They had split up today, promising to meet for lunch at a predetermined restaurant at the corner of Humphrey and Rick's. Sulu watched, arms folded and shaking his head in amusement, as a "police officer" made inquiries of tourists over a bit of unpleasantness that had occurred at a café. With grave and serious demeanor he had turned to Sulu and asked if he knew anything of it. Sulu apologetically replied in the negative.
He walked away then, still trying to figure out what in the world Chekov saw in the place. It was so manufactured, so artificial. Compared to the natural wonders that space had to offer, Demora was a joke. It was a pleasant getaway for those with an utterly pedestrian life. Not for someone who had basked in the glow of a thousand different suns, and had trod worlds so remote they had no names.
It was ten in the morning, and Sulu was bored already. He moved through the streets, feeling apart from everyone on them. An old-style car motored past, the driver gesturing imperiously for people to get out of the way. Sulu gave way, shaking his head and trying to wonder how others so managed to lose themselves in the nonsense of …
He never saw her coming.
She slammed squarely into him, rocking him back slightly on his heels. Nevertheless his concern was immediately for her as he said, "Whoa! Are you all right?"
At first she didn't seem to focus on him. She was clearly of Chinese extraction, with long black hair and a slightly confused look about her. Her face was quite triangular, and her features were very delicate.
And her eyes … her eyes were green. That was unusual, to put it mildly. Green as emerald, with a sparkle in them like a diamond.
She was glancing over her shoulder. The shoulder was bare, for the loose white shirt she was wearing had slipped down slightly. And Sulu spotted a small, diamond-shaped birthmark on her shoulder. She saw where he was looking and quickly adjusted her shirt, and then started to move past him.
"Are you all right?" he said, noting her distracted air. He moved in synch with her. "Is something the mat—"
"Excuse me," she said quickly. She placed her hand squarely on his back and pushed around him.
Sulu watched her go as she disappeared around a corner. "Now, that was odd," he murmured to himself, and then shrugged.
But then he noticed something very curious. Three men, moving quickly, went around the same corner that the woman had vanished around moments before. It appeared as if they were following her.
Sulu looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one seemed to. He started after them, picking up speed and rounding the corner just in time to see the three men standing several yards away, looking around in frustration.
The trio was a mixed bag of types. One of them was Asian, with hair shaved close to his skull. The second was Caucasian, large and muscular, with shoulder-length blond hair that gave him a decidedly Nordic look. The third was black, slim and wiry, bald but with a thick, curly beard.
There was no sign of the woman.
Then the three men spotted him, and glanced quickly at each other. Clearly they recognized him as the man that the mysterious woman had been talking to.
As one, they started to approach Sulu, the look in their eyes uniform in intent and hostility …
And then he realized.
He began to laugh to himself.
Oh, he had fallen for it. Fallen for it with the proverbial hook, line and sinker.
It was a setup. Another Demora setup.
No, more than that. This had Chekov's fingerprints all over it. The Russian had made all those oblique comments about living in interesting times, saying that Sulu should be careful what he wished for.
It was now all painfully clear. Chekov had arranged this. Gotten together with some Demora employees and cobbled together some half-witted "adventure."
Did he really think that Sulu would fall for it? Did he truly believe that Sulu was that stupid?
It didn't seem likely. What seemed more likely was that Chekov expected him to see through it, but hoped that Sulu would be willing to play along.
Sulu could have, should have, pulled the plug on it right then and there. But his long friendship with Chekov stopped him from doing so. Here Chekov had gone to all this work to arrange this … this whatever-it-was. Was Sulu now going to blow it off with a quick dismissal of the players involved? Would that be what a friend would do?
It wasn't any different than somebody arranging a surprise party that the "victim" accidentally found out about. The accepted, expected reaction was to act surprised.
Far be it from Sulu to flaunt proper protocol, especially in the face of Chekov's efforts on his behalf.
The Asian man was in the forefront. Perhaps he was the leader; it was difficult to tell. "Excuse me, sir," he said in a gravelly voice. "That young woman earlier …"
"Yes?"
"Are you … acquainted with her, by any chance?"
Sulu paused a moment, weighing the variety of responses. What the hell. Might as well play it to the hilt.
