Reap the Whirlwind

Sounding confused and alarmed, Fisher mumbled, “She lied.”

“There’s more,” M’Benga said. “Over the last two days, I’ve spoken to six doctors who were CMOs at her previous assignments. Most don’t remember treating the kinds of injuries she reported, but three of them said they did treat her for symptoms similar to the ones that brought her into the ER six days ago. And they all found that their private records regarding T’Pry

Fisher pulled a hand slowly and firmly over his gray goatee. “Exposing a lie is one thing, Jabilo. Getting the truth is another.” He handed back the data slate. “Let me tell you what I found out from the brass at Starfleet Medical. Her files were sealed by someone at Starfleet Intelligence—someone with a much higher clearance than mine. The whitewashed version was the best I could do; if you really want to get her original medical file, you’ll have to talk to someone above my pay grade.”

“Someone like Commodore Reyes?”

A knowing smile pulled Fisher’s mouth wide. “If you think you can get him to sign the order, be my guest.”

M’Benga asked, “Could you help me convince him?”

“Sorry,” Fisher said, turning back toward the console. “I have a lot to do and no time to do it. If you want to go tilting at windmills tonight, you’re on your own.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” M’Benga said, hiding his irritation at being left to carry on alone. “I will.”

Lines, circles, and arrows. That’s all that Reyes could see after staring for too long at the sector chart on his office wall. Dots, rings, and washes of color. It was all bleeding together, turning into gibberish. Part of him suspected that the idea of borders in interstellar space had always been nonsense.

Arrowheads, trefoils, diamonds, and squares—ship markers were scattered far and wide across his map. Arrowheads were few and far between: those were Starfleet vessels. Slightly greater in number were the trefoils representing Klingon warships. The diamonds were scarcest of all, not because the Tholian vessels they represented didn’t exist but because Reyes’s team had no idea where they were. Cluttering the map were the squares: civilian ships. Freighters, tankers, colony vessels. Almost too many to count, but it was his team’s job to protect them all.

Every day he tracked the activity in the sector like a hunter watching for a telltale warning sign in the brush or a rustle of movement in the tall grass. Sooner or later, either the Klingons or the Tholians would make their move to seize control of the Taurus Reach. Assuming I do my job right, he reminded himself, I’ll see it coming and be able to stop them.

Reyes picked at his midnight snack. The lasagna had gone cold while he’d sat staring at the wall, and the salad had marinated in its red-wine vinaigrette to the point of nearly disintegrating. He tried forcing down another mouthful of lasagna, but it had been mediocre when it was hot and had since become all but inedible.

His intercom buzzed. He thumbed open the cha

“Dr. M’Benga to see you, sir,” said Yeoman Fi

He felt himself blink and recoil gently. This is new. “Send him in,” he said. Grateful for an excuse to abandon his meal, he pushed the tray aside.

His office door opened, and M’Benga walked in. The doctor noticed the tray on Reyes’s desk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your di

“I was finished,” Reyes said, standing up to greet him. He circled around the desk and extended his hand. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“No, sir,” M’Benga said.

Sifting through memories of recent events, Reyes flashed upon why M’Benga’s name was familiar. Snapping his fingers, he said, “You put in for a transfer a few weeks back, didn’t you?”

“About two months ago, actually,” M’Benga said.

Reyes gestured to the chairs in front of his desk as he circled back behind it to his own. “Well, these things take time. If you’re here about speeding up the process—”

“I’m not,” M’Benga said. “I came to talk to you about Lieutenant Commander T’Pry

Settling into his chair, Reyes knew this couldn’t be good. “What about them, Doctor?”

“For starters,” M’Benga said, “I’d like to know why they were redacted by Starfleet Intelligence. Regulations require us to maintain complete medical histories on all serving officers. But someone at Starfleet Intelligence modified her records, removed critical information, and inserted fraudulent data. T’Pry

Exercising care in his choice of words, Reyes said, “There are numerous reasons why Starfleet Intelligence might classify someone’s records, Doctor.” He slowly adjusted the monitor on his desktop so that he alone could see it. As he continued, he submitted a request for T’Pry

M’Benga shook his head. “That still wouldn’t explain the absence of accurate baseline data. Without that, it’s impossible for us to tell the difference between chronic conditions and acute ones, and we have no basis for detecting anomalies in her vital statistics. Scans I made during her recent visit to the ER suggested some serious neurochemical imbalances, but I have no way to make a comparative analysis.”

“What are you asking for, Doctor?”

“You have the rank and security clearance to override the classification order,” M’Benga said. “I’m asking you to release Lieutenant Commander T’Pry

T’Pry

There’s got to be a regulation against that, Reyes figured. Considering the serious nature of the doctor’s allegations, he wondered whether he ought to inform M’Benga of T’Pry

by-proxy operation on Borzha II that Reyes had set in motion from a plan drafted by T’Pry

If she sealed her own records, she must have had a good reason, Reyes convinced himself. You have to trust her.

He blanked her information from his screen and looked up at M’Benga. “I’m sorry, Doctor…. Request denied.”