by Peter David
“I know that this is difficult for you,” she said. “You helped create a virus that can erase Morgan Primus, and you’ve brought it to this vessel on a datachip. Until just now, I was unsure—as was Soleta—that you were truly dedicated to the idea. Now, though, faced with evidence that she is out of control and poses a threat to living beings, you’ve come to accept what needs to be done. And I think that is a laudable—”
“I don’t care about them.”
That stopped Seven. “Excuse me?”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s an overstatement. I’m a doctor. Of course I care about all living things. But hearing about what happened on New Thallon… that isn’t what prompted my wholehearted devotion to this endeavor. It’s that you are obviously determined to see this through, and it now appears that this individual, this Morgan, presents a real and true threat.”
“I… still don’t understand.”
“She presents a threat to you, Seven,” said the Doctor. “You are going to set yourself in harm’s way, and I cannot stand by and do nothing. Certainly I cannot consider allying myself with the entity that would potentially do you harm. I am going to attempt to destroy Morgan Primus in order to protect you. Do you understand now?”
When she replied, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”
“Good.” He paused and then said, “I had best check on the datachip to make certain that the virus remains contained and has lost none of its potency. Then I will give it to Soleta for safekeeping as we planned. I think that would be best, don’t you?”
She nodded.
The Doctor walked away, leaving her standing there in the corridor, at a loss for words.
U.S.S. Dauntless
Some Time Later
To say that there was no love lost between Commodore Joshua Kemper and Captain Mackenzie Calhoun would be to understate matters considerably.
The Dauntless was a newly commissioned Galaxy-class ship, replacing the vessel of the same name that had been destroyed during the Dominion War. She had been on routine patrol in Sector 7G when word first came through that Calhoun had apparently gone rogue and single-handedly committed an act of war against the Thallonians.
The first thing that occurred to Kemper was, It was only a matter of time.
The second thing that occurred to him was, And he’s all mine.
Kemper was an unusually tall man who walked with something of an inherent swagger and radiated confidence the way suns radiate light. People tended to get out of his way when they saw him coming, which suited him just fine. He studied his smile in the mirror every morning to make certain that it was exactly right and then made sure to keep it affixed on his face the entirety of the day. It required a certain type of mind-set to practice one’s smile, and Kemper had that mind-set in spades.
It wasn’t as if Kemper was happy about the deaths of the people on New Thallon. He felt as much mourning as one can for a planetary disaster for which he was not responsible, involving people he didn’t know. If anything, Kemper was more upset over the fact that a ship of the line had been responsible for the incident. Any negative action taken by a starship was a black eye for the entire fleet, and it was incumbent upon every officer to do what was required in order to rein in the offending vessel and bring the criminals involved to a swift justice. And he felt it to be his obligation—no, in fact, a duty bordering on sacred—to be the one who managed to accomplish the job.
The fact that it was Calhoun was simply a bonus.
Kemper strode down the corridor with a bit more spring in his step than was usual. The doors to the turbolift obediently opened for him and he said briskly, “Bridge.”
“Hold the lift, please!” came a female voice from behind him.
It was Theresa Detwiler, his conn officer. He stepped aside for her to enter and she did so. “Good morning, Lieutenant Commander,” he said briskly.
“Good morning, Commodore.”
The doors slid shut and the turbolift headed toward its destination.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked solicitously.
“I did indeed. You?”
“Oh yes.” His carefully nurtured smile shifted a bit to allow a genuine one to come through. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Then he looked around with just a bit of apprehension, as if someone were watching them while they were in the turbolift. “You, uhm… you’re sure no one saw you leaving my quarters?”
“You realize I wouldn’t give a damn if someone did, right?”
“I’m just not entirely certain it’s wholly appropriate that we… that you and I… I mean, I am the Commodore…”
“Look, Josh, no one expects a starship commander to be a monk. Relationships are healthy and natural, and who else is the C.O. going to spend time with if not subordinates? You didn’t pressure me into anything, and I’m not seeing you as a means of advancing my career. My career was doing fine before I was assigned to this ship, thank you very much.” She studied him closely. “You’re not actually listening to anything I’m saying right now, are you.”
