Chapter Fourteen

FOR ITS FIRST OFFICIAL USE, a meeting room on Kayran Rock had been hastily converted into a courtroom. They must have had the replicators working overtime, thought Worf, to come up with the handsome wooden bench and old-fashioned high-backed chairs. The witness stand even had a waist-high enclosure around it, complete with gate. The only hint of modernity in the room were the forcefield rods surrounding the chair where the accused would be sitting. Once activated, Emil Costa would be securely confined, yet able to converse with his counsel and see and hear everything that transpired. He would also be protected in the unlikely event of attack from someone in the courtroom.

No one was in the room at the moment but Worf, who was always early and earlier than usual this morning. He had only himself to look after, starbase security now being responsible for Emil Costa. The novice prosecutor sat at the table opposite the one with the forcefield and turned on his tricorder. There were more efficient instruments for storing notes than a tricorder, but Worf felt comfortable with the familiar hand-held device. Earlier this morning, he had uploaded Dr. Crusher’s autopsy report, a transcript of Ensign Crusher’s deposition, and other pertinent information into both the tricorder and the starbase computer. Then he had made sure Karn Milu’s corpse and Emil Costa’s phaser had been beamed to base security. With all this, Worf wasn’t entirely pleased with his preparations, although he couldn’t think of anything he had failed to do.

One by one, others entered the courtroom as the hour approached ten. First there were clerks, who busied themselves making sure the recording system was working and that all the participants had water to drink. One of them placed a gavel on the bench. Then security officers entered the room and checked the forcefield. These workers acknowledged Worf’s presence but were careful not to interrupt his somber contemplation. He felt oddly removed, like the star of a play whom the stagehands had been ordered not to disturb. He almost wished he could change places with them.

Then Data arrived. The android, of course, needed no tricorder, carrying the equivalent of several hundred of them in his head. “Good day, Counselor,” he said to Worf.

The Klingon smiled in spite of himself. “We really could make this a lot shorter,” he suggested, “if Dr. Costa would confess.”

“That is true,” acknowledged Data. “However, Dr. Costa maintains his innocence.”

“Unfortunately,” shrugged Worf.

The accused himself arrived next, accompanied by security officers on each arm. Emil Costa’s appearance was considerably improved over the last time Worf had seen him, thanks to a new suit of civilian clothes and attention to his cuts and bruises. He sat erect in his chair, his close-cropped white hair bristling as he smiled confidently. Quite insane, Worf thought to himself; he definitely needed the care he was going to get when this was all over.

Then two Kreel spectators swaggered into the room. Immediately, Worf looked away from them—not simply because they were repulsive but because he assumed they would be staring at him. They were certainly not accustomed to seeing a Klingon wielding authority.

“All rise,” intoned one of the clerks, “for Judge Advocate General Watanabe and friend of the court, Admiral Ulree.”

They rose to watch a diminutive Oriental woman enter the courtroom, followed shortly by a grizzled hairy Kreel. Worf would have liked to avoid looking at Admiral Ulree, but he had no choice because the Kreel was staring directly at him.

“What is this doing here?” he bellowed, pointing toward the Klingon. “I was told these were to be civilized proceedings!”

Judge Watanabe was small, but she looked as if she was going to throttle the gangly humanoid. “That will be quite enough of that,” she countered. “Lieutenant Worf is the security chief of the Enterprise and a logical choice to prosecute this case.”

Ulree puffed his chest out and rocked on his spindly legs. “This trial will be a mockery with him trying it!”

Worf was grinding his teeth furiously, but he said nothing. Any outburst, he knew, would jeopardize his standing with the court. He did, however, glare at the rude admiral.

“I will not take part in this sham!” Ulree declared.

“You certainly will not!” agreed Judge Watanabe. “You are banned from this trial.”

The Kreel blinked at her in utter surprise. “You can’t do that,” he mumbled.

“I most certainly can,” she insisted. “We agreed to a Kreel observer, but not to you exclusively. You will be replaced by a Kreel who has some inkling of propriety and decorum.”

