written by William F.B. Vodrey
"Let me get this straight," Benjamin Sisko said carefully, leaning back in his office chair.
"You heard me right, Captain," the 147-year-old Admiral McCoy rasped. "Spock went and got himself captured on Romulus again, and we've got to go save him."
"Let's explore our options. Mister Worf?" Sisko asked, turning to his strategic operations officer, who sat along with Major Kira and Lieutenant Commander Dax in Sisko's office.
Worf nodded. "We've confirmed that, as Admiral McCoy says, Ambassador Spock has been captured on Romulus. He was apparently captured while continuing his work with the Romulan Underground. He's being held in Blenn'ac, a Tal Shiar prison on Romulus. Starfleet Intelligence has been unable to make contact with either him or the four followers arrested with him."
Dax added, "The Underground's strength has been growing in recent years, and the Tal Shiar spared no expense to find and arrest Ambassador Spock, whom they view as a focus of subversion."
"How tight is security at the prison?" Kira asked.
"Very," Worf replied. "Blenn'ac is a maximum-security holding facility used by the secret police for their most important -- or most politically sensitive -- prisoners."
"And right now, Spock qualifies on both counts," McCoy said. "Well, I wouldn't care if he was guarded by a battalion of bloodthirsty Breen or a pack of vermiceous Knids, we have just got to get Spock out of there."
"Agreed," the captain said. "The question is, how?"
"Sir, as you know, we're forbidden to cross the Neutral Zone or enter Romulan space without direct orders," Dax said. "That would be a violation of the Treaty of Algeron."
"Dammit, Spock's more important than some damned treaty," McCoy said. "We should be on our way to Romulus right now, and not just sitting around and talking."
Kira frowned and said, "Even if we did that, Admiral, the minute we crossed into the Neutral Zone, we'd be detected by the Romulans, surrounded, and either destroyed or captured."
"The honorable thing to do," Worf rumbled, "would be to embark on this mission at once, as the admiral proposes."
"The honorable thing to do," Dax replied, "isn't always the smartest thing to do."
Worf looked offended.
Sisko sighed, "True, old man. Still, I agree with Admiral McCoy that we're too pressed for time to go through all the bureaucratic hurdles back at Starfleet Command to get approval for this mission. We have to act now. Ambassador Spock, a highly respected Federation citizen, an honored diplomat and longtime Starfleet officer, is in danger, and we will go to his rescue. Major Kira, you'll be in charge here while I'm gone."
"And just how are we going to get past the hundreds of Romulan warships there must be between us and Romulus?" asked Dax.
"We'll just have to use the only ship in all of Starfleet with a cloaking device: the Defiant."
"Why do you think I came to you in the first place?" McCoy said, grinning.
*****
Later that day, Captain Sisko looked out over the dozens of station crew gathered in the main shuttlebay, and at the gleaming new shuttlecraft to his right. An honor guard from Security stood nearby; his senior officers were
behind him in dress uniforms. Sisko nodded to Worf, who said loudly, "Attention, company...parade rest."
Sisko addressed the crowd. "We gather here today to dedicate the latest addition to this station's group of auxiliary spacecraft, and to honor the man for whom it's named. We are indeed fortunate that he's joined us for this occasion. Since he joined Starfleet over a century ago, Doctor Leonard Harlan McCoy has been a leading figure in the development of space medicine, and nothing less than a living legend in Starfleet lore. It was Doctor McCoy who, through his innovative healing of a badly-injured Horta, made possible that race's eventual membership in the Federation. His groundbreaking interpretations of ancient Fabrini records revolutionized modern medicine. His tireless work during the Jombril III plague saved the lives of millions. His valiant efforts to save the mortally-wounded Chancellor Gorkon helped to build ties of trust and understanding between the Klingon Empire and the Federation that last to this day. He is no less than a living legend."
"Pshaw," muttered McCoy, both touched and embarrassed.
"At this time I will ask our own chief medical officer, Doctor Julian Bashir, to come forward," Sisko said.
Doctor Bashir stepped out from the line of the ship's senior officers, a bottle of century-old champagne in his hands. He showed the label to Doctor McCoy, who said, "That'll do, young man. Break the damned thing and let's get this over with." Everybody laughed.