“Hmmm? Oh… sorry,” he said when her words registered. “Have a lot on my mind. After you left, I received some emergency intel about an old… friend. Maybe you remember him: Mackenzie Calhoun.”
“Of course I remember him. The cadet with the scar that you decided to give a hard time to back at the Academy. And he responded by kicking the hell out of you.”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite that way.”
“Really? Let’s ask Ray, because I’m sure that he would remember it pretty clearly, since—as I recall—he also got his head handed to him by Calhoun.”
“You,” he said stiffly, “are taking entirely too much delight in the recollection. And it’s not something to be joked about.”
“Why? What’d he do?”
Kemper told her.
She blanched upon hearing the news. The significance of a Starfleet captain embarking upon such an unprovoked act of war was not lost on her.
“And we’re going after him?” she said.
“Oh, hell yes. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him years ago that he was going to be trouble. This is an opportunity—”
“To settle old scores?”
Kemper clearly wasn’t thrilled with the way she’d expressed it just then. “I need to do my duty to Starfleet.”
“Well…” she said hopefully, “maybe he’ll surrender.”
“That’s not an option.”
“What?”
The doors slid open and he walked out onto the bridge. Detwiler followed him and the night shift navigator stepped aside. Commander Ray Williams, the first officer, was already at his station. “Morning, Commodore.”
“Morning.”
“What do you mean, that’s not an option?” Detwiler said, clearly not finished with the conversation.
Before he answered, he turned to Williams. “You’re up to speed on the Calhoun situation?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
Kemper, having heard “Yes, sir,” wasn’t bothering to listen to the rest. He returned his focus to Detwiler and said, “Our orders are clear. If we find him, we’re to shoot on sight. Correct, Number One?”
“That’s correct, Commodore, but—”
“It’s out of my hands, Terry,” said Kemper.
“With all respect, Commodore, you don’t sound particularly upset about it,” said Detwiler.
“It’s not my job to feel one way or the other about it,” Kemper said, his carefully maintained smile fading ever so slightly. “It’s my job to do my duty and attend to Starfleet policies. A philosophy, I should add, that if Mackenzie Calhoun attended to, he wouldn’t be in his current fix. Emotions have to take a back seat to responsibility. We have no choice but to undertake this task as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
Williams cleared his throat. “Yes, Commodore, about that—”
But Kemper was looking at the viewscreen and he was frowning. “We’
re not moving.”
“No, sir. I’ve been trying to tell you—”
Kemper turned to Williams with annoyance. “Why aren’t we moving? We know their last sighting. We should be heading toward Thallonian space.”
“We received orders to hold our position for a rendezvous.”
“Hold our position? Who the hell gave that order—?”
Hopkins, at tactical, called out, “Commodore, we’ve got a fresh contact at two-eighteen mark three.”
“Put it on-screen,” said Kemper automatically, even though he hadn’t yet been given a satisfactory answer to his previous question.
The newcomer appeared on the screen and Kemper recognized it immediately. “Is that an ETV?”
“I believe so, yes,” said Williams.
The Emergency Transport Vehicles were vessels that were intended for the exclusive use of top Starfleet brass to get them from one point to another as quickly as possible. They were outfitted with high-warp sleds, which enabled them to go at extraordinary speeds but only for a relatively short period of time, at which point their energy sources needed time to replenish. So, once having delivered their passengers, they were effectively dead in space until such time that they were able to get back up to speed.
Kemper couldn’t recall ever having seen one in actual use before. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he said impatiently. “Open a channel.”
“Dauntless,” a gruff voice came immediately, “this is the U.S.S. Hermes, Admiral Jellico speaking. Permission to come aboard.”
Under such circumstances, asking permission was merely a formality. It wasn’t as if Kemper was going to refuse to allow an admiral to board his ship, much less such a renowned hard-ass as Jellico. “Yes, sir, of course. But—”
“But?” There was a tinge of astonishment to Jellico’s tone. “Did I just hear hesitation in your voice, Commodore?”