Ulree snarled, “Someone who can stomach Klingons?”

“At the very least,” answered Judge Watanabe with finality. “You are dismissed. In fact, you are banned from the starbase until these proceedings are over.” For emphasis, she motioned to the security guards to take action.

Now Worf didn’t want to look away—he was enjoying it too much. The admiral huffed and puffed a bit more, then he swaggered toward the door, announcing, “I appoint my assistant, Kwalrak, to take my place.”

Looking confused, one of the Kreel spectators rose to her spindly legs. “Me?” she asked.

Judge Watanabe looked toward Data and Worf. “Does either of you have any objection?”

“No,” they answered in unison. As soon as Admiral Ulree had made his exit, Judge Watanabe seated herself behind the impressive bench, and Kwalrak was directed toward a chair at the side of the bench. Worf almost felt sorry for the female Kreel, because she looked as if she had just been stunned by a phaser.

“I will do the best I can,” Kwalrak promised Judge Watanabe.

“As a friend of the court,” said the magistrate, “you may observe and offer suggestions on Kreel opinion in this case, but I am the sole judge. You may also ask a question of a witness, if I deem it appropriate.”

Watanabe settled into her seat and banged her gavel once. “This court is now in session. Today we are hearing the arraignment of Dr. Emil Costa on the charge of murdering Dr. Karn Milu. Both the accused and the deceased are Federation subjects, and the alleged crime took place on the starship Enterprise, a Federation vessel. Therefore, our judgment will be binding in all Federation territories and in all worlds where the Federation has treaty obligations, including this one.”

The judge centered her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. “Murder is a very serious crime,” she said. “In some societies, it is a capital crime, punishable by death. In our society, however, the emphasis is on rehabilitation and understanding. I say this at the outset, because I wish everyone present to know that the primary purpose of this court is to determine guilt or innocence, not punishment. Should the accused be found guilty, he will be remanded to Starfleet for psychological and physical evaluation. Sentencing will be determined by a separate panel.”

“Excuse me,” said Kwalrak hesitantly, “what if we, the Kreel, wish to try the accused on separate charges?”

“You will petition Starfleet for extradition,” the judge answered. “The terms are covered in our treaty.”

Kwalrak nodded, looking momentarily satisfied.

“As to the charges at hand,” continued Judge Watanabe, “I have reviewed the material furnished by Lieutenant Worf, and there seems little doubt that Karn Milu was killed by a phaser discharged at close range. Commander Data, do you wish to refute that finding?”

“No, Your Honor,” answered the android. “We do not refute that finding.”

“Stardate 44263.9 is given as the approximate time of death. Do you refute that finding?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Do you refute the place of death as the starship Enterprise, deck 31, in the class-one-hundred cleanroom operated by the Microcontamination Project?”

“No, Your Honor.”

Judge Watanabe nodded and turned to Worf. “Lieutenant Worf, do you wish to make a formal charge?”

“I do, Your Honor,” answered the somber Klingon. “I charge Emil Costa with the murder of Karn Milu.”

“Are you prepared to try him now?”

“I am.”

Judge Watanabe nodded and turned to Data, but her eyes drifted to the drawn face of Emil Costa. “How do you plead?”

“Innocent,” replied Data. He glanced at his client and gave him a slight but comforting smile.

“Are you prepared for trial?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge banged her gavel with authority. “Let the record show,” she announced, “that Emil Costa has pleaded innocent to the murder of Karn Milu and will be bound over for immediate trial. The court will reconvene in one hour to hear opening arguments.”

The diminutive jurist stood, and all eyes followed her out of the courtroom.

 

Deanna Troi rubbed her throbbing temples, almost wishing the computer had never been invented. She focused momentarily on the grubs frozen in Karn Milu’s desk—at least they weren’t crawling across the screen like the army of information she was trying to absorb. Between the Costas’ records, Karn Milu’s records, and all the interrelated cross-collaterized reports from all the scientific departments that came in contact with them, she had probably read more files in the last three days than in the last three years. Nevertheless, she had seen nothing to corroborate Wesley Crusher’s story.

