Chapter Twelve

DR. BEVERLY CRUSHER winced slightly as she uncovered Karn Milu’s body, but she was beginning to get used to the burned-out crater that had once been the Betazoid’s chest. She pointed out its dimensions to Worf.

“Close range,” she said, “and brief. A prolonged blast from a phaser set to full would have vaporized the body. Notice the lack of bleeding.”

Worf straightened up, having seen enough of this particular corpse. “So,” he concluded, “Dr. Milu was not walking or running away from his slayer but was facing him at close range.”

“Undoubtedly,” Beverly agreed. “I’ll put that in my autopsy report, because I don’t have much else to put in. There can be no doubt about this one.” She covered the body, not wishing to look at the Betazoid’s frozen features any longer.

“Yet he shot me to stun,” Worf muttered puzzledly, his thick brow hooding his eyes. “At least the sequence of events is clear: Emil Costa quarreled with Karn Milu, put your son in the class-zero pod, then killed Dr. Milu. He had to take a special turbolift back to the transition room, but from there he could have escaped down any number of corridors. He must’ve entered the transition room shortly before I did, heard my voice when I demanded entrance, and hid among the garment racks.”

“Whoa,” interjected Beverly Crusher. “Back up a moment, Worf. What did you say about putting my son in a class-zero pod?”

The Klingon cleared his throat before stating, “I ordered Ensign Crusher not to mention it to you, but he was observing Emil Costa for me.”

Beverly drew in a sharp breath and stared at him. “You had my son tailing a murder suspect?” she asked incredulously. “A man you knew was dangerous? Lieutenant, Wes is not a part of your security detail.”

“He had a previous relationship with Emil Costa,” Worf explained. “I wished to exploit it, but I also told him not to engage in any activity that could result in his peril. None of us knew the extent of Dr. Costa’s derangement, or the involvement of Dr. Milu. They acted together to confine your son in a class-zero pod. Like myself, Wesley was lucky.” He glanced down at the blasted body of Karn Milu.

Beverly’s anger faded into incomprehension. “None of this makes any sense,” she moaned. “Look what that madman tried to do with the shuttlecraft! I just sent the Kreel orderly we had in sickbay back to his ship. He was still shaking.”

“We were very fortunate,” agreed Worf, “considering the alternative.”

The doctor snorted a derisive laugh. “And I always thought Emil Costa was one of the nicest men on the ship. He treated Wesley like his favorite student, a teacher’s pet. To think, he could have done this . . . and murdered his wife too. It’s astonishing.”

Worf stroked his goatee thoughtfully before replying, “I’m not so sure Emil killed Lynn Costa. Without a confession, a trial on that charge could take months and might still prove inconclusive.”

“I know,” sighed Beverly. “I would have liked to be more specific in my autopsy, but I could only say she died from inhaling toxic gas.”

“No matter,” replied Worf, straightening the sheet on Karn Milu’s body. “Doctor, can you keep this body preserved for a few days?”

“I suppose so,” she nodded. “Why?”

“I intend to show it to the court.”

“You talk like the prosecutor,” Beverly observed.

“Whatever I must do, I will do,” Worf promised. “I am determined to achieve justice.”

He turned and marched out of sickbay. Beverly Crusher couldn’t remember when she had seen a more determined look on his rough-hewn face.

 

The containment doors opened, and Data strode into the chamber alone. Emil Costa instantly bounded to his feet and pressed up against the invisible forcefield of his cell.

“Commander Data!” he called with relief, trying to compose himself. “They were true to their words, I’ll give them that—they sent you to help me!”

Data strode to the edge of the cell and peered quizzically at the scientist, “I have not agreed to accept this assignment,” he replied, “which is fully voluntary. Why do you wish me for your defense counsel?”

“On Wesley Crusher’s recommendation,” said Emil, starting to pace. “But more importantly, I’m in a lot of trouble. I know that now. I am willing to admit to every crime I ever committed, going back to the biofilter days, but I am not guilty of murdering anyone!”

“For my clarification,” replied Data, “you will insist you are innocent of murdering Karn Milu, no matter what evidence is presented?”

“Yes!” barked the old man forcefully. “I am innocent. They can shoot me out of a torpedo tube, and I’ll still say I am innocent!”

“Curious metaphor,” observed the android. “You realize, Dr. Costa, this stance will preclude any mutual agreement on lesser charges, such as self-defense or accidental manslaughter.”