He stepped in close to the other man and said in a low voice that was as dangerous as he could make it, "So you're the ones she mentioned."
The other two were moving in now. The black man now spoke in a silky voice, "Is there a problem here, Taine?"
The one he'd addressed as Taine didn't look back at his companion. Instead he kept his attention focused on Sulu. To Sulu, it felt as if the air around him had become filled with a sort of dark energy.
"There may be," said Taine evenly. "I'm not certain if we have a joker here … or simply a fool."
The black man gestured with a nod of his head in Sulu's direction. "He know her?"
"I'm not sure. For some odd reason, he may simply be trying to be a hero. Tell me, hero … what's her name?"
"Her code name is Jade Eyes. That's all you need to know."
At this, the three men laughed. And then, shaking their heads, they started to move off.
And Sulu called out, "You'll never get the device."
It was a reasonable thing for him to say. In adventures such as this, there was always a device. Either that or a rare statue or religious artifact. It didn't matter, of course. This whole thing was a setup by Chekov, and they would undoubtedly play along with whatever he came up with.
It worked like a charm. The trio froze in their tracks. The one called Taine turned to him, and this time there was genuine suspicion in his eyes. Passersby walked past them, oblivious of what was transpiring.
"The device," said Taine slowly, but then he added derisively, "'Jade Eyes' told you of it, did she?"
"Her code name is Jade Eyes. As for me, I call her Diamond … after her birthmark."
And this was enough to cause the blood momentarily to drain from Taine's face. In a voice darkly sinister, he said, "All right. Now … we talk."
He briskly nodded to the Nordic-looking one. "Thor," he said, "escort the gentleman to somewhere quiet."
Thor. Oh, that was too much. Chekov had really gone over the edge on this one. Naturally he was named after a Norse god. Thor. That was rich.
Thor stepped forward, clamping a hand on Sulu's forearm.
Sulu moved quickly and, with a brisk twist of his arm, yanked it free. Thor stood there, looking momentarily confused.
"Stay away from us," said Sulu. "We're backed by an organization so huge, you can't even begin to grasp it."
Thor's face darkened and he swung a huge fist. Sulu effortlessly ducked under it. And then, before Sulu ever saw it coming, the fist swung back again and slammed him on the side of the head.
Sulu went down, head momentarily spinning. Clearly these guys were taking it seriously. They played their part well. Well, naturally that would be the case. Chekov would see to that. Perhaps Chekov even entertained the notion that Sulu might actually be taken in by it all if it seemed real enough.
But … all right. If that's how they were going to be, then Sulu saw no reason to be any gentler with them than they were with him. Whatever Chekov was paying them, Sulu would make damned sure they earned it.
Thor reached down for him and Sulu saw his opportunity. He lashed out with a fist, catching Thor just behind the right knee. Thor's leg crumbled under him. Sulu slammed a fist up into Thor's gut, knocking him flat on his back.
"Rogers!" Taine shouted, summoning the black man to join him, and the two of them converged on Sulu. Thor, the wind momentarily knocked out of him, was trying to pull himself up.
Observers slowed down to watch the scuffle. On their faces were momentary looks of confusion.
Sulu slipped in between the charging forms of Taine and Rogers. Rogers started to turn and Sulu whipped his foot around in a spin kick. It connected solidly and Rogers' head snapped to the side. He went down, the world spinning around him.
Now the observers laughed and applauded. It was now obvious to them what they were witnessing: Street theater, of the type so typical in Demora.
Sulu spun to face Taine. Taine had adopted a defensive posture, his lips drawn back in a contemptuous sneer.
They circled each other for a moment, feinting, each trying to ascertain the other's weaknesses. Taine moved with far too much confidence for Sulu's liking.
Sulu lashed out with a foot and Taine caught his ankle with ease. He sent Sulu tumbling to his back and then leaped, slamming down with both his feet directly toward Sulu's head. Sulu barely rolled out of the way in time, and Taine sent a fierce kick into Sulu's side that felt as if someone had jammed a fireplace poker into him.
