Martyr

by Peter David

  “Shelby to security,” she continued, and upon receiving the acknowledgment, said, “I want two security officers, heavily armed, to meet me at the transporter room.” She had no intention of screwing around with the Zondarians: When she went in, she was going to go in with a show of force. Shelby finished dressing, charged out of her quarters, and was at the transporter room, as it turned out, in just under three minutes. Selar was standing there waiting for her. Shelby’s hair was disheveled, her manner one of barely contained anger, outrage, and confusion. Selar, on the other hand, looked calm and cool. For one moment, Shelby found that she no longer appreciated Selar’s unflappable demeanor. Instead she discovered the truth of the age-old adage, namely that misery loves company. The security guards, Hecht and Scannell, were there as well. They had obeyed her instructions to the letter. Hecht had heavy-duty hand phasers strapped to either side of his uniform, looking for all the world like a cowboy. Scannell had a phaser rifle slung under his arm.

  “Very impressive, gentlemen,” she said with approval.

  Ensign Watson had just taken position behind the transporter controls, and she immediately configured the coordinates for the point of transmission from which Zak Kebron communicated mere minutes before. “Energize!” called Shelby as she stepped onto the platform, a slightly sloppy maneuver that could have had a costly effect. If Watson hadn’t been paying attention and simply activated the beams on command, the front portion of Shelby’s body would have preceded her to the planet’s surface. As it was, Watson was cautious enough to wait until Shelby was completely on the platform before beaming her down to Zondar.

  Kebron was waiting for her when the four of them arrived seconds later. Kebron glanced in acknowledgment at Hecht and Scannell. Had he so chosen, he could have expressed annoyance that the bringing out of security guards without clearing it through him was a breach of protocol, but he didn’t bother.

  “Where was his room?” demanded Shelby without preamble.

  Instead of answering, Kebron led her to the quarters where assorted Zondarians were still milling around in what appeared to be barely controlled chaos. Shelby spotted Killick, the one Zondarian she recognized, and without even bothering to offer greetings, said, “Where the hell is the captain?”

  The question prompted a barrage of responses, not just from Killick but from everyone around. As Shelby tried to sort out who was saying what, she started to hear something else as well. A chorus of voices, but it was not coming from within the temple. Instead it rose from outside, high-pitched and frightening in the depth of its grief. A thousand voices, more, rising as one and giving vent to some sort of deep-seated mourning. “What is that?” she demanded, but even as she asked, she already knew.

  “Word of the Savior’s passing has spread to the populace,” said Killick. “They are bemoaning the passing of—urkh!”

  The last part of the sentence came as a result of Shelby’s hand at his throat.

  Killick gasped, unable to get air to his lungs, as Shelby pushed him up against the nearest wall with astounding force. She was unaware that Kebron had already knocked cold two of the Zondarians. It’s unlikely that, even had she known, it would have made the slightest difference in how she conducted herself.

  Hecht and Scannell looked at each other, and the same thought was clearly on both their faces: They weren’t entirely sure what Shelby needed with additional security guards. She was turning into a one-woman army.

  Through gritted teeth, she said, “Understand: I am not a morning person. And on mornings where my commanding officer supposedly dies—and vanishes—I am really, truly, not someone that you want to groz with!” she finished, her voice rising in volume. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me that Captain Calhoun is dead unless you are prepared to produce a steaming corpse. And if you can’t do that, then you had damn well better be prepared to bring him here safe and sound. Have I made myself clear?”

  A thoroughly intimidated Killick nodded his head. “I …” and his throat was so choked that the word was virtually inaudible. Shelby removed her hand and Killick tried to straighten his garments and repair the disarray that he was in. “I found the body myself. Lying in the bed, staring off into the abyss to which we are all destined.”

  “Some of us,” Kebron rumbled, “may be destined sooner than others.”

  The threat was not lost on Killick or anyone of the others in the room. “We are … locating the Great One’s body … even as we speak,” Killick assured them, “so that you may see for yourselves the tragedy of this event.”