“I am innocent,” maintained the frail researcher. “I will never plead guilty to killing Lynn or Dr. Milu, because I didn’t do it!” He hung his head. “I don’t know why they’re dead and I am still alive.”

“If you did not kill them,” asked Data, “who did?”

“I don’t know!” shrieked Emil, banging his fists on the forcefield. “I thought Karn Milu killed my wife . . . when I wasn’t deluding myself into thinking that it could be an accident, or suicide. But now that he is dead . . .”

Emil Costa gripped his temples and howled, “I don’t know who it is, but I know they’ve been after me!”

“Calm yourself, Doctor,” said Data with alarm. “I will plead your case, but I cannot guarantee you will be acquitted. Many people are already convinced of your guilt.”

“What have I got to lose?” muttered Emil, slumping onto his bed. “I’ve already lost everything.”

Data nodded slowly, knowing Emil Costa’s life would not improve soon. Even if they managed to get him acquitted of Karn Milu’s murder, he faced a myriad of charges over his other actions. With or without an acquittal, he would probably face Kreel justice. Data was concerned about Emil Costa’s plight, but he was not looking for a new career.

“It is understood,” explained the android, “I will represent you only at the trial for the murder of Karn Milu. If you need legal counsel after that, you will have to look elsewhere.”

“Understood,” nodded Emil gratefully. “By the way, Commander, thank you for saving us on that shuttlecraft. I truly regret what I did. For that momentary lapse of sanity, I will accept the harshest punishment—but not for crimes I didn’t commit.”

“Good-bye, Doctor,” said Data, starting for the door. “I will return when my appointment as your defender becomes official.”

“Thank you,” the old man smiled wearily.

 

Deanna Troi lay shivering in her bed, unable to sleep. She pulled a thick afghan over her shoulders, but it didn’t help to quell the fear. For hours now, she had felt a nameless dread. It had started when she had first heard the shuttlecraft was missing—no, it had started before then. Really, Deanna admitted to herself, it had started from her dream of Lynn Costa’s death. With each new episode of violence, the apprehension grew.

It should be over. The death of Karn Milu, the rescue from the asteroid belt, and now the imprisonment of Emil Costa—it all sounded like the climax of a Victorian play. The villain was safely behind bars, and now everyone could put on their coats and go home. But something was missing, namely the fact that the tension hadn’t eased. The dread Deanna had felt all along was not going away; it was intruding deeper into every moment, waking or not.

Was Emil Costa such a vile man that he could be sitting in his cell even now, plotting more murders? Deanna didn’t think so. In Emil, she sensed defeat, acknowledgment of mistakes, and extreme regret. She didn’t sense the cold-blooded craving for more revenge and murder she was sensing at this moment.

Deanna shuddered, jumped out of bed, and went to her wardrobe. There was no point in lying around scaring herself. Anyone who had heard what happened to Karn Milu was naturally going to be thinking about violence and death. Plus, she could be wrong about Emil Costa; she had been wrong about his wife. Maybe Emil was the source of the danger she still felt so strongly.

What I need is some diversion, Deanna decided. She put on her blue dress with the sparkle in the fabric and checked out her face in the mirror. Hair was okay, and what was troubling the face could only be cured by thinking of something else. Besides, with Guinan as her own personal informant, a trip to the Ten-Forward Room was business.

Deanna Troi hesitated before stepping into the corridor, but the apprehension wouldn’t go away. There was no pretending that she would be able to think about anything else, so Deanna touched her communicator badge.

“Counselor Troi to Dr. Saduk,” she requested.

“Saduk here,” came the crisp Vulcan tones.

“Sorry to bother you,” she stammered, “but I was just thinking about Dr. Milu and everything that’s happened. Would you like to have a drink with me in the Ten-Forward Room?”

“I would welcome it,” he replied. “I will meet you there in approximately twelve minutes.”

“Fine,” she answered. “Out.”

The Ten-Forward Room had never seemed more crowded yet more subdued than in the last few days, thought Deanna. People had wanted to congregate somewhere, anywhere—first to bemoan Lynn Costa’s death, then to discuss the rumors, and now to see if it was true that Karn Milu was also dead. No shipwide announcement had yet been made, but enough low voices made it clear that the ship’s grapevine was efficiently on-line.

The counselor smiled politely and greeted a few people she knew, but she steered a direct course for the counter where Guinan usually held court. On this busy evening, the hostess was all over the room, but upon seeing Deanna, she gravitated back to the bar.