Deanna was well aware that Betazoids could be secretive, but she had never known one to be so obtuse. These seemed to be the files of an unimaginative second-class clerk, not the Federation’s most esteemed entomologist. She was about to concede the fact that Worf and Wesley were on their own in attempting to convict Emil Costa, when a security officer poked his head in the door of Karn Milu’s office.

“Commander La Forge wishes to enter,” he announced.

“Please,” she responded, “let him enter.”

Deanna rose from the amber desk to meet the chief engineer. “Geordi,” she sighed, “thank you for coming.”

“Think nothing of it, Counselor,” he grinned with his usual good cheer. “To tell you the truth, I don’t have much to do at the moment. I’ve been working on an experiment to speed up the turbolifts during an alert, but following an asteroid around doesn’t keep Engineering very busy.”

“I imagine not,” she smiled. “Still, I won’t keep you long, and your help will be greatly appreciated.”

“What can I do?” asked Geordi.

The Betazoid motioned around the elegant office with its horde of motionless insects. “I have reason to believe,” she explained, “that something is hidden in this office, some storage medium. I’ve looked everywhere—and so have those security officers outside—but we can’t find anything. I thought, with your special kind of vision . . . ”

“Say no more,” said Geordi, taking a leisurely stroll around the colorful but cluttered office. With his VISOR apparatus functioning as his eyes, La Forge scrutinized a case of orange and blue beetles. “Sorry about what happened to Dr. Milu,” he said softly. “You must feel his loss more deeply than the rest of us.”

“We weren’t that close,” Deanna admitted, remembering how inferior she always felt in the presence of the full-blooded Betazoid.

Geordi moved to another case, shaking his head. “Talk about sensory overload,” he winced. “Do these things look as frightening to you as they do to me?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He turned and walked slowly toward the opposite wall. “Dead bugs don’t give off electromagnetic impulses, do they?”

“Not that I know of.”

He stopped before a dark wooden case that contained a dozen phosphorescent centipedes and carefully pried it open. As Deanna moved closer, Geordi’s fingers reached hesitantly toward one particularly large and ugly specimen. “If you’d rather do this,” he gulped, “just let me know.”

“You’re doing fine,” Deanna replied evenly.

Geordi wasn’t careful enough, and the exotic insect crumbled to dust beneath his fingers. But underneath it, mounted to the board, was an isolinear optical chip.

“Bingo!” he crowed, plucking the chip from its mounting.

The counselor finally let out a breath. “Thank you, Geordi!” she enthused. “Let’s see what’s on it.”

Within seconds, Geordi had plugged the chip into a slot on Karn Milu’s console, and Deanna was trying to access it from his keyboard. Their excited expressions turned to alarm as gibberish scrolled across the screen.

“I’m sorry,” said the chief engineer glumly. “Something must have damaged the contents.”

“No,” murmured the Betazoid with dawning realization. She slumped back in her chair, looking even more crestfallen than Geordi. “I’ve heard of this, but I’ve never seen it. It’s a subliminal code.”

“Code?” shrugged Geordi. “Let’s have the computer analyze it.”

“You don’t understand,” muttered the Betazoid. “This isn’t just code based on some mathematical or relational equation. It’s distinctly Betazoid, and it depends upon subliminal thought patterns. Karn Milu himself did not know the code when he wrote it.”

“Come again?” asked Geordi.

Deanna shook her head forlornly. “I don’t know exactly how it works,” she sighed, “but it’s like making a coded imprint of the contents of your subconscious. He wrote it while in a trance, knowing, though it looked like gibberish to him as well, he could read it in the future if he concentrated.”

“Hmmm,” said the human, “I think I know what you mean. On ancient Earth, people from certain religions used to speak in tongues and write in unknown languages. But they had no way to interpret what they had done.”

“They weren’t Betazoids,” replied Deanna. “They only had half the key.”