  “Very wise,” she told him flatly. “And let me tell you one thing right now: God help you if there is any sign of foul play. Because I swear to you, if one of you brought harm to the captain, then I will bring you to justice or, failing that, I will bring this place down around your ears. Have I made myself sufficiently clear on that point?”

  There was mute nodding from all around.

  Selar, for her part, was running the medical tricorder over the bed that had been occupied by Calhoun. She checked the readings once more, and then gestured for Shelby to come over and join her. Shelby did so, leaving Killick rubbing his throat. The others gave her a wide berth as she passed. It would have been a tough call to determine at that point who was more intimidating to the Zondarians: the mammoth Zak Kebron or the smaller but extremely vicious Elizabeth Shelby.

  “What have you got?” she asked.

  “It is difficult to be certain, but I am reasonably sure that the captain did not die in this bed.”

  Shelby felt the first bubble of real hope beginning to surface in her heart. “Why do you say that?”

  “The humanoid body, when it ceases function, does not generally do so in a neat or tidy manner,” Selar said. “The bowels and bladder relax and evacuate any matter left in them, or there is excretion of—”

  “I get the idea,” Shelby said quickly. “You’re saying that there’s usually some sort of physical trace left behind.”

  “However minute it might be, yes,” Selar said. “But in this instance, I find nothing. Not so much as a stray bit of spittle on the pillow.”

  Shelby wasted no time, turning immediately back to Killick and saying, “You’re lying to me, Killick.”

  “I am not! As the Savior is my witness—” He stopped, realizing the inappropriateness of the statement. It was a reflexive comment, one that he had made any number of times throughout the years before there was an actual, flesh-and-blood Savior to which the invocation could be attached. “I swear to you,” he amended. “It is as I described it. His body was right there. He was not, to the best of my ability to ascertain, alive.”

  As he had been speaking, Selar had had her tricorder focused on him. “Commander,” she said, “I believe he is telling the truth.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Shelby.

  “To a ninety-eight percent probability,” Selar told her, showing her the tricorder readings. Shelby, of course, did not quite understand what she was looking at, but was loath to admit it, so she feigned thoughtful expertise as she regarded the readings. “Making allowances for the stress of the moment, his pulse and respiration remained relatively close to the Zondarian norm when he was making the statements. Either it is the truth, or at the very least he believes it to be the truth.”

  “What is going on in here?” came the startled voice of Si Cwan. He was standing in the doorway, having thrown a robe on, looking around in confusion at the assemblage before him. He took it all in in a glance, and then his face darkened as he said, “What happened to the captain?”

  Kebron, ever suspicious, said, “How do you know that something happened to the captain?”

  “In the name of the gods, Kebron, I’m not completely dim,” retorted Si Cwan. “Everyone is standing here looking disconcerted, there’s no sign of Calhoun, and Shelby, Selar, and two security goons have shown up. One does not have to be a detective to figure this out.”

  At that moment, one of the servants to Killick ca
me running in, looking extremely concerned. He motioned for Killick to come over to him, and Killick did so. What followed was a rapid exchange of words, with Killick looking increasingly disturbed, shaking his head in what was clear disbelief. Shelby tried to listen in on what they were saying, but it was hard to hear anything—even her own thoughts—over the wailing and moaning that was coming from just outside. As this happened, Kebron quickly outlined the situation for Si Cwan. The red face of the Thallonian noble became darker and darker by the moment.

  Finally, looking for all the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else, Killick turned back to them and cleared his throat apprehensively. “The Savior’s body is, uhm …”

  “If you say ‘cremated,’ you’re next,” Shelby told him in no uncertain terms.

  “No, but it is … it is gone.”

  “Gone,” said Si Cwan in astonishment, beating Shelby and Kebron to the punch by a fraction of a second. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “It was brought to a sacred place of preparation, where only the noblest and best of Zondarians are taken for handling,” Killick said. “But we have checked there now, and there does not seem to be any sign of him. It has … has disappeared. The only thing remaining is … is this,” and he held up Calhoun’s communicator badge.