Several feet away was a merchant selling carpets. Sulu scrambled to his feet as Taine came after him, snapping, "I don't know who you are … but you're going to be sorry you mixed into—"
Sulu grabbed one of the carpets and swung it around. It sailed through the air and enveloped Taine's head. For just a moment, he was blinded. Pushing off the balls of his feet, Sulu slammed a fist into the bump under the carpet that represented Taine's head. Taine staggered, grasping at air. Sulu easily dodged in between his outstretched hands and struck again. This time Taine went down, still entangled in the carpet.
"Hah!" Sulu said, and turned just in time to see a massive fist winging toward his face. Then he saw nothing else as the world went dark around him.
Chekov sat at the café table, drumming his fingers in annoyance on the tabletop. A waiter drifted over and said politely, "Do you have any idea when your friend will be joining you, sir?"
"He should have been here by now," Chekov said with mild impatience. "Do you know the time, by any chance?"
"Twelve-thirty, sir," said the waiter. "Can I get you anything?"
"That vould be nice. Do you have any wodka?"
The waiter looked at him oddly. "Pardon, sir … did you say 'wotka'?"
"No. Not wotka. Wodka."
Clearly embarrassed, the waiter shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Sir, I'm … not sure we have any of that."
"You don't have any wodka?" Chekov was appalled.
"No, sir, I'm … afraid I never heard of it."
"Never heard of wodka?"
"Never, sir. Although it does sound rather exotic. Perhaps I could interest you in something to drink instead."
Chekov stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Something to drink? Instead of …" Then he paused and, very slowly, said, "You make mixed drinks, yes?"
"Absolutely, sir. Best in Demora."
"Good." Chekov searched his mind for the appropriate old-style drink that would typically be served in these environs. Finally he said, "Bring me screwdriver. You can do this?"
"Absolutely, sir."
But before he could walk off, Chekov raised a finger as an afterthought, keeping him in his place. "If you don't mind … no orange juice."
"What? No orange juice?"
"That is vat I said, yes."
"But sir," said the waiter patiently, "if there's no orange juice in it, then all that will be left is …"
Then his voice trailed off and a slow smile crossed his face. "Wotka," he said understandingly.
"Ah-ah," said Chekov, waggling his finger. "Not wotka. Wodka. Be careful how you speak. It must be very hard for people to understand you vit that accent."
"I'll be more cautious in the future, sir."
"See that you are," Chekov said sternly.
The waiter went off to get the drink, slowly shaking his head in amusement. Chekov was no less tickled by the entire exchange, until he came to realize that more time had passed and there was still no Sulu in evidence.
Where the devil had the helmsman gotten off to?
"Perhaps," Chekov said out loud to no one in particular, "he found some charming young woman to occupy his time. That vould be wery nice. Wery nice indeed."
Sulu's first thought upon coming to was that Chekov had gone just a bit too far, even for arranging an adventure.
His face ached a bit and he wanted to reach up and rub his throbbing forehead. He was unable to do so, however, because he realized very quickly that his hands were tied together behind him.
He sat in a chair, his hands anchored behind him as noted, his legs tied to the chair legs. Seated directly across from him, straddling the chair, was Rogers. His eyes narrowed as Sulu came around.
The room itself was nothing special: dark, probably because the windows were boarded over. A ceiling fan hung low but wasn't turning. There was a skylight above, caked with dust so that only a small bit of sunlight was able to filter through.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sulu caught brief movement nearby the edge of the room. Some sort of small vermin; a mouse, most likely. It darted out of sight behind a narrow black case that was propped up against the wall.
"Well well well," said Rogers in a purring, singsong voice. "Look who woke up. The hero."
Sulu said nothing; merely glared at him with intensity. Or at least with what he hoped passed for intensity.
"You won't get anything out of me," said Sulu.
Rogers smiled thinly and slid a razor-thin knife from the sleeve of his jacket. Placing the flat end gently against Sulu's throat, he murmured, "Oh, I expect we will. It'll probably be red, and warm, and go trickling down your throat and ruin that fine shirt of yours. Shame to see such an excellent shirt go to waste."
The door at the far end of the room opened and Taine walked in, Thor bringing up the rear. Thor closed the door behind them and remained there, massive arms folded. "Thought you'd be coming around about now," said Taine. "You are most fortunate that Thor went lightly on you. I've seen him hit men with sufficient strength to make their bodies lonesome for their heads."