“Hello, Counselor,” said Guinan glumly, matching Deanna’s glum expression. “It’s times like this I wish I had something stronger to offer than synthehol.”

“It wouldn’t help,” Deanna frowned. “It’s just so distressing, I can’t take my mind off these murders.”

“And that shuttlecraft business,” clucked the Listener. “Crazy. Nobody can believe it.”

“I’ve studied psychology my whole life,” Deanna said numbly, “and I still don’t understand deadly violence. Does a person wake up one morning to discover that killing is the only solution to his problems, his torment? Is it something that strikes at the moment?”

The Betazoid shook her head and answered her own rhetorical question, “No, it doesn’t strike suddenly. Whoever planned Lynn Costa’s death had plenty of time to think about it. This is all a piece from the same rotten cloth.”

Guinan observed with a wry smile, “You can’t prevent madness. The more intelligent we get, the more prone we are to it. We have to consider ourselves lucky that it doesn’t affect more of us.”

The Betazoid sighed, “I came down here to think about something else, if that’s possible. What’s the ice cream special tonight?”

“Banana split!” enthused Guinan. “Today only, we include alterations on your waistband.”

Deanna grinned, but before she could decide, a voice broke in on the ship’s intercom. “This is Captain Picard,” came the familiar clipped tones, sounding more solemn than usual. “As many of you have already heard, Dr. Karn Milu, head of our science branch, was brutally murdered with a phaser about six hours ago.

“By Dr. Milu’s express order,” continued the captain, “there will be no memorial service. His body will be stored at Kayran Rock until suitable transportation is arranged to his home planet. So let this quote from Goethe suffice: ‘Death is a commingling of eternity with time; in the death of a good man, eternity is seen looking through time.’ ”

A moment later, the captain’s voice sounded brighter as he told the crew, “Our stationing near Kayran Rock for the inquiry will allow shore leave for all who request it. Sleeping arrangements on Kayran Rock are limited, but some guest quarters are available. Please make your requests as soon as possible, so the computer can draw up the schedule. This is Captain Picard, out.”

Several of the people in the room politely excused themselves and bolted for the door.

“Going to make their reservations,” mused Guinan. “I’ve got a screen in my office, if you’d like to use it.”

“No thanks,” replied Deanna. “I assume the trial will guarantee me passage down to the asteroid.”

“Then how about the banana split?”

“Yes,” Deanna smiled. “Maybe I can find someone to share it with me.”

While waiting for her treat, the counselor studied the people in the lounge area. The combination of expected bad news and unexpected good news had altered their mood for the better. People’s voices were louder, and topics other than murder wafted to her ears. Deanna had always marveled at the resiliency of people, especially those aboard the Enterprise. Despite the horror of losing two top scientists—three, counting Emil—they were eager to get on with the business of life.

“Hello,” said a voice that startled her.

She swiveled on her stool to see Saduk. As before, the lithe Vulcan had sneaked up on her without even trying.

“Hello,” she replied, “I’m glad you came.”

He took a seat beside her. “We always seem to be meeting following a death.”

“In your department,” Deanna added. With a shock, she realized that Saduk had a good reason to hate Karn Milu. Milu had passed him up to head the Microcontamination Project in favor of Grastow, merely because the Vulcan had insisted that Lynn Costa was murdered. But Vulcans didn’t hate, unless . . .

Unless they were insane.

“Thank you for joining me,” she stammered. “I wish it wasn’t so soon after another death.”

“Another murder,” he corrected her.

Guinan arrived with the banana split. “I brought two spoons,” she said to Deanna, “because I knew you’d find somebody to help you.”

Saduk regarded the heaping concoction with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked. “It looks unnatural.”

“Supernatural,” the proprietess grinned. “Enjoy.” She bustled off elsewhere.

The Vulcan took a spoon and prodded the confection. “Anything that color, in that amount,” he declared, “cannot be healthy.”

“It’s an Earth dessert,” explained Deanna, dipping into strawberry syrup over a scoop of green pistachio ice cream. “I needed something to cheer me up.”

Saduk tried a bite, and not even his most stoic expression could withstand the sugar assault—he grimaced and set down his spoon.

“They use too much of that dreadful spice,” he remarked.

“That’s why you’re so thin,” Deanna observed, taking another bite.

“If you are seeking recreation,” said Saduk, “I have decided to no longer remain unbonded.”