Head bowed, the chief engineer paced. He stopped and snapped his fingers. “I bet Data could . . .” He caught himself. “Data is occupied at the moment, isn’t he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” muttered Deanna, turning off the computer screen. “Only the person who writes it can read it. There is no code more effective.”

“Can you go into that kind of trance?” asked Geordi.

She shook her head again and managed a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not even full Betazoid.”

Geordi put a comforting hand on Deanna’s shoulder. “Give it a try,” he suggested. “You don’t know what you can do until you try.”

“Of course, I’ll try,” the counselor promised with a determined jut of her chin. She pulled the isolinear chip from its slot and gripped it in her delicate fist. “Something has been hidden from us all the time—I feel it. Perhaps this is it.”

“Call me if you need any help,” offered Geordi.

The Betazoid yawned so quickly she could barely cover her mouth in time. “Unless I get some sleep,” she blinked, “I won’t be able to decipher my own name. Thank you, Geordi. I will probably call you again in a few hours.”

 

Worf saw no reason to be verbose in his opening statement to the court. He rose to his considerable height and looked Judge Watanabe in the eyes; she stared back intently.

“No one disputes the fact,” he began, “that Karn Milu was brutally murdered aboard the Enterprise by a phaser weapon set to full. As our witnesses will testify, the slaying occurred seconds after a severe altercation between Karn Milu and the accused, Emil Costa. A witness will testify that Emil Costa went to see Karn Milu armed with a phaser, which he used later to try to hijack a shuttlecraft. Plus, Emil Costa had ample motive: Not only did he think Karn Milu had killed his wife, he was under severe pressure to reveal a secret discovery to him. Against Starfleet regulations, the Costas together with Karn Milu were plotting to sell a discovery made aboard the Enterprise to non-Federation parties.”

Worf flexed his big shoulders and folded his arms, making it perfectly clear what he thought about such activities. “After reviewing the evidence and testimony,” he rumbled, “I believe you will find Emil Costa guilty of the murder of Karn Milu.”

Worf sat down, and Judge Watanabe thanked him. All eyes in the courtroom turned to Commander Data, sitting erectly in his chair with his typical alertness. The android nodded and rose fluidly to his feet.

“Your Honor,” he said with a slight bow, “Emil Costa professes his innocence to the charge of murder. Yes, he did have reason to argue with Karn Milu, but an argument does not make a murder. The truth is that anyone on the Enterprise in possession of a phaser could have killed Karn Milu. I am not saying that Emil Costa should be exempt from suspicion, but there is not a preponderance of evidence. The prosecution’s entire case consists of one overheard conversation. There is no witness to the murder of Karn Milu, and no one saw Emil Costa threaten his superior with the phaser he was carrying.

“My client admits to lapses of judgment,” Data told the hushed courtroom, “for which he has suffered . . . greatly. But you will have to decide whether one overheard conversation warrants a murder conviction.”

 

Wesley Crusher paced what must have been the most elegant guest quarters within the starbase, a suite suitable for visiting dignitaries. He cared little about the sumptuous furnishings but was thankful for the tunnel-like port which gave him at least a partial view of the stars. At one point, he thought he had glimpsed the Enterprise. Then again, maybe the blip in the black sky had been a Kreel vessel. It didn’t matter, because nothing in the sky or the starbase’s library could divert his attention from the testimony he was about to deliver.

Worf had told him to be ready any time today, and he was. In fact, he was weary of recounting the events to himself in a sort of demented rehearsal. But he couldn’t help himself—he was nervous! When he accepted this assignment, it hadn’t dawned on him that he might become the star witness in a major trial. He was proud of his stint as an investigator, but he wondered if maybe he hadn’t done his job a little too well.

Then he thought about Dr. Milu and wondered if he should have done better. But given Emil’s apparent mental condition, how could Wes have prevented Dr. Milu’s death? At least, because of his alert work, they knew the reasons for both of the killings, and the events leading up to them. Dammit, Wes cursed under his breath, it would all be so much easier if only Emil Costa acted like a murderer.

