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After serving for three years as leader of the security detachment aboard the U.S.S. Helios, and four years on two other starships before that, Lorca was looking for a change of pace and scenery. Duty at a regular Starfleet starbase or ground installation held little appeal for him, and it was his captain and mentor, Zachary Matuzas, who suggested the Tarsus IV billet at OT-4. Matuzas, as unconventional a commanding officer as Lorca had known at that point in his brief career, informed him that not only was the observation and relay outpost an important part of Starfleet’s overall security
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Bao had been a formidable tennis player, as Lorca discovered the hard way during their frequent, spirited games on Sunday mornings, while Nolokov had fancied himself an amateur astronomer. It was not unusual to find him sitting in an open field a kilometer or so west of the outpost on clear evenings, using an old-fashioned refractor telescope to peer at the stars in Tarsus IV’s night sky. Lorca had joined him on a few of those occasions, during which he also enjoyed samples of the latest bourbon produced by the lieutenant using a method of his own devising. The results were something that had
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Now the two of them were gone, cut down in violent fashion for no sensible reason. Someone needed to answer for this. Lorca knew he would not be satisfied until he obtained a suitable explanation, no matter what it took or from whom he was forced to extract the answers.
When neither prisoner opted to answer, he felt his hands balling into fists, and it required force of will to keep his arms at his sides. The other men could see his rising emotions as both looked back at him with mounting fear.
Taking a moment to verify his temper remained in check, Lorca relaxed his hands, but kept his tone cold and hard.
Screw with me, and I’ll throw you over whatever cliff I can find. Do we understand each other?”
Relishing the pain in his hand, Lorca said nothing for a moment as he flexed his fingers to make sure he had not broken anything.
Until that point, he had never been with anyone like her, and even his closest friends would describe him as conventional: prim and proper, if not outright boring.
Though he had not come to Tarsus IV looking for a relationship, the idea of extending his tour here, or even leaving Starfleet and staying here, was one Lorca found himself considering with increasing frequency.
Constitution-class starship, one of Starfleet’s newest and most powerful vessels, would be able to provide all manner of support upon its arrival, including dedicated science and engineering teams that could tackle the problem of the still-active infection. Assuming we strike out when we get there, of course. Providing a more immediate response was the eclectic mix of officers and civilian specialists cobbled together by Admiral Anderson, placed under Georgiou’s charge, and thrown aboard the Narbonne.
That carried weight with Georgiou, who had left her former, more martial career path in favor of contributing to Starfleet’s ever-expanding interstellar exploration mandate.
“I’m honored.” She declined the offer of any sweeteners, preferring her coffee without additives.
No encounters with Romulans had been reported for more than eighty years, following the Earth-Romulan War that preceded the founding of the Federation. Beaten back by an alliance of Earth, Vulcan, Andorian, and Tellarite forces, the Romulans appeared content to retreat behind their borders and leave the rest of the quadrant well enough alone, but longtime Starfleet veterans like Georgiou knew that it was only a matter of time before
At Starbase 11 while awaiting transport to her next assignment as first officer aboard the U.S.S. Defiant, Georgiou found herself “drafted” by the admiral into emergency service and attached to the transport vessel for temporary duty.
A square wooden bowl, the kind every vendor might swear was carved from the first tree felled on a colony, was filled with slips from the various fortune cookies he had given her to open. Why she kept them, he did not know, but it was one of those little quirks he loved about her. Absentmindedly, he selected one at random and glanced at it before putting it in a pocket.
After listening to him read the note aloud, Bridges asked, “She calls you ‘Gabe’? That’s sweet.” “She’s one of the very few who can without risking serious injury.” Lorca offered a small grin to show he was joking, but the truth was that he did prefer to be addressed by his proper name. Balayna ignored this wish, playfully of course, and in truth he had grown rather comfortable with her doing so.