Deanna coughed and spit up a bit of strawberry. She grabbed her napkin, wiped her face, and stared at the Vulcan. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“A change of attitude,” answered Saduk, oblivious to any embarrassment he might have caused. “When we talked before, I said I was remaining unattached in order to devote as much time as possible to the Microcontamination Project. The events since then have convinced me that so much self-sacrifice is unhealthy and counterproductive.”

Deanna smiled with realization, “Life does seem too short, doesn’t it?”

“Another factor in my decision,” said Saduk, “is that rewards are not always commensurate with the amount of energy expended.”

He wasn’t complaining, Deanna felt, just stating a fact. She had certainly felt that way about everything she had done since her initial session with Lynn Costa. Energy and worry she had expended in metric tons to very little effect—she had done nothing to prevent two murders.

“Excuse me,” said another male voice, and Deanna looked up from her thoughts to see the warm smile and bearded face of Will Riker. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No,” answered Saduk, “I was simply explaining my decision to—”

“Nothing urgent,” Deanna interjected. “Please sit down, Will.”

She ushered him to an empty stool, and he gazed around the somber room. “All of us are feeling our mortality today,” Deanna remarked.

“You’re right about that,” sighed the commander. He turned sympathetically to Saduk. “I’m sorry about Dr. Milu and everything that’s happened to your project. If there’s anything I can do—maybe assign some extra people—please let me know.”

“I suspect the project will be disbanded,” replied Saduk.

“No!” cried Deanna with alarm. “That would be terrible.”

“When I resign,” said the Vulcan, “only Grastow and Shana will remain, and they do not have the experience to manage the project.”

“Why are you resigning?” asked Riker with his usual bluntness.

“Personal reasons,” answered the Vulcan.

A moment’s uneasy silence followed—at least it was uneasy for Riker, who shifted nervously on his stool. “Deanna,” he said softly, “I would really like to talk to you privately.”

“I can go,” replied Saduk. “I am only here because Deanna requested my company.”

Riker blinked with surprise at Deanna, who sat up stiffly. “That’s right, Will,” she admitted. “Dr. Saduk has been helping us with our investigation.”

“Then I am interrupting you,” declared Will, standing and bowing his head to the Vulcan. “Dr. Saduk, if you ever want to discuss reassignment to another branch, please contact me. We don’t want you to leave the ship too.”

“Thank you,” nodded the Vulcan. “My plans are as yet unformed.”

“Will,” Deanna protested, “stay a little bit longer, please. We really weren’t discussing anything important.”

Riker’s embarrassed expression turned to a surprised smile, and he was about to reclaim his seat when his combadge relayed a message: “Data to Commander Riker.”

“Riker here,” he answered.

“Captain Picard is meeting Ambassador Gretchen Gaelen and the Judge Advocate General in Transporter Room Three. He requests that you meet them in the conference room.”

“Acknowledged,” said the first officer. “Counselor Troi is with me—is her attendance required?”

“No,” the android answered. “The sole purpose of this meeting is to outline the parameters of the trial.”

“On my way,” Riker replied. He shrugged and smiled apologetically at Deanna. “Now I really do have to leave. One of these days, though, I want to have a long conversation with you.”

“One of these days,” she nodded ruefully.

“Good-bye,” he said to Saduk, then shouldered his way out of the room. While she was watching him leave, Deanna failed to see Saduk rise from his chair.

“Good-bye, Deanna,” he said politely. “I must leave as well.”

She blinked at him from her reverie. “Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry you didn’t like the sundae.”

“I enjoy your company,” answered the Vulcan, “but these are not times for conviviality. We shall talk later.”

“Good-bye,” said Deanna, suddenly feeling very lonely in the room full of people.

*   *   *

Two older women of diminutive height materialized on the transporter pod. Jean-Luc Picard stepped forward to greet them, hailing the woman he knew first, “Ambassador Gaelen! Judge Advocate General! Welcome aboard the Enterprise.”

Gretchen Gaelen stepped down and indicated the unimposing Oriental woman beside her. “Judge Ishe Watanabe, this is Captain Picard.”

“An honor,” he said, taking her hand.

“A mutual honor,” answered the judge with a slight bow. “Our time is very limited.”

Jean-Luc motioned to the door. “Come this way.”

As they rode the turbolift to the bridge, Ambassador Gaelen tugged on Picard’s sleeve and made him bend down to hear her whisper, “I had to pull quite a few strings to get Judge Watanabe on such short notice. Luckily, she was returning from a conference and was in the area.” The ambassador winked, “She has a reputation for being efficient.”