The chime of the door made him jump. “Enter,” said Wes, knowing it had to be security.

It was a new one, a young woman who was sort of cute. But she was all business as she motioned him out. “Step lively, Ensign,” she ordered. “Your testimony is required.”

Wesley stepped bravely into the corridor and received a jolt of déjà vu—Grastow was looming in the hallway only a meter away. Involuntarily, Wesley started. But a moment later, he saw the security officers on either side of the big Antarean.

“I’m just a witness,” Grastow shrugged. “I mean you no harm, Ensign Crusher, please believe that. Although I’m not ashamed of my actions, your anger with me is quite justified.”

“Anger?” spat Wesley. “I think you’re crazy!”

The hulking baby-faced humanoid nodded sadly, “Perhaps I am.”

“Move on,” said the female officer, steering Wesley away. Her fellow officers flattened Grastow against the wall as they passed.

 

Getting more confident every moment, Worf watched the complete video playback of Wesley Crusher’s account of his eventful visit to deck 31, as related to Deanna Troi. He had thought about calling Deanna too, but the young ensign’s testimony stood on its own. Counselor Troi skillfully kept him talking, asking only for clarifying statements. She never led him to conclusions, which he had plenty to make on his own. It was a terrible indictment, rife with violence and treachery. Murder seemed an almost logical conclusion, thought the Klingon.

When the deposition was over, Worf turned to the young ensign in the witness chair. “Now that you and the court have seen this statement, do you wish to change anything?” he asked.

“No, sir,” answered Wes. “I might add a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” said the teenager, “I haven’t really expressed how scared Emil Costa was—both before his wife’s funeral and after, when he was hiding in Dr. Grastow’s quarters. When he grabbed that phaser out of his drawer, I really had the feeling it was for protection.”

Worf stared at the boy for a moment, then turned away. “Are you telling the court,” he asked thoughtfully, “that Emil Costa was expecting violence?”

Data interjected, “Objection. That is asking the witness to conclude what another person was thinking.”

“Objection sustained,” Judge Watanabe nodded. She turned to Wesley. “Please don’t answer that question.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” gulped the youth.

Worf strode back to his table and leaned on the heavy piece of furniture. “Would you describe Emil Costa’s behavior as agitated during his meeting with Karn Milu?”

“Yes.”

“And you are certain you heard Emil Costa accuse Karn Milu of killing his wife?”

The teenager nodded emphatically, “He said that, yes. But Dr. Milu insisted her death was an accident. All he wanted to talk about was the submicrobe they had found.”

Worf rose to his full height again. “Would you say the men were threatening one another?”

“Yes,” answered Wesley. “It wasn’t a pleasant conversation.”

Worf nodded sagely, asking, “Later, when you were rescued from the pod and saw Karn Milu’s body in the outer laboratory, what were your initial thoughts?”

Wesley tried not to look at Emil Costa. “I thought Dr. Costa had killed him,” he whispered.

“Could you please repeat that answer a little louder?” asked Worf.

“I thought Dr. Costa had killed him!” Wes said too loudly, shrinking into the big wooden chair.

Worf nodded triumphantly and turned to the judge. “I have no more questions at this time,” he declared. “May I reserve the right to recall this witness later?”

“You may,” Judge Watanabe nodded, glancing at First Assistant Kwalrak. The Kreel apparently didn’t wish to interject. “The bench may have some questions at a later time. Commander Data, you may cross-examine the witness.”

Data stood and walked swiftly to the witness stand. “Good day, Ensign Crusher,” he said simply enough. Wesley relaxed slightly and gave Data a smile, which he ignored. “For clarification, when you last saw Karn Milu and Emil Costa together, they were working cooperatively to confine you in a pod? Is that correct?”

Wesley shifted nervously. “That’s correct,” he said.

“They were not arguing?” Data continued.

“No,” answered Wes.