Bashir declared, "By law, no Starfleet vessel may be named after a living individual. It is a testament to Doctor McCoy's reputation, and the high esteem in which he's held as the oldest-living human officer in Starfleet, and one of its most remarkable healers, that the Federation Council has granted a rare exception to that rule. Therefore, on behalf of Captain Sisko and this crew, and by order of Starfleet Command, it gives me great pleasure to name this shuttlecraft...McCoy."
With that, he swung the bottle hard against the shuttle's bow, and at once it shattered, spraying the shuttle -- and Bashir -- with champagne foam. The crew burst into applause. Dax handed a laughing Bashir the towel she'd brought along for just this contingency.
"Thank you, Doctor," Sisko said. "This ceremony is now concluded, but you're all welcome to stay and celebrate. I see food and drink at the rear of the shuttlebay, and perhaps we might even share a mint julep or two. Company, dismissed!"
*****
Two days later the Defiant neared the Neutral Zone. Sisko ordered the cloaking device engaged, and the ship entered the zone.
"Sir, we're now in violation of treaty," Dax announced as the Defiant slipped out of Federation territory. Crossing the Neutral Zone at warp speed took only a few minutes, and then they were in Romulan space. The cloaked ship easily sidestepped the Romulan border sensor network. Sisko ordered a course set for Romulus and then left the bridge to Worf; it would be another two days before they reached the Romulan homeworlds.
Not long after Worf settled into the command chair, Chief O'Brien's sensor console lit up, and he reported, "Sir, sensors indicate two Romulan Chene-class frigates approaching from 122 mark 72, warp 4."
"That's not quite an intercept course," Worf mused. "Is there any indication that they've detected us?"
"No, it looks like a standard patrol pattern. Given current courses and speeds, we'll pass within two light years of each another."
"Steady as she goes, Mister O'Brien," Worf said, leaning back in his chair. "On to Romulus."
*****
The light years flew past and the Defiant plunged deeper and deeper into Romulan space. As the starship neared the twin Romulan homeworlds of Romulus and Remus, Sisko returned to the bridge with Admiral McCoy.
"Sir, we're approaching the homeworlds' tachyon detection grid," O'Brien reported. "It extends in a sphere approximately three AUs out from Romulus. I've also picked up increasing levels of civilian and military shipping."
"Tactical view," Sisko ordered. The viewscreen display shifted to show their approach vector to Romulus, and over six dozen starships of varying sizes and purposes displayed on the starmap. Among them were fourteen Warbirds, the fearsome capital ships of the imperial Romulan fleet, each more than eight times as big as the Defiant.
Worf spoke up from the tactical station. "Even with our cloaking device we'll be noticed almost immediately upon entering the detection grid. It's specifically designed to highlight and locate cloaked ships."
"Suggestions, Mister Worf? I hardly think decloaking now is a viable option."
"I would have to agree, Captain," Worf said dryly. "But I believe that Dax and Mister O'Brien have an idea that might be useful."
"Captain," Dax said, "we've run several simulated conn programs in which we come in very close to the stern of a Warbird before entering the detection grid's field. Some of the records from the Enterprise and the Kearsarge were quite useful. As you know, Warbirds use a forced quantum singularity -- an artificial, miniature black hole -- as their principal power generation system. If we get close enough, and maintain a perfect interval throughout our passage of the grid, we can slip by."
"The Warbird's singularity will cause a displacement in the grid's readings within which we can hide, as we tag along behind," O'Brien explained. "To any Romulan sensor tech who's watching, our signal will merge with that of the Warbird, and we should escape detection."
"How close would we have to be to the Warbird?"
"No more than half a kilometer away."
"At warp speeds? If they stop suddenly, we're toast," McCoy said as he rubbed his chin. "What are our odds of success?"
O'Brien looked at Dax, and Dax looked at Worf. Worf looked back again at O'Brien, who replied, "Approximately 63%, adjusting for all variables, sir."
"Not the best odds in the universe, hmm?" Sisko said. He turned to McCoy. "Admiral, you're the senior officer present, and we're here at your request. Do we proceed as they've outlined?"
