Star Trek: Starfleet Academy - Abramsverse - 04 - The Assassination Game by Alan Gratz

Author:Alan Gratz [Gratz, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Action & Adventure, General, Science Fiction, Media Tie-In, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Humor
ISBN: 9781442420595
Google: HW4ibRtJmU0C
Amazon: 1442420588
Barnesnoble: 1442420588
Publisher: Simon Spotlight
Published: 2012-06-26T07:00:00+00:00

Leonard McCoy hated all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense.

He’d kept an eye on Daagen all afternoon in the lab, trying to catch him doing something suspicious, and when he’d failed to do that, he’d followed him—surreptitiously, he hoped—across campus to his dorm. Now he sat on a bench across the courtyard, pretending to read something on his PADD while really watching the door for Daagen to reemerge.

Maybe Jim was right, after all. Maybe it was crazy to think anyone who would willingly enroll in Starfleet would ever do something illicit, even if they thought it was for the greater good. Starfleet was about ideals, damn it. It was about seeking out new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no one had gone before. Not to conquer the galaxy, but to explore it. To learn from it.

“Oh, this is just ridiculous,” he told two pigeons strutting nearby.

McCoy cycled down his PADD and stuffed it back into his satchel. He was ready to go get something to eat in the cafeteria and forget all this stupidity when Daagen emerged from his dorm carrying a knapsack. The Tellarite looked around furtively, then headed off at a quick pace. Away from the main campus.

McCoy cursed himself inwardly, but he followed, anyway.

“Leonard!” someone called. It was Nadja. She was waving to him from across the quad. If she called out again, Daagen might hear her and turn around. McCoy hurried to intercept her, signaling to her to be quiet, and pulled her along behind a statue of Yuri Gagarin.

“Whoa, reduce to impulse engines, Leonard,” she said with a laugh.

McCoy peeked out from behind the statue. Daagen was just turning the corner of the barracks where the Varkolak were stationed. The Varkolak!

“Come on,” McCoy told Nadja. “But be quiet.”

“Are we hunting wabbits?” she asked as they skulked along.

“No. Spies. Maybe. I don’t know. You know Daagen, that fellow I was telling you about? The one who gave me back your communicator? I’ve been watching him. He just left his dorm with a knapsack.”

“Oh no. Do you think … do you think he plans on doing some knapping? Or”—she gasped exaggeratedly—“dare I say it, some sacking?”

“Laugh all you want, but he’s up to something. I know it.”

But whatever he was up to, it didn’t have anything to do with the Varkolak. Daagen left campus, and soon after, ducked into a public restroom. Nadja and McCoy hid in a shop across the street, watching through the front display window.

“You wait here,” Nadja whispered. “I’ll go in and see if he’s executing secret plan number one or secret plan number two.”

“Cut it out,” McCoy said.

“Look, he couldn’t have anything too incriminating in that knapsack. He had to get past the security guards in the dorm just to leave with it.”

“If you want to go back, go back,” McCoy told her.

A cloaked figure emerged from the bathrooms, looked around, and continued down the road, away from campus. On campus, something like that would have stood out among all the redshirted cadets and their blue-uniformed instructors.

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