  Before any of the Excalibur crew could say anything, Vonce spoke up, and it was in a voice that was filled with joy and reverence. “It is a miracle!” he cried out. “It is as Ontear foresaw! A miracle, I say!”

  “What are you talking about?!” demanded Shelby.

  “ ‘He will come from air and return to air!’” Vonce explained eagerly. “Don’t you see? The prophecy has been fulfilled! He came from air, via your transportation device. And now, with His passing, He has vanished into the air as well! There is no trace of Him to be found! We are dealing with the miraculous, I say!”

  “Don’t be a fool!” said Maro the Questioner. “We are dealing with thievery! Thievery of the most vile and depraved sort! That is what faces us! Thievery on the part of the Unglza, who are probably behind all of this!”

  This immediately prompted a firestorm of protest from the Unglza representatives, a chorus of agreement among the Eenza present, and a few holdouts who agreed with the miracle theory postulated by Vonce.

  Shelby pulled out her phaser and discharged it once skyward. She only had it set on stun, so the result was simply a very loud noise rather than any damage being done. It was, however, enough to immediately seize their attention.

  “We,” she said with great control, “are going to look for the captain. We are going to operate on the assumption that he is alive, well, and being held by person or persons unknown. We will find him, make no mistake. And when we do, if we discover that any of you had any involvement in this matter …”

  She let the threat trail off, reasoning that whatever they might come up with would likely be far more frightening than anything she could possibly say.

  “Shall we … shall we bring you to the last known location of his body?” asked Killick.

  “That should not be necessary,” Selar said. “Commander, with your permission …?”

  “Whatever you have in mind, Doctor, I’m all ears,” Shelby told her.

  Selar tapped her comm link and said, “Selar to transporter room.”

  “Transporter room, Watson here.”

  “Watson,” Selar said, “I require your aid in locating Captain Calhoun.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” came back Watson’s voice. “Uhm … how are we going to go about that?”

  “Elementary, Watson,” said Selar, and she was about to continue when she was interrupted by a rather surprising guffaw from Shelby. She looked questioningly at the commander. It hardly seemed the time for any sort of levity, and she was at a loss to determine just what it was that Shelby considered so funny. Shelby waved it off and gestured for Selar to continue.

  “Doctor?” came Watson’s mildly confused voice.

  “We have the captain’s DNA records and molecular patterns in the transporter buffer files,” continued Selar after one more puzzled glance at Shelby. “Use the shipboard computer medlink and download that information directly into my medical tricorder.”

  “Will do, Doctor. Give me a minute to pull up the pertinent data. Keep your tricorder on in order to ensure proper information retrieval.”

  “Understood.”

  While they were waiting for the information to be processed, Shelby turned to Si Cwan. “I want you back on the ship,” she said.

  “What?” demanded Si Cwan. “For what purpose? If I remain here—”

  “If you remain here, you could wind up in the same trouble that the captain’s in, whatever that may be,” Shelby told him. “I’m not going to have any more dealings with these people until we know exactly what’s going on around here. Nor am I going to have any non-Starfleet personnel putting themselves at risk.”

  “I can take care of myself, Commander,” Si Cwan informed her.

  “Lord Cwan,” Shelby said with fading patience, “there is not a single individual in this galaxy whom I would have thought more capable of taking care of himself than Mackenzie Calhoun. He’s now missing. So don’t for one moment think that your protestations of your own capabilities are going to cut any ice with me. Do we understand each other?”

  “Perfectly,” said an annoyed Si Cwan, clearly disagreeing but realizing that he wasn’t going to make any headway against the immovable object of Commander Shelby. And then he turned to face Zak Kebron. “Bring him back, Kebron. Bring him back safely. If anyone can, you can.”

  “A compliment?” said Kebron with mild amusement.