Lorca wanted him. He wanted the governor’s throat in his hands. He wanted to feel the other man’s pulse beneath his fingers, its rate increasing with each passing moment as he squeezed ever tighter, until the beats stopped or the windpipe cracked or he simply ripped that handful of tissue free as the light faded from Kodos’s eyes.
There was no reason to deny the request, but my point was that it was never a request. It was a decision, made by someone else, implemented by someone else, and put into motion without even a passing attempt at respecting the sovereign status of this planet or my authority as its duly elected leader.” She looked to Captain Korrapati. “So let’s kindly dispense with the lectures about core Federation values. They’re of precious little use to me at the moment.”
Trained years ago as a field medic, Georgiou quickly found herself lending a hand with the triage activities both here at the hospital and at the emergency treatment stations set up at a school gymnasium a short walk from here.
She knew he was right, but the anger at having watched the man killed before her eyes—in the corridor of a hospital, no less—drove her onward. Reaching the treatment room, she saw it was unoccupied and she lowered the man onto the treatment table. Once he was prone, lying faceup, there was no denying that he had passed. His eyes, thankfully, were closed, and she found herself transfixed by the wound and blood marring the right side of his head, face, and neck.
The errant thought was enough to invoke another shiver. Carried on the light breeze wafting across the arena field was the unmistakable odor of burned flesh. She clamped her mouth shut, wrinkling her nose in protest of the fetid stench assailing her nostrils. The amphitheater’s design all but assured the smell would persist here until the field was cleaned of the carbonized remains. As she pondered this, Georgiou trembled again and gripped herself tighter, and the more she did that, the angrier she became. Bastards.
Lorca’s own words, uttered with cool resolve during their first meeting, still rang in her ears. He presented himself as a man possessed, if not obsessed, with the singular goal of finding Kodos and bringing him to justice. Georgiou was okay with that, to a point.
Lorca said, “Utopia’s easy when everything works and all your basic needs are met. We tend to think we’ve traveled this long path toward peace and prosperity, but take away the necessities of living and it’s a short walk back to our baser instincts. Kodos’s mistake was allowing that to cloud his judgment.”
“Those people in particular need to know they can’t hide from us. They need to be terrified at the very idea that we’ll find them.” Easy, Philippa.
I want him running and I want him scared, and then I want him in chains.”
It was another habit formed from countless hours of training and a few hours of actual tactical operations like this one, all part of a life he thought he had left behind years ago.
Curious as to who might be here to see her without going through official channels, Georgiou made her way toward the waiting area and felt her whole mood lift as her eyes fell on young Shannon Moulton.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” said the woman as she approached, and the way she offered the rank without hesitation told Georgiou that she was familiar with Starfleet. “My name is Winona Kirk. I’m a xenobiologist working with the colony’s science institute. I hope my son hasn’t been causing any trouble.” To the boy, she said, “I’ve been looking all over for you. There’s a curfew for children, you know.” “I told Sam I’d be here.” “Then you can bet I’ll be having a little chat with you and your brother when we get home.” Winona turned to Georgiou. “What’s he done now?”
“We’re not sure,” replied the guard. “He locked the terminal before we could stop him, and we can’t access it, directly or remotely.” “It’s not my fault you don’t know your own system.” “James,” said Winona, her tone one of warning.
“What were you doing?” she asked the boy. The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Looking for a picture of Kodos.”
“Because I saw him, Mom. I saw his face, on the screens. He tried to hide it, but I got a good look at him. So did Tommy. We both saw him, but I can’t find a picture of him anywhere.”
“Kirk. James Tiberius Kirk.” He cast a quick glance toward his mother. “You can call me Jim.”