All eyes on the bridge were on Kemper. He felt self-conscious for a fleeting moment and then he steeled himself. “These are dangerous times, Admiral. I’m simply inquiring as to the nature of your business.”
“The nature of my business, Commodore,” he said, carefully underscoring the difference in rank between them, “is to oversee your vessel during your attempts to track down the Excalibur.”
“Oversee?”
“That is correct, Commodore.”
“May I ask why my vessel has been selected for this honor,” said Kemper, “as opposed to the other ships that are going after—”
“No other ships, Commodore. Before I commit a sizable number of vessels to this endeavor, I’m going to determine for myself exactly what’s going on. And yours is the ship I’m using to do it.”
Kemper couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Admiral—”
Then he took control of himself. This was neither the time nor the place to square off against a superior officer, presuming there even was such a time and place. As soon as he had fought back his instinctive desire to balk at such presumption, he said evenly, “Bridge to transporter room. Lock onto signal and beam aboard passenger from the ETV.”
“Aye, Commodore,” came the acknowledgment from the transporter room.
“Thank you, Commodore,” came Jellico’s voice. “I will see you shortly.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kemper. “Looking forward to it.”
The moment the communication ceased, Williams said, “All right. That was unexpected.”
“Not entirely, no,” said Kemper. “Jellico used to hate Calhoun’s guts, but ever since Calhoun did him some kind of service—saved one of his family, I think—Jellico’s had Calhoun’s back. This has nothing to do with procedure and everything to do with favoritism. And I promise you this: I’m not going to allow any such attitudes to jeopardize the lives of anyone on this ship. Admiral or no, Mackenzie Calhoun is going to pay for what he did, and I’m not going to hesitate to be the bill collector.”
Xenex
i.
The incoming Brethren transport vessel angled toward the surface, confident that this exercise in absurdity was reaching its inevitable, if somewhat prolonged, conclusion.
Calhoun and his people watched the ship coming in. He was reasonably sure it was the same one that had arrived on that terrible day when his brother had been ruthlessly cut down by one of the Brethren. Even though he had immediately slaughtered D’ndai’s killer, the hurt, the fury were all still present and burning deeply within him.
The vessel wasn’t bothering to cloak this time. Perhaps they were under the impression that showing up in this manner would somehow intimidate the Xenexians. After all the soldiers they had lost in battle, one would think that they knew better by this point.
Calhoun felt it incumbent upon him to impart a lesson to them. With any luck, it would be one final lesson.
His people were massing around him, looking to the skies, in the shadow of one of the tallest natural spires in the area. His instinct was to tell them to keep hidden, to continue the guerrilla tactics that had enabled as many people to survive as had managed thus far.
But that wasn’t going to get it done this time. He needed to draw the Brethren in closer. Draw them in and then distract them before they realized what he was really up to. And challenging them openly was the only thing that was going to accomplish that.
Unfortunately, it meant that he was going to have to use the troops around him in a way that he was not looking forward to. If his plan worked, however, he would be able to put an end to this insane siege of his home world once and for all.
ii.
The Visionary wasn’t thrilled with what he was seeing.
Far below, the Xenexians were massing. There were so many of the damned creatures that, unlike when Calhoun had been out and on his own, it was impossible to pick him out of the crowd.
“I don’t like this,” said the Visionary. He addressed his comment to the Brethren commander. He had no separate title; the Brethren were not believers in assigned rank since they felt that all were equal. But there were those who, by dint of their personalities, became natural leaders and were simply recognized as such without receiving a separate designation. In the Visionary’s mind, he thought of such individuals as commanders and spoke to one now. “It’s too easy. They’re trying to draw us in.”
“They have no archers in higher positions,” replied the Commander. His voice was soft, almost purring, a stark contrast to his armored appearance. “They have surrendered the high ground. They are foolish to confront us.”
“You’re