"Hell, yes!" McCoy replied, grinning. "Take a page from Jim Kirk's book, Captain. Get good people on your crew, train them well, and then follow their advice. Unless you've got a better idea?"
"No, I don't. Commander Dax: select a Warbird, set your course, and take us in."
"Aye, sir," said Dax as she turned back to the conn post. "Pick a Warbird, any Warbird," she muttered to herself.
*****
An hour later, the Defiant was in a synchronous orbit over Romulus, her position unchanging over Blenn'ac, the Tal Shiar prison on a small, isolated southern continent.
Dax reported to McCoy, Sisko and Worf. "I've been monitoring Tal Shiar communications traffic with the help of Mister O'Brien. Fortunately, using the latest Starfleet Intelligence cryptographic algorithms, we've been able to get the gist of just about everything we're picking up, although we don't always get the complete text."
"And?" McCoy prompted.
"Ambassador Spock has been interrogated several times a day since his capture over a week ago. So far, his condition is reported to be good, but there's been some discussion between the head of the prison and one of his superiors at Tal Shiar headquarters in the capital about bringing in a specialist with more experience interrogating Vulcans."
"A 'specialist'?" Worf scoffed. "You mean a more skillful torturer."
"Spock's mental conditioning and ability to shield his thoughts are as good as anybody's," McCoy said, "but even that blasted Vulcan can't hold out forever. We've got to get him out of there, or his mind'll be destroyed, and the Underground's goose will be cooked."
"But how?" Dax asked.
There was a long silence. "Well, as I see it, we have just one option," Sisko finally said. "We'll have him and his four followers transferred to Na Peln."
"The Praetor's summer palace world?" Worf asked. "The security will be even tighter there, sir."
McCoy asked in wonderment, "Please don't take this the wrong way, Captain, but tell me: Are you out of your gumbo-makin' mind?"
"I've asked myself that several times since agreeing to your request that we come here, Admiral, but no, I believe I still have my wits about me. Here's what I have in mind. The Praetor is sure to take a personal interest in so significant a Federation prisoner and his accomplices, and since it's not the season for the Praetor to be on Romulus, Ambassador Spock's going to have to go to him on Na Peln."
*****
It wasn't long before Dax and O'Brien had concocted a bogus transmission to the Tal Shiar prison, ordering the transfer of Ambassador Spock and his followers to Na Peln. Coming as the orders did with the sigil of the Praetorian household, it was even less time before Dax detected a small, sleek warp courier lifting from the prison's rooftop docking bay. Sensors showed that it had five Vulcans and eight Romulans aboard, and that the Vulcans were securely behind forcefield barriers. The Defiant, still cloaked, broke orbit and closely followed the courier.
The courier Jeldiim left the homeworlds' orbital plane and climbed high out of the ecliptic, an unusual trajectory which was promptly approved by Romulan intersystem traffic controllers -- who were probably very eager to avoid annoying the Tal Shiar, Worf mused. Soon the courier's course was set for Na Peln.
"We have about two days to extract the ambassador and his followers," Worf said, reading from a PADD. "Well before the courier enters the Na Peln system three days from now, it will be challenged by ships of the Praetorial Guard, and its orders will be found to be fraudulent. However, we have to wait at least another eight hours to get clear of the large amount of ships approaching and departing from Romulus and Remus."
Sisko nodded. "I would prefer no witnesses at all as to what we're about to do. What about their deflectors?"
"The courier is travelling with forward navigational deflectors only, sir," Dax reported. "There should be no problems with transporter use, as long as we match their velocity."
"Very well. Mister Worf, you'll lead the away team, which will include three security officers, in case there's any shooting; Doctor Bashir, to care for any casualties; and Commander Dax, to handle any technical problems which might arise. We should have technical schematics for the interior of Romulan
couriers like this one; I suggest that you study them in the time remaining."
"Aye, sir."
