Free Worlds in Collision by Judith Reeves-Stevens Page B

was even worse than he had thought.
    None of the regular crew was on duty. Five people he didn’t recognize, each wearing the Orion constellation insignia of Starbase Four, were busy at bridge controls. Two of them, one a security officer, huddled over Spock’s science station. And Commodore Montana Wolfe had the gall to be sitting in his chair. At least that meant it might actually be an Alpha emergency, Kirk told himself, and decided he would begin the conversation as a Fleet officer. For the moment.
    â€œThis had better be good, Commodore.” His voice was neutral but his eyes were on fire.
    The commodore swung round in the chair. “And hello to you, too, Kirk.” She took the measure of his mood and added, “Trust me, it’s damned good.” Then she stood up. “Like to take over?”
    But Kirk wasn’t being bought off that easily. “What happened to my people?” He looked over to the science station. The starbase crew had attached a programmer’s siphon to Spock’s main viewer. The lights on the device rippled as it relayed the contents of the ship’s science databanks through a subspace downlink. Obviously Starfleet had provided the proper override codes, further adding to the seriousness of the situation.
    The commodore stepped away from the command chair. “Only two lieutenants on duty when we arrived, Captain. Navigation and communications. They—how shall I put it?—hesitated…when I took command. I thought it was best to relieve them until things settled down.”
    â€œAre things going to settle down?” Kirk didn’t move toward the chair. He was taking his ship back on his own terms, not on the whim of a ranking officer.
    â€œThat depends,” Wolfe hedged.
    Kirk waited a moment for her to continue. When she didn’t, he said, “Are you going to tell me what it depends on?”
    Wolfe thought about that for a moment. “No,” she finally said. “No, I’m not.”
    Â 
    The medical scanner reported a heartrate of 212 beats per minute, blood pressure almost nonexistent, and an internal temperature of 66.6 degrees Celsius.
    â€œAll readings are normal,” McCoy said as he swung the examination table down for Spock. “In a manner of speaking.”
    â€œAs I told you they would be, Doctor.” Spock stepped from the table and the scanner screen fell dark and silent.
    â€œI just don’t like the idea of you having been alone with a security interrogation team. Those military types are running around as if we’re all Klingons in disguise, and there’s no telling what kind of medical bag of slimy tricks they might open up if they thought they needed help getting answers from a tight-lipped Vulcan.”
    â€œI assure you, Doctor, I answered all of the questions they put to me.”
    â€œAnd they believed you?” Sometimes McCoy didn’t believe the medical data that suggested Vulcan skulls were just as thin as human ones.
    â€œVulcans do not lie.”
    McCoy rolled his eyes. “Except when it seems to be the logical thing to do, right?”
    Spock looked thoughtful. “Of course.”
    â€œSo,” McCoy continued, “maybe your interrogators thought you might have had a logical reason not to answer their questions.”
    Now Spock looked puzzled. “But as I told you, I answered all of their questions.”
    McCoy waved his hands. “I give up, Spock. Maybe I should be checking out the interrogation team. You probably gave them all splitting headaches.” He looked up in alarm. “Don’t say it!”
    Spock closed his mouth in midword. Kirk came into sickbay, still in his dress tunic.
    â€œYou’re all right, Spock?” he asked.
    â€œYes, he is,” McCoy answered quickly.
    â€œAnd you, Captain?” Spock said.
    Kirk looked around as if searching for answers. “I don’t know. My ship’s been comandeered by