They emerged onto the bridge and were ushered straight through to the conference room, where Commander Riker, Lieutenant Commander Data, and Lieutenant Worf instantly shot to their feet. Picard performed introductions and offered refreshments, but there was no chit-chat. Everyone took a seat around the conference table, and a businesslike hush fell over the room.

“Thank you for receiving us so promptly,” said Judge Watanabe, taking control of the meeting from the start. “We could have conducted our business by communicator, but I felt we needed more confidentiality. Let me tell you my feelings on this matter first, and then we can hear from each of you.”

She adjusted her antiquated spectacles and continued, “If I am to try this case, Emil Costa will have a fair trial. Make no mistake about that. I am well aware of Starfleet’s desire—and probably your own—to make these proceedings as brief as possible. But they will be as brief, or as long, as they need to be.

“Ambassador Gaelen is concerned about the Kreel’s perception of this trial. And so am I.”

Worf bristled in his seat and clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

Judge Watanabe went on without taking notice, “However, when I try a case, I am in charge. A Kreel official may observe as a friend of the court and may even be able to ask a question, if I deem it appropriate, but I will be the sole magistrate. We can save ourselves a preliminary hearing if both sides agree to the basic facts of the case—that is, time of the murder, murder weapon, site of the crime, etcetera. If all parties agree to these facts at the arraignment, we can go straight to trial.”

The woman raised a delicate finger and warned them, “This brings up our biggest problem. If either the prosecution or the defense has a desire to draw out this trial, they can do so easily. We need prosecution and defense attorneys who can grasp the facts quickly and present their cases without engaging in delaying tactics. Can we find two advocates who would be amenable to these conditions?”

Picard sat forward, saying, “Emil Costa has already requested Commander Data to be his counsel. I think I can truthfully say Commander Data will not delay the trial.”

Judge Watanabe looked squarely at the android. “Commander Data,” she asked, “would you let your desire for a speedy trial compromise your client’s case?”

“Never,” answered the android. “I am prepared to do a thorough job in whatever time frame is required.”

“Very good,” nodded the judge.

Worf was fidgeting in his seat, and Picard turned to him, asking, “Lieutenant Worf, do you wish to add something?”

The Klingon sat stiffly in his chair. “I volunteer to be the prosecuting attorney,” he said.

Now the security chief had everyone’s attention, as he continued with his justification, “I know the facts of the case already, and I would not have to spend time educating an outside prosecutor. My testimony as security chief would be part of the prosecution’s case, and I am quite aware of what I want to say. I believe this case is sufficiently simple that I could present it without difficulty.”

“Already spoken like a prosecuting attorney,” frowned the judge. “No murder case is simple, believe me, Lieutenant. Actually, I have no objections to your serving as prosecutor. I always believe it’s best to have attorneys who are familiar with the territory. This is your community,” she said, motioning around the room and taking in the whole ship. “It should be settled within it.”

The diminutive judge slapped her palms on the table and stood up. “At ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” she declared, “report to starbase Meeting Room B for arraignment. The accused must be present.”

“We’ll arrange sleeping quarters for the participants,” Gretchen Gaelen assured them.

“For Emil Costa,” added Worf, “make them high security quarters. We will only beam him cell-to-cell.”

Riker smiled slyly at Worf, “You’re not taking any chances, are you?”

“No, sir,” the Klingon said determinedly.

The two women bid the officers of the Enterprise good day, and Captain Picard and Commander Riker offered to escort them back to the transporter room. Whether by accident or design, Worf and Data were left alone with one another.

“Lieutenant,” said Data, “I want you to know there is no element of competition in my decision to represent Emil Costa. I simply have an understanding of his predicament.”

Worf grumbled, “If you’re willing to admit to his guilt, we should have a very agreeable trial.”

“I did not say that,” Data cautioned. “Emil Costa insists upon his innocence, and so I will present his version of the story as ably as I can. I will also attempt to cast a reasonable doubt upon your version of the story.”

Worf’s eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back slightly, but he managed to smile. “I intend to see this murderer put away for a long time,” he promised. “Are you forgetting what he did to you in the shuttlecraft?”

“Yes,” answered Data. “I am forgetting that.”

“On the other hand,” grinned Worf, “maybe I should let you acquit him. I know what the Kreel do to their prisoners.” He marched toward the doorway. “I’ll see you in court.”