little bit.”
Gabriel would have protested, but he reconsidered when he saw the look on McCoy’s face. “Okay, I’ll go home for now.”
McCoy soberly shook his fellow doctor’s hand goodbye. “You be careful, now. Don’t tell anybody we talked about any of this.”
“I won’t.” Without another word, Gabriel started off down the street, his feet moving quickly, his head lowered to the ground. A minute later, the shadows swallowed him up and the sounds of his footsteps disappeared into the distance.
Finding himself alone, McCoy felt a sudden warmth well up inside him. He knew people were supposed to feel cold when they were afraid, but it was different for him. At the moment, he was probably the only person who had a clear idea what was happening, and that realization made him feel anxious and vulnerable - especially walking about a strange city in the dark. It was time to get the hell out of there.
McCoy stepped away from the wall and pulled the communicator from his belt.
That was when he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder.
“Doctor McCoy, I would like a word with you.”
****
Checking first to make sure no one on the bridge was watching, Kirk yawned silently into his hand. Only twenty minutes sleep in the past thirty-seven hours did not make for a very well rested Iowa farm boy, and he found himself falling asleep in his captain’s chair.
Kirk swiveled around in his black command seat to regard his communications officer. “Uhura, any word from McCoy?”
“No, sir. Shall I contact him for you?”
“No, that’s fine. I’m going to go get some sleep. Can you wake me if the doctor calls with any news?”
“Yes, Captain.”
McCoy lowered his communicator and frowned at Seh’dar, wondering how any man, even a Vulcan, could kill his own wife.
“I overheard your conversation with Dr. Manzoni,” said Seh’dar. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Beads of sweat started to appear at McCoy’s temples. He decided to lie and wondered if he could pull it off. “Why, yes. I think President Badler killed Gwyneth.”
“My son suspects the same thing. Was he that desperate to be president?”
“No. He didn’t intend to kill her.”
Seh’dar raised his eyebrow in a Spock-like fashion. “Really?”
“You see,” McCoy swallowed, “all he wanted to do was prevent her from signing the Act of Secession.”
“How did that desire result in her death?”
McCoy knew it would be wiser to continue the charade, but somehow he couldn’t stomach it any more. He was too angry. “You tell me,” challenged McCoy. “It was a Vulcan mind-meld, wasn’t it?”
Seh’dar’s eyes darkened. “How could a mind-meld be responsible for Gwyneth’s death?”
The anger was giving McCoy courage enough to continue, even at the risk of provoking the imperious Vulcan to action. “I know that Vulcans can use them to pull memories from people’s minds – sometimes forcibly. It’s also possible for the mind-meld to change people’s perceptions, to hypnotize them. And when Spock thought he was going to die, he planted his memories and personality in my head through a mind-meld.”
“I had heard that you once carried Spock’s katra.”
“Spock’s spiritual presence was so powerful it almost swallowed me whole,” McCoy said. “I fought so hard to keep control of my own thoughts and actions I almost went completely bonkers. To keep me stable, Jim gave me doses of Lexorin. Just like you called in Dr. Manzoni to give your wife Lexorin!” McCoy’s voice shook with outrage. “Did she know what you were doing to her?”
Seh’dar stared back at McCoy as if the doctor had grown a second head. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“You probably entered her thoughts as she slept – like a voice in a dream, coaxing her to change her mind and welcome the Klingons.”
“A few moments ago you said Badler was responsible. Now you’re saying I did something to my wife?”
“Never mind what I said about Badler. You killed her.”
Seh’dar’s body coiled like a snake’s. “You’re completely unhinged.”
“I suppose you didn’t mean to kill her,” McCoy continued. “She was no good to you dead – there was no guarantee Badler would act any different as president. In some ways, he is just as conservative as she was.”
McCoy took a bold step forward, but Seh’dar stood his ground. “You manipulated that poor woman. You spoke through her like a ventriloquist through a wooden doll. Your thoughts in her mind! Your voice through her mouth! But she wasn’t a doll! She was a human being.”
Seh’dar glared back at McCoy in silence.
“But she was too strong for you, wasn’t she?” asked McCoy. “She never submitted to your influence in public. Not for an instant. Her mind stayed dominant long enough for her to tell us all where to get off. Well, it’s no wonder she couldn’t take the pressure. The inner conflict was so intense it caused the stroke that killed her.”
McCoy paused, eyeing his opponent warily. “You know what really gets me, you green-blooded monster? She was your wife! Didn’t you have any feelings for her?”
“I loved my wife.”
“Well, I don’t understand how you could kill your own wife over politics. But then again, I’ve never found politics to be all that important. I’m just an old country doctor. Helping people is all that matters to me.”
“That is exactly what I’m doing,” Seh’dar said quietly. “I am helping hundreds of Klingons at the cost of one life. I can live with that cost. But I wish she hadn’t fought me. If she had merely acquiesced, she’d still be alive. I wasn’t asking much of her. All I wanted to do was make her act logically and morally.”
