Declassified

“Welcome to the independent colony of New Anglesey,” said the woman with the black hair. “I’m Ying Mei-Hua, governor of this settlement. This is Helena Sgouros, head of security, and Anatoly Dolnikov, our senior physician.”

“Captain Rana Desai, Judge Advocate General’s office, Starbase 47,” Desai said, extending her hand to Ying as she stepped down off the shuttle’s ramp. “This is Doctor Ezekiel Fisher, our chief medical officer. Thank you for coming out to meet us, Governor, and for granting us permission to visit your planet.”

“It seemed the decent thing to do,” Ying said. “I can appreciate your admiral’s desire to have Commander Miller’s remains handled according to Starfleet custom. And on behalf of my people, I want you to know that we share your grief. Aole was an exceptional individual.”

“Thank you,” Desai said. “I’ll be sure to convey your sentiments to his friends and family.”

“I know you must be eager to return to your base, and we have no wish to delay you,” Ying continued. She nodded at Doctor Dolnikov, who stepped forward and offered his slate to Desai.

“My autopsy report,” the doctor explained, “as well as the release transferring custody of the body and Miller’s personal effects. If you’ll sign it, we can assist you in loading his stasis chamber onto your shuttlecraft.”

Desai made no move to take the slate. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We won’t be leaving until Doctor Fisher has conducted his own autopsy and confirmed the cause of death to his satisfaction, and my own.”

Dolnikov tensed. “That’s hardly necessary. A tricorder scan will confirm my findings.”

“I have no doubt they will,” Fisher said diplomatically. “This isn’t intended to impugn your forensic skills, Doctor. It’s a matter of regulations. Autopsies on Starfleet perso

“Surely you can do that back at your base,” Sgouros said.

“We’d prefer to remain within easy access of the place Miller died,” Desai said. She turned back to Ying. “If any questions arose, I’m sure you’d prefer we addressed them sooner rather than later, especially if it meant we’d have to return here to get the answers.”

“That isn’t what we agreed to—” Sgouros began.

“That seems entirely reasonable, Captain,” Ying said, speaking over her head of security. “Anatoly, why don’t you take Doctor Fisher and the body back to your lab so he can carry out his duty. Please extend to him every courtesy.”

“You’re welcome to leave Commander Miller’s duffel bag here in the shuttle,” Desai offered.

“Thanks,” Dolnikov said, tossing the bag through the open hatch before leading Fisher back to his skimmer.

“I imagine they’re going to be a while,” Ying told Desai. “Can I interest you in a late lunch, Captain?”

“That’s very gracious of you, Governor,” Desai said. “I’d welcome an opportunity to speak with you.”

Until Fisher had stepped off the Guo Shoujing,he had managed to avoid thinking too much about his role in the Kadru assignment. It was easier to focus on worrying about Rana, or trying to cheer her up, or doing damage control with the senior officers of the Endeavour. Not that he didn’t take this saddest of his duties seriously; of all his responsibilities during his fifty years as a Starfleet physician, performing an autopsy paradoxically required the greatest level of sensitivity as well as the highest degree of detachment.

But it was different when the one on the slab was somebody he knew.

Dolnikov wasn’t one for small talk, despite Fisher’s attempts to engage him on the ride into town. At first Fisher thought he was just irritated about another doctor waltzing in to redo a procedure he’d already performed. But it was more than that, Fisher realized. Dolnikov didn’t seem resentful so much as worried.

It was too bad, really; stripped of his obvious unease, Dolnikov seemed like he might be a decent enough fellow . . . the heavy stun pistol strapped to his hip notwithstanding.

With a population still barely over three hundred, New Anglesey was too small to warrant its own medical examiner, much less dedicated facilities for one. It therefore came as no surprise to Fisher that the room Dolnikov used for autopsies was in the building that housed the colony’s infirmary as well as laboratories for the study of biological samples.

Just after the two doctors had finished changing into surgical scrubs, a striking young woman entered the lab from outside, carrying a small sample case. She couldn’t have been much over twenty, if Fisher was any judge—about Rana’s height, and with the same caramel complexion. There the similarities ended. The young woman’s hazel-eyed face had sharper angles than Rana’s, and her light brown hair was streaked with gold.

She froze upon seeing Fisher, and her initial surprise changed very quickly to suspicion.

“Who’s the Herbert?” she asked Dolnikov.

Fisher raised his eyebrows.

“Tavia, what are you doing here?” Dolnikov said. “I’m in the middle of something! Come back later!”

She glared at him. “Relax, Doc. I’m just dropping off some new samples. I didn’t know you’d be—” She broke off as she noticed the exam table, atop which lay the draped body of Aole Miller.

“What the hell is this?” she grated. “This was done, Anatoly!”

“Tavia, calm down!” Dolnikov urged.

“Why are you cutting him open again? Can’t you leave him in peace?”

“Maybe I should explain,” Fisher began.

Her eyes blazed with open hostility. “Maybe you should go to hell.”

“That’s enough!” Dolnikov shouted. He grabbed her by the arm and started ushering her forcefully toward a set of double doors leading to an i

“Were you Aole’s friend?” Fisher asked.

She looked back at him, suspicious again. “I du

“Aole was my friend, too,” Fisher said, and he smiled at her. “And the thing is, this is the last thing I’ll ever do for him. So you can believe me when I tell you I’m going to treat him with the utmost respect.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly. Still, it was enough.

“You’d better,” she warned him, and disappeared through the double doors, leaving the men to their grim work.

As Sgouros drove them through town, Desai absorbed as much as she could of New Anglesey. It had clearly started out like most Federation settlements, with a well-organized core grid of standard one- and two-story prefab structures, giving way to more individualistic buildings that combined imported construction elements with materials that had been obtained locally. Dull white prefab walls had been painted in dramatic colors, varying from building to building according to the user’s taste. An enormous geodesic dome—the colony’s greenhouse—dominated the southern end. In the center of the settlement was a paved town square surrounded by a handful of commercial establishments, including an open-air café. Governor Ying’s home was one of the more modest structures on the northern end of town, and doubled as her office.

Lunch was a salad of fresh greens, sliced tomatoes, chopped celery, and carrot shavings, tossed with a raspberry vinaigrette and prepared by Ying herself. Sgouros disappeared for a few minutes, returning with pitchers of real lemonade and freshly brewed iced tea she brought over from her own house down the road.

“I hope this isn’t too rustic for you, Captain,” Ying said as the three women sat down to their meal.

“On the contrary, Governor,” Desai said. “This is just what I needed.”

“Good. But I prefer ‘Doctor Ying,’ actually,” the colony leader corrected as Sgouros poured Desai some iced tea. “We’re a scientific community, and my role is administrative, not political. Titles like ‘governor’ only remind us what we’re trying to get away from.”