*****
Centurion Menek of the Tal Shiar was bored, terribly, desperately bored, but was careful not to show it. A warrior of the Tal Shiar was not permitted to express such an outlook; duty was to be its own reward, even when his duty was standing in a quiet corridor, as he was doing now. The orders which had so unexpectedly come to transfer the insurrectionist Vulcan and his four henchmen to Na Peln had also prohibited any further interrogation of the prisoners, so he was left without his usual means of amusement during prisoner-transfer trips. The Tal Shiar were efficient and cruel, but they didn't provide much in the way of diversions aboard their courier starships, and Menek had long since tired of recalling the terrified screams of the Yridian wenches he had enjoyed on his last furlough. These Vulcan prisoners didn't even beg to be released or to be fed, so there really wasn't much to occupy his time.
Menek idly spun his disruptor by the trigger guard and thus was not in the best possible position to respond to the five columns of energy which scintillated into being in the corridor before him. In a moment the columns had formed into six bipeds in Starfleet uniform, and in just a moment more the sole Klingon among them had reached out and dropped him with an unerring chop to the neck.
Dax activated her tricorder and began scanning. "The Vulcan prisoners' cells all open off of this corridor. The forcefield barriers can't be dropped without alerting the bridge staff, as we expected."
Worf said quickly, "Kirschner, Hottle, you're with me; we'll secure the bridge. Commander Dax, get to work on locking down the off-duty personnel in quarters and remote-disabling their disruptors. Doctor, give that guard something to keep him under for a few hours, and stand by to examine Ambassador Spock and the others for possible injuries. Mister Calk, guard the doctor. Move out."
*****
Tal Shiar Major Ghalenn would have agreed, if she were asked to be completely candid, with the sentiments of her subordinate, Centurion Menek. She, too, was bored, but at least she had the consolation of knowing of the reward that awaited her on Na Peln for bringing so important a consignment of prisoners into the Praetorial presence. As master of the Tal Shiar courier Jeldiim, hers was the honor, and hers the glory of highest service to the empire. In her mind, she could almost taste the ale from the Praetorial cellars as she ran an approving eye down the ship's systems display in front of her command throne. The aft bridge door slid open, and she glanced idly over her shoulder.
A Klingon and two humans stood there, weapons drawn, Defiant in their enemy uniforms. Starfleet personnel, here, on a ship engaged in Imperial business! Who would have believed it? She was simply astounded. They advanced onto the bridge, quickly disarming the two other Tal Shiar officers on duty there, and Major Ghalenn realized with a sinking feeling that this was not going to be her day to taste the Praetor's ale, after all.
*****
"Short-term memory erasure is a delicate process," Doctor Bashir said. Around him in the Defiant's Sickbay main ward lay eight Romulans, kept unconscious by cerebral-function depressor relays on their foreheads.
"Of course," replied Admiral McCoy.
"And Romulan mental processes are significantly different from those of Vulcans."
"You're right."
"The technique of memory erasure in Romulans has only been carried out five times in the past decade, according to the Starfleet medical database, sir."
"Right again."
"The procedure may take up to three hours, perhaps more."
McCoy scowled and put his hands on his hips. "Dammit, I know all that. Just what are you driving at, young man? That I can't help you with this procedure?"
Bashir protested half-heartedly, "Not at all, sir. I'd be...glad to have your assistance. I just thought that you might prefer to talk with your friend, the ambassador."
"Well, he's resting at the moment, and heaven knows he's earned it, after all he's been through recently. I've been doing this sort of thing since before you were born. Long before, I might say. I'm a qualified surgeon, I've read the Starfleet medical database articles on the procedure, and I want to assist you. Now, do you have a problem with that, Doctor?"
Bashir could recognize a lost cause when he saw it. "Hand me that medical tricorder, if you please, sir. Let's begin."
*****
Captain's log, Stardate 50702.7
The Tal Shiar crew, their short-term memories now wiped clean, have been returned to their starship; they should regain consciousness in a few hours. I knew that we probably couldn't have freed Spock and the others from the prison on Romulus and remained undetected, and decided that we had to get them out of there and into open space. We've now completely cleaned the interior of the ship, down to the subatomic level, to remove any DNA or other traces of a Starfleet presence aboard. Or a Vulcan presence, for that matte; the Tal Shiar major and her crew will have some explaining to do when they arrive at Na Peln with no prisoners aboard. Ambassador Spock and his aides are all in good spirits -- for Vulcans, that is -- and fine health, Doctor Bashir tells me, and we're just an hour away from crossing the Neutral Zone and returning to Federation space. For Ambassador Spock, I suspect, that hour cannot pass quickly enough. He and Admiral McCoy have been feuding constantly since they were reunited.
