The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [41]
“Pretty stupid way to go about getting sympathy,” Robinson said. “And that woman Tare ... she was so brave to stand up to him like that.”
Allyson nodded, swallowed hard. “If she hadn’t done it, that would be me slung across his saddle, about to—to be—”
“I know,” Andropov said softly. He knew what happened to women in this sort of simulation. He was pretty sure Baines wouldn’t murder anyone. Who would report back to Starfleet about the horrible injustices the holograms suffered? But, as was evidenced by the slashes on his back and face, other forms of torment were apparently allowed. He desperately hoped that Baines had enough human decency left in him to draw the line at rape.
But he wasn’t sure.
“Get going, slaves!” cried one of the riders. The whip sang out and cracked on another man’s back. He grunted, his eyes wide from the unexpected depth of the pain. Far in the distance was something that looked like a half-constructed pyramid. This was to be today’s activity, then.
“Come on,” said Robinson gently. “Our doubles aren’t going to fool people forever, and I bet Baines won’t be able to hold off gloating for very long. He’s going to start bragging to Starfleet, and they’ll find a way to stop this.”
Andropov wished he shared her faith. He looked up at a nearby cliff, and saw a white horse with a blue-clad [121] rider. When the sun glinted off something gold on the rider’s head, he knew it was Baines.
You self-righteous bastard, he thought, with a wave of hatred that felt unsettlingly good. If you kill anyone, or rape that poor woman who had the guts to stand up to your thugs, I’ll kill you myself.
Chapter 10
ENSIGN LANDON FERGUSON liked his new job. Many would have thought it excruciatingly boring, standing around all day with nothing better to do than send high-ranking Starfleet officials to various ships or other locales, but Ferguson was more than content with his lot. He had just graduated from the Academy and had no particular craving for adventure and action aboard a vessel of the fleet. Nor did he particularly care for the delicate dance that was the diplomatic path. He didn’t have a real aptitude for computers or engines, either. But he had been a diligent student and gotten decent enough grades to pass, and Starfleet always made sure its former cadets had useful and respectable employment.
So Ferguson was here in San Diego, one of several dozen people who manned the transporters. San Diego was an enormous hub for Starfleet comings and goings, [123] hence the usage of humans rather than holograms at the transporters. Here was where one was officially cleared to beam onto a vessel, or to a top-security site. So even though Ferguson knew his job wasn’t particularly glamorous, he also knew it was important. Let others fight the enemies or entice new species to join the Federation. He would happily see to it that those people got where they needed to go.
He snapped to attention when the door to the large transporter room hissed open. His brown eyes widened slightly as he recognized the rather well-known figures that stepped briskly inside.
“Admiral Montgomery, Admiral Janeway,” he said smoothly. He was getting used to greeting high-ranking personages. Just last week, he’d had the honor of transporting the Mirkashu of Junn to Starfleet Headquarters.
“Good morning, Ensign,” said Montgomery. “These good people need to be transported to Voyager.”
The blood drained from Ferguson’s face as he regarded Janeway; Commanders Data, Tuvok, and Chakotay; Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris; and Lieutenant Harry Kim. The other two, who like Montgomery were carrying some sort of briefcase, he didn’t recognize, but he was willing to bet they were from Voyager, too. And that was a big, big problem.
“Uh,” he said, less than eloquently, “uh, Admiral Montgomery, sir, may I speak with you for a moment?”
Montgomery glowered. Ferguson cringed, and