“In fact,” concluded Data, “they were acting together against a common threat—you. Wasn’t the argument over by this time?”

“Yes,” admitted Wesley, “but they could have started back up again.”

“Why would they?” asked Data. “According to your testimony, Emil Costa was about to get his fondest desire—he was about to leave the ship. In a few minutes, he would be rid of Karn Milu forever. His wife’s destruction of the computer records made their secret absolutely safe. Why would he jeopardize all this to kill Karn Milu?”

Wesley’s mouth hung open, but he couldn’t talk. He just shook his head and slumped back in his chair.

Worf bolted to his feet. “I object,” he growled. “That is asking the witness to conclude what another person was thinking!”

“Overruled,” said the judge. “Ensign Crusher’s interpretation of these events is all we have.” She turned to the nervous young man. “Have you an answer to the question?”

“I think I do,” Wesley answered. “Emil also had the idea it was Karn Milu who killed his wife.”

“However,” countered Data, “isn’t it true that Karn Milu insisted to Emil Costa, as he had insisted to everyone, that Lynn Costa’s death was an accident?”

“Yes.”

“Can you say Emil Costa was positively convinced his wife was murdered?”

“No,” muttered the teenager. “Like all of us, he wasn’t sure what exactly happened to her.”

Data stood rooted to his spot in front of the witness stand, his golden eyes never leaving the young ensign. “Ensign Crusher,” he said softly, “Emil Costa has been your tutor and friend, and a friend to your mother, for almost three years. Is that not true?”

“It’s true,” Wes answered with pride.

“Do you think he is capable of murdering someone?”

Again, Wesley’s mouth opened but no words came out. He looked with embarrassment at the judge, then Worf, before shaking his head. “No,” he rasped, “I can’t believe he did it.”

Worf’s erect posture buckled just a little.

 

In the sanctity of her darkened room, Deanna Troi drifted in and out of sleep. Her dreams were filled with the spirit of Karn Milu. His image, his face, his voice, his thoughts, and his coded writings fought for her subconscious. The code appeared to her like love letters, heartfelt attempts to communicate his secrets. Of course, they were love letters to himself, and she told herself she shouldn’t read them. But she knew he wanted her to read them.

She pulled herself awake from the troubling dream, realizing there was no escape in that direction. There was nothing to do but get over the weariness and the fear of failure and decipher those letters. She slid out of bed and splashed some water on her face.

It wasn’t very often that Deanna Troi thought about drinking a beverage containing a stimulant, but her mind was thinking about some stiff English tea at that moment. She picked up the isolinear optical chip—just because it was comforting to hold it—and padded over to the food slot.

She punched the machine’s wake-up button. “Small pot of English tea,” she requested.

After several seconds, there was no synthesized voice response, and nothing happened at the delivery tray. Deanna hit the button again. “Computer,” she ordered, “may I please have a glass of water?”

The complex mechanism hung in the wall like a shiny crater, and nothing happened.

“Computer?” Deanna Troi said evenly, “is this food slot working correctly?”

No answer—it was dead. Deanna didn’t have time to worry about the inert machine, because she was already plotting an alternate course. If she wanted something to drink, she would have to go out, she reasoned. If she was going out, she might as well corral Geordi into helping her analyze the code with the computer. That would be a better starting place than staring at it, hoping for inspiration.

She yanked on her tight-fitting jumpsuit and touched her insignia badge. “Troi to La Forge,” she announced. “What are you doing, Geordi?”

“Counting asteroids,” he answered. “Do you know there are over four million asteroids in this one belt? I don’t know how many, because I stopped counting at four million.”

“Trying to read this code may prove less productive than counting asteroids,” Deanna cautioned, “but I’d like to try. Can you help me run it through the computer?”

“Absolutely,” Geordi enthused. “I’ll meet you in Engineering—half my staff is on shore leave.”

“On my way. Out.”

Deanna only needed to take one thing with her, Karn Milu’s secret isolinear chip. She gripped it in her hand and hurried out of the cabin, forgetting the broken food slot.