When he spoke, there was an obvious pride in the words that bordered on defiance. No doubt the boy took his share of ribbing with such a pretentious-sounding name, but rather than express shame he instead seemed to wear it like a badge of honor. Indeed, there was a maturity in his entire stance and demeanor that belied his youth. He stood ramrod straight, hands at his sides. While he might not be preparing to attack or flee, he also seemed unfazed at the prospect of reprisal. Watching him, Georgiou observed how he remained aware of his surroundings, including what might be happening behind
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Jim cast a sad look toward his friend. “He wanted to see what it was all about, so he talked me into going with him.” It took a moment for Georgiou to grasp the boy’s meaning. “Wait. You were there, in the amphitheater? You saw what happened?”
“Once the shooting started,” continued Jim, “there was a lot of commotion in the stands and walkways as guards reacted to what was happening. One of the guards saw us and we ran, and he shot at us.” He paused, swallowing an apparent lump in his throat. “He wasn’t trying to stun us. His phaser was set to maximum, and he just barely missed us. The beam was close enough that Tommy’s face was grazed.”
“No.” Winona shook her head. “I was working at our lab, and my husband’s not even on the planet. He’s in Starfleet, and they’re always sending him on secret missions, so I don’t see him very much.” She dropped her gaze to the floor, and Georgiou saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I wish he was here now.”
Georgiou wondered if it was a product of having to assume greater responsibilities at such a young age to compensate for a father called away by duty for months or perhaps even years at a stretch.
Georgiou was surprised by that bit of information. Given the relative ease and convenience of modern space travel, it was rare to encounter someone who had never ventured beyond the confines of their home solar system. Even her own parents had traveled to Vulcan, as that planet along with other Federation planets was always expanding its capacity and willingness to host “outworlders” curious to experience firsthand the culture of another world and civilization.
“Wait outside,” Georgiou snapped, fixing Lorca with the hard glare she reserved for junior subordinates who did something stupid through apathy or laziness.
Georgiou shrugged. “I should have let him.” That got the man’s attention, and he sat straighter in his chair. “On the other hand, a dead man can’t answer any questions. The ball’s in your court, Mister Simmons.”
In truth, she was not comfortable with the suspension of civil liberties that came with imposing military rule over a civilian populace. It was a tool for use in extreme circumstances, and while the current situation qualified, Georgiou knew it was a practice that was vulnerable to abuse.
After another minute or so of the silent treatment, she placed the data slate on the desk. Leaning back in her chair, she folded her hands in her lap and regarded him with obvious disapproval, but also a hint of concern.
He slid his hand into his pocket, not realizing he was reaching for the small fortune cookie slip until he felt it slide between his fingers.
didn’t want to waste more of your time.” Georgiou was too good an officer to have to put up with whatever excuse he might choose to employ. Lorca could not defend his inappropriate actions. Assaulting a prisoner was a direct violation of at least a half dozen Starfleet regulations and civil laws. The only way to retain Georgiou’s support was to respect her and give her straight answers.
“I might disagree with your actions, but having reviewed your record, I’m confident it was an atypical occurrence. Therefore, I don’t expect I’ll be seeing a repeat of that performance. Am I clear?”
“I’m sorry, Commander.” There was no doubting her sentiment was genuine. Lorca saw the anguish in her eyes and was grateful for it. He also knew that duty compelled her to look at this new development with a professional, dispassionate eye.
He paused, feeling his anxiety level rising. Drawing a deep, calming breath, he clasped his hands before him. “I need to finish it. Not just for Balayna, but for all of them.”
“Absolutely. Besides, it’s certainly better than sitting around here and wallowing in . . . it’s better than just sitting around here. I need to do something, Commander.”
“I understand and appreciate what you’ve been through, and based on what you’ve told me, I can accept your actions against Simmons were motivated by stress and fatigue, and even anger. Given the circumstances, I’m willing to consider them an abnormality, but this is important, Mister Lorca: I want Kodos punished just like you do, but we are not vigilantes. It’s not our job to dispense justice. Bring Kodos back—alive.”
Stay warm, stay hydrated, and stay ready to fight, his combat and wilderness survival instructors told him, over and over, during training that felt as though it had occurred a lifetime ago. The rest of it will sort itself out later.