*****
"Well, Spock," McCoy said, beaming, "it looks like I pulled your bacon out of the fire once again." He, Captain Sisko and Doctor Bashir stood by the ambassador's bed in the Defiant's tiny Sickbay recovery room.
"Bacon, Doctor?" the Vulcan diplomat asked, raising a single eyebrow. "I have no bacon to be pulled, from a fire or anywhere else. As you are well aware, I am a vegetarian."
"Blast it, Spock, you know what I mean. It's been a century since I first met you, and you're still so damned literal-minded. But admit it: If it weren't for me, you'd be singing your heart out for the Praetor right about now."
"I would not sing, Doctor," Spock said thoughtfully. "However, it would be an excellent opportunity to speak to him about the necessity of Romulus adopting the Vulcan ways of logic and peace."
McCoy harrumphed and turned to Sisko. "Leave it to Spock to see a meeting with the Romulan head honcho as just another chance to proselytize. So what I guess you're driving at, Spock, is that I shouldn't expect a thank-you for our little unauthorized jaunt into Romulan territory?"
"You did only what I would have done for you, were our situations reversed, Doctor. I believe it is Captain Sisko and his crew to whom I owe my thanks. They risked the great displeasure of Starfleet, and capture or death at the hands of the Romulans, by agreeing to participate in your rescue plan."
"It was nothing, Ambassador," Sisko responded.
"The honor is to serve," Bashir said, grinning as he quoted the Vulcan axiom.
"So what am I, chopped liver?" McCoy asked. "Didn't I run the same risks?"
"You are retired, and your Starfleet career is already over, Doctor," Spock said gently. "But they have many years ahead of them in Starfleet and, if this mission is any indication, I believe many successful years, at that. Also, Doctor, knowing of your delicate health, I suspect you would not last long under truly determined Tal Shiar interrogation, so your suffering, if captured, would be quite limited. In fact, I calculate that you would endure for approximately --"
"Don't tell me!" McCoy snapped. "If you give me some calculation of how long my ticker would hold out, accurate to within five decimal places, I just might lose my lunch."
"Please, Doctor," Spock said reproachfully. "I calculated your likely endurance to within eight decimal places."
"Why, you green-blooded, pointy-eared Vulcan --" McCoy sputtered, as Sisko and Doctor Bashir fought back smiles. Then McCoy stopped and held up his hand. His wrinkled face split in an evil grin. "Why, so help me, I almost forgot. You retired as a captain in Starfleet, but I'm still a rear admiral in the Reserves. Therefore, it gives me great pleasure, Spock, to order you to shut up."
"Really, Doctor," the Vulcan said, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean it, Spock. Say another word, and I'll see you in irons. One more peep out of you, and you'll wish you were back with your chums in the Tal Shiar."
"Tell me, Doctor Bashir, can the admiral actually order the ambassador to shut up?" Sisko asked.
Bashir hesitated. "If you're asking me for my legal opinion, sir, I'd have to say --"
"No, he wasn't asking you that, Doctor," McCoy interjected crossly. "You're a doctor, not a barrister. Nobody asked either of you anything. Now, don't you both have something on the bridge to do? Maybe there're some Romulan Warbirds to watch out for? Get out of this Sickbay, both of you. Go on, shoo! Shoo!"
As Sisko and Bashir hurriedly left, chuckling, the young doctor looked back at the ancient Vulcan and human, each of whom had led such amazing lives of adventure and service to Starfleet. He thought he saw the ghost of a smile playing about Spock's lips as McCoy glared at his patient.
And as the Sickbay doors whisked shut behind them, Bashir could just hear McCoy say, with all the satisfaction of his many years, "Well, I'll be damned. I got in the last word again."