"As opposed to making them merely lonesome for intelligent conversation."
The comment didn't appear to register. "You do realize the level of trouble that you're in," said Taine. "We've done some quick checking on you. It appears, my dear fellows, that we have one Lieutenant Commander Sulu of Starfleet among us." He leaned forward, his face a question. "So tell me, Lieutenant Commander … what interest does Starfleet have in Ling Sui, eh? Oh, I forgot. Jade Eyes. What interest does Starfleet have in Jade Eyes?"
"None of your business," Sulu said, even as he filed away the name that Taine had just spoken. Ling Sui. A mildly musical name. An exotic name, even, for an exotic woman. No less a woman would do, of course. One couldn't have an adventure with a heroine who was a hausfrau from upstate New York or some other similarly unlikely location.
"Oh, I disagree, my dear L.C. Sulu. It's very much my business. So …" He leaned in closer to Sulu. "Are you here as part of Starfleet covert intelligence?"
"You expect me to tell you? You expect me to just spill to you whatever happens to be on my mind?" Sulu laughed disdainfully. "You really underestimate me, don't you."
Taine regarded him for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "L.C.," he said at last, "you are either incredibly brave or incredibly ignorant. If it is the former, then my problem is simple. I merely torture you until you break. And you will break, sir. Every man, no matter how brave, has his breaking point. We will find yours. You may turn out to be stronger than you think, or weaker than you think. It all depends on self-image, I suppose.
"If, however, it is the latter case—if you are incredibly ignorant—then the problem becomes that there is nothing you can tell me. I will not be prepared to believe that, however, until you are dead. By that point, of course, it will be too late. That would be a most unfortunate outcome for all concerned, but … what can one do? One has to work with the tools available to him, does he not?"
Sulu looked at him with a contemptuous glare. The smug look of confidence in Sulu's face was in no way an act. He had every certainty that he was in total control of the situation.
Taine shook his head sadly. "Very well. Have it your way, then. Rogers," and he snapped his fingers briskly.
Rogers nodded once in understanding and stepped out of the room.
"What will it be?" said Sulu defiantly. "Electric current? Mental scans? Mind probes?"
"Please, L.C. Have you no respect for your surroundings? For the ambience? No," said Taine, "we want to have respect for traditions here."
Sulu felt the source of warmth before he actually saw it. Rogers walked in briskly, using thick mitts to carry a glowing brazier. Rogers paused and tilted the brazier slightly for Sulu to see that it contained coals, gleaming a dull red.
"If I'd known we were having barbecue, I'd have brought a steak to toss on the grill," Sulu said wryly.
"Your wit is most appreciated, L.C. Sulu, if not your timing," replied Taine. He passed his hand over the coals and nodded once approvingly at the heat. "Another several minutes, I think, to make sure that they are as hot as possible. Do you have your tools, Rogers?"
Rogers nodded and walked toward the case Sulu had noticed earlier. He flipped the latches, opened it, and began to extract rods. The rods had points of different widths, and Rogers examined each of them as if he were trying to choose the appropriate golf club for a difficult shot.
"Rogers is particularly expert at these sorts of things," said Taine.
Sulu stifled a laugh. He wanted to play along as much as possible, but this was really pushing it.
Ambience? These guys were going to use primitive torture techniques because they were concerned about ambience? How ridiculous could one get?
"So … tell me your plan," said Sulu.
Taine looked at him askance. "I beg your pardon? Are you under the impression that we are here to answer your questions?"
"Oh, but that's usually how these things work, isn't it," Sulu said confidently. "I, the hero, am tied up and helpless. You, the smug and stupid villains, believing that I'm finished, proceed to tell me your entire insidious plan."
The three captors looked at each other, then back at Sulu. Rogers laughed out loud at that point, and Thor glowered. Taine, for his part, merely stared at Sulu with undisguised pity.
"You've seen too many old movies," Taine said sadly. "You really are a fool. Ah well. No concern of mine, really."
Sulu paused a moment, the wheels turning. "Ohhh, I see. You're going to walk out of here, secure that Rogers will extract information from me … and then, with the odds more even, I'll manage to break free from this chair and overwhelm him."