“Was it logical and moral to fry her brain?” McCoy cried.
Suddenly, Seh’dar came to life, charging his adversary. McCoy’s hand dove for his phaser, but it was too late. Seh’dar seized McCoy with steel-like fingers, hoisting him into the air, and pushing the doctor’s flailing body over the top of the waist-high overlook wall. McCoy tried to struggle, but his enraged, Vulcan-blooded opponent completely physically outclassed him. As Seh’dar held him dangling in the air over the abyss, all McCoy could do was look down at the hundred-foot drop below. The trees looked so far away.
“Nothing personal, doctor,” Seh’dar said calmly. “You just know too much.”
Then Seh’dar let McCoy drop.
On board the Enterprise, Spock felt a sudden rush of overwhelming anxiety.
McCoy.
At the moment McCoy fell, he flung both arms out and grabbed desperately for something to hold onto. He latched onto Seh’dar’s shoulder and arm, and held on with a strength he didn’t know he had, pulling Seh’dar over the edge with him. Seh’dar let out a surprised cry as he found himself falling to his death alongside his victim.
McCoy felt himself screaming as the ground beneath him raced closer. He tried to push himself away from Seh’dar as they plummeted, but the enraged Vulcan caught McCoy by the throat. McCoy stared up into Seh’dar’s soulless eyes, realizing that the final face he was going to see before dying was his killer’s.
In the last moment of life he had left, McCoy hurled a wild punch at the side of Seh’dar’s head. As his fist streaked toward its target, he saw it disappear into a billion pinpricks of yellow light.
****
Realizing what was about to happen, Spock pushed Captain Kirk away from the transporter pad.
McCoy and Seh’dar flashed into existence above them and came streaking down from the platform. Carried by the momentum of their fall down below, they continued sailing through the air, screaming in fear and fury.
The two men spun end over end, slamming with a harsh crack against the transporter room controls.
Sparks flew through the air, burning the transporter chief’s fingers before she could jump backwards.
A moment later, all was quiet.
Kirk placed his right hand on the transporter platform and pulled himself to his feet. “How did you know, Spock?”
“I heard Doctor McCoy call for help.” Spock carefully approached the tangled mass of limbs to see if McCoy had survived the fall.
When McCoy rolled over onto his back, the first thing he saw through a fuzzy haze of blurred vision was the transporter chief – her round, sweet face a picture of concern.
“Are you okay, doctor?” Sara asked.
McCoy could barely keep his eyes open, but he managed a weak smile. “Sara, my dear,” he slurred, “I could kiss you.”
Then he lost consciousness.
****
Carrying a bouquet of flowers under his arm, Captain Kirk walked into sickbay four hours later to find Doctor McCoy awake and on the mend. Spock was already by McCoy’s side, as he had been since the doctor was snatched from death’s grasp.
Kirk casually tossed the flowers in McCoy’s lap. “Here you go, doctor. A little `get well’ gift from Sara. She’d have delivered them personally, but she’s on duty another hour.”
McCoy picked them up and looked at them with vague interest. “I guess this means no hard feelings for all the times I called her incompetent.”
“She did a superb job,” said Spock. “As soon as it occurred to me that the president was killed by a Vulcan mind-meld, I aroused the captain and suggested that we return the planet to question Seh’dar. We were just about to transport to when I sensed your distress and told Sara to beam you up immediately. She had been tracking you all along and responded to my command within .76 seconds.”
“Spock, how in the hell can you calculate .76 seconds?” McCoy moved his head too much and felt a deep stab of pain. “Ow! Damn it.”
Kirk moved forward. “Are you okay?”
“The doctor has suffered three broken ribs and a fractured wrist,” pronounced Spock.
“Then you’re better off than your attacker,” Kirk said to McCoy. “Seh’dar died in the fall from the transporter pad, breaking his neck against the control bank.”
Kirk found McCoy’s expression uncharacteristically unreadable at that moment, so he continued. “You might like to know that Bifrost has officially chosen to remain a member planet of the Federation. President Badler has just begun negotiations with the Klingon Ambassador to establish a refugee colony in one of the less populated regions. And Badler also tells me he’s going to give you a commendation for solving President Voss’ murder.”
McCoy waved the news away. “I don’t want any damned commendation. I didn’t do anything special. Spock practically figured it out at the same time I did anyway.”
“I’d love to stand here and argue with you, but Spock and I have to return to the surface and continue the negotiations.” Kirk turned away and headed towards the door. “You get better, Bones.”
The sickbay doors whooshed open and Kirk stepped out into the hall. Spock started to follow but hesitated in the doorway when McCoy called after him, “Spock?”
“Yes?”
McCoy’s bright blue eyes glinted. “Thanks.”
Spock raised an eyebrow in the closest thing to a smile he would ever give McCoy. “My pleasure, doctor.”
Star Trek: The Rising of the Twelve
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