Read Online Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code by Christopher L. Bennett - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher L. Bennett
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see a reason to reject her assertion. He tried to imagine wanting the experience he’d undergone inside the Ware, believing it was necessary and just. Would it really be so wrong for someone to free him from that condition, that conviction, over his protests? Would he be better off staying inside? He couldn’t believe that.
Asking the question is what keeps you honest, he told himself. As long as you remember why you’re doing it, and never forget who you’re doing it for, then . . .
“All right,” he said to the others. “Let’s get them out of there.”
July 12, 2165
Qam-Chee, the First City, Qo’noS
If there was one advantage to the Klingons’ warrior lifestyle that Phlox had to concede, it was that they were not, as a rule, prone to squeamishness. He had no shortage of spectators for his postmortem examination of the late Chancellor M’Rek, as the leaders of the various factions within the High Council crowded into the autopsy room of the Council’s private medical wing, keeping his every move under careful scrutiny. This puzzled Phlox at first, given that their entire reason for inviting him was that he was the one physician they had been willing to trust. He soon realized, though, that they were far less willing to admit to trusting an offworlder.
Thus, Phlox needed to rely on the assistance of Doctor Kon’Jef to keep the councillors from crowding in too close and interfering with his work. Kon’Jef was large and intimidating even by Klingon standards, so Phlox was grateful that he had secured the position of personal physician to Chancellor M’Rek, by virtue of being married to M’Rek’s closest advisor, Fleet Admiral Krell. Phlox had worked with Kon’Jef once before, a decade ago, to reattach Krell’s left arm after Jonathan Archer had severed it in the course of diplomatic negotiations, Klingon-style. It had earned him a measure of respect from the towering doctor, which proved useful to their collaboration now.
Certainly Phlox needed every advantage he could get, given the squalid conditions of this treatment facility. He had seen in the past how little regard Klingons had for medical careor basic sanitation; even the most dedicated Klingon healer Phlox had ever met, Doctor Antaak, had allowed his pet targ to wander freely about his laboratory. Antaak and other scientists like him were capable of sophisticated genetic engineering; indeed, it had been Antaak’s attempt to repurpose human Augment DNA (left over from Earth’s Eugenics Wars) for Klingon use that had led to the release of the metagenic virus responsible for the cosmetic transformation of the QuchHa’ . But the members of the High Council had little use for intricate genetic studies, so their medical section was geared more toward treating the gross bodily trauma sustained during the frequent combats that served as political debate within the Council. Having seen these facilities before, Phlox had made sure to bring the necessary equipment with him; but with condensation dripping from the ceiling, stains of blood and bloodwine liberally adorning all surfaces, and High Councillors shedding hair and spraying spittle as they declaimed and gesticulated toward one another, there was only so much he could do to avoid contamination of the body even with his sterile field emitter in place.
Thus, it was a minor miracle that he was able to isolate the virus responsible for the chancellor’s long illness, and to confirm that it was the underlying cause of his death. But identifying the virus and determining its origin was a trickier matter. Kon’Jef had been unable to link it with any known strain, hence his inability to cure it.
“Does that mean it was artificial?” demanded Councillor Khorkal. The gray-bearded centenarian, head of the ancient and distinguished House of Palkar, was one of the leading contenders for the chancellorship, a career politician eager for leverage against his foes.
“Not necessarily,” Phlox told
Asking the question is what keeps you honest, he told himself. As long as you remember why you’re doing it, and never forget who you’re doing it for, then . . .
“All right,” he said to the others. “Let’s get them out of there.”
July 12, 2165
Qam-Chee, the First City, Qo’noS
If there was one advantage to the Klingons’ warrior lifestyle that Phlox had to concede, it was that they were not, as a rule, prone to squeamishness. He had no shortage of spectators for his postmortem examination of the late Chancellor M’Rek, as the leaders of the various factions within the High Council crowded into the autopsy room of the Council’s private medical wing, keeping his every move under careful scrutiny. This puzzled Phlox at first, given that their entire reason for inviting him was that he was the one physician they had been willing to trust. He soon realized, though, that they were far less willing to admit to trusting an offworlder.
Thus, Phlox needed to rely on the assistance of Doctor Kon’Jef to keep the councillors from crowding in too close and interfering with his work. Kon’Jef was large and intimidating even by Klingon standards, so Phlox was grateful that he had secured the position of personal physician to Chancellor M’Rek, by virtue of being married to M’Rek’s closest advisor, Fleet Admiral Krell. Phlox had worked with Kon’Jef once before, a decade ago, to reattach Krell’s left arm after Jonathan Archer had severed it in the course of diplomatic negotiations, Klingon-style. It had earned him a measure of respect from the towering doctor, which proved useful to their collaboration now.
Certainly Phlox needed every advantage he could get, given the squalid conditions of this treatment facility. He had seen in the past how little regard Klingons had for medical careor basic sanitation; even the most dedicated Klingon healer Phlox had ever met, Doctor Antaak, had allowed his pet targ to wander freely about his laboratory. Antaak and other scientists like him were capable of sophisticated genetic engineering; indeed, it had been Antaak’s attempt to repurpose human Augment DNA (left over from Earth’s Eugenics Wars) for Klingon use that had led to the release of the metagenic virus responsible for the cosmetic transformation of the QuchHa’ . But the members of the High Council had little use for intricate genetic studies, so their medical section was geared more toward treating the gross bodily trauma sustained during the frequent combats that served as political debate within the Council. Having seen these facilities before, Phlox had made sure to bring the necessary equipment with him; but with condensation dripping from the ceiling, stains of blood and bloodwine liberally adorning all surfaces, and High Councillors shedding hair and spraying spittle as they declaimed and gesticulated toward one another, there was only so much he could do to avoid contamination of the body even with his sterile field emitter in place.
Thus, it was a minor miracle that he was able to isolate the virus responsible for the chancellor’s long illness, and to confirm that it was the underlying cause of his death. But identifying the virus and determining its origin was a trickier matter. Kon’Jef had been unable to link it with any known strain, hence his inability to cure it.
“Does that mean it was artificial?” demanded Councillor Khorkal. The gray-bearded centenarian, head of the ancient and distinguished House of Palkar, was one of the leading contenders for the chancellorship, a career politician eager for leverage against his foes.
“Not necessarily,” Phlox told
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