"No," said Taine, leaning back against a wall, his arms folded across his chest. "We're not going anywhere. We have people watching the exits from the city. Ling Sui can't get away. Nor can you, although your situation is a bit more dire than hers at the moment."
"Then in that case," said Sulu, "there's only one answer left in this little dance: a daring last-minute rescue."
Thor was beginning to look rather impatient. Rogers had his rods heating to a blazing red against the coals. Taine seemed genuinely confused.
"Lieutenant Commander," he said, "you seem to be under the impression that this is a game. That it's an artifice of some sort. Is that truly your belief?"
"He's just trying to make us think he's an idiot," Rogers commented dismissively.
"Well, he's succeeding admirably. L.C. Sulu … you are genuinely in trouble here. There will be no last-minute rescue. There will be no extended discourse from us, giving you the key pieces of information you require. We are going to do you bodily harm until you tell us what we want to know, or we will kill you … or both. Any other outcome is purely in your imagination."
Sulu smiled grimly. He had to give them credit: They were damned effective. Particularly Taine, the Asian. He was going all out to give the proceedings an air of genuine menace. If Sulu hadn't been so certain of his true status, he might actually have begun to get worried.
"Quieting down," noted Taine. "Going for stoicism? Inscrutability, perhaps? Well, we'll attend to that. Rogers?"
"Ready," said Rogers, standing over the heated brazier. With his thick gloves, he removed one of the rods. Sulu noted with mild interest that the tip was glowing red. Smoke was pouring from it.
"At your convenience, Rogers," said Taine, gesturing toward the bound Starfleet officer.
Rogers approached slowly, savoring the moment. Sulu watched confidently, waiting for the last-minute rescue. Knowing that salvation would be imminent. Any second now there would be the whine of phaser blasts, or the crashing in through the skylight.
(Rogers drew closer.)
Something to stave off doom because, in situations like this, the hero never really got maimed. Was never really put through some grueling, hideous …
(The broiling point of the rod was closer still. . . .)
… ordeal, such as having heated metal stroked across the skin, searing it, blackening it, causing it to peel back and away while the hero screamed for mercy …
(He could feel the heat, the intensity, and he saw the total lack of pity in Rogers' eyes.)
And just for a moment, Sulu's confidence slipped.
He started to pull, yanking at his bonds, but they were too tight. All he managed to do was cut off circulation to his hands.
His abrupt signs of struggle brought Rogers to a momentary halt, before he chuckled and started to advance.
"Feeling a bit nervous?" asked Taine silkily. "Suddenly realizing you're overdue for a rescue?"
That was, indeed, precisely what Sulu was realizing. He pulled more furiously at his bonds, but they simply drew tighter as the rod drew closer.
"Now," said Taine, "tell us what you know."
The air seemed to shimmer from the heat directly in Sulu's eyes.
Taine repeated, caressing each word, "Tell us … what … you know."
Sulu licked his lips briefly and then said, "Heading is a mathematical expression describing a direction with relationship to the center of the galaxy. A heading is composed of two numbers, measuring an azimuth value and an elevation value in degrees. A heading of zero zero zero, mark zero, describes a direction toward the geometric center of the galaxy."
Rogers and Taine exchanged confused glances.
Sulu didn't slow down. "In terms of navigation on a planet's surface, this is analogous to describing a direction in degrees from north, in which case a course of five degrees—"
"What are you doing?"
"—would be slightly to the right of a direction directly toward the planet's north pole. A heading differs from a bearing in that it has no relationship to the current attitude or orientation of the spacecraft."
There was a pause, and Taine and Rogers thought Sulu was finished.
He was just catching his breath.
"Now bearing, by contrast, describes a direction in space with relationship to a space vehicle. A bearing measures the angular difference between the current forward direction of the spacecra—"
"Shut up!" Thor roared from across the room. It was the first thing he'd said since Sulu had had the misfortune to encounter him. Sulu had begun to assume he was mute.
"What is the purpose of this, L.C.?" asked a befuddled Taine.
"You said I should tell you what I know," said Sulu. "Would you like me to move on to fencing techniques? Fun facts about botany? Old Earth firearms, perhaps."
Taine regarded him for a long moment.
"Oh, to hell with this," he said finally. He turned to Rogers. "Kill him. Slow, fast, I don't care. Just kill him."
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