  “No. A challenge.” He tapped the commbadge that he had been issued and said, “Si Cwan to Excalibur. One to beam up.” And, moments later, he had dematerialized in a sparkle of molecules.

  “Well done, Watson,” Selar was saying in the mean time.

  “Not a problem, Doctor. Anything else you need, just ask.”

  “Understood. Selar out.”

  “All right, Doctor,” Shelby said, her arms folded and looking barely patient. “What have you got in mind?”

  “We can use the tricorder as a localized detection device,” Selar said, after making a few adjustments. “Lock on to traces of his DNA or molecular structure in the same way that a tricorder can be utilized to locate any other specific trace elements.”

  “If we can lock on to where he is, let’s just find his coordinates and have him beamed up to the ship.”

  “The equipment is not quite that localized, Commander. It will indicate direction, but not the final destination.”

  “Wait a minute.” Shelby tapped her commbadge. “Shelby to Bridge.”

  “Bridge. Lieutenant Soleta here.”

  “Just the person I wanted to speak to.” She quickly outlined what it was that Selar had planned, and then said, “Can we run the same information through the ship’s sensors? Do a sensor sweep of the planet using his molecular structure as a guide?”

  “Absolutely,” Soleta replied. “But via our sensors, it would be more of a selective process. Essentially we’d have to filter through all the biological organisms within the area of the sensor sweep and detect the captain either using his molecular patterns as a guide, or else by process of elimination. That is to say, we eliminate everyone we know is not the captain and, in doing so, eventually find him.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Shelby, who then almost bit her tongue since she had inadvertently blurted out Calhoun’s favorite expression. The last thing she wanted to admit was that she had been influenced by him in any way. “Do it,” she said. “Until I return, you have the conn, Soleta.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

  Shelby turned to Soleta and said briskly, “All right, Doctor. Fire up the tricorder, and let’s track down the captain. Between our being on the scent down here, and the Excalibur tracking him on their end, we should be able to do this in no time. Gentlemen,” and she a
ddressed Kebron, Hecht, and Scannell, “let’s go find the captain.”

  Killick quickly made his way to what he hoped would be a private communication point, deep in his own personal sanctum. Quickly he used it to contact Ramed’s home and, to his concern, Talila appeared on the screen. “Killick!” she said, making no effort to hide her surprise. She knew of Killick, certainly, but since he was of the Unglza, she had never actually had any direct communication with him. “This is a surprise.”

  “Yes, I imagine it would be,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Is Ramed there?”

  “Here?” The genuine puzzlement on her face was all the answer he needed, but it would have been rude to simply shut off the link. “Why would he be here? He’s there, isn’t he? He … he left for there. He even spoke with me just the other day to tell me that he had arrived.”

  “Did he say anything to you, Talila?”

  Talila was completely confused, to say nothing of frustrated. She was, after all, speaking with someone whom she regarded as the enemy. She knew, however, that Zondar was endeavoring to enter a new age of tolerance, and what sort of mother and wife would she be if she resisted something as positive as cooperation and brotherhood? So she put aside her immediate temptation to bite off a sharp answer and instead replied, “Did he say anything? What would he have said, Killick? I … do not understand.”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted in annoyance. “But—”

  “But what?”

  He took a deep breath, and said, “The Savior is dead. Dead and gone. I saw His body myself, and that body has now vanished. And Ramed is gone as well.”

  “Gone?” She stared at him, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, almost perceive the actual thought process as it was reflected on her face in growing disbelief. “Dead and gone … and you … you are implying that Ramed had something to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Killick said in frustration. “All I know is that he is gone. That makes him a suspect.”

  “No,” Talila shot back at him.

  “Talila, listen to me—”

  “No!” she said again, even more forcefully. “Ramed’s absence does not make him a suspect. Any one of a dozen reasons would suffice to explain that. No, what makes him a suspect is you. You and years, centuries of distrust of him and all those like him. All those like me. I resent your implications, Killick. Resent them most deeply, and you would be well advised not to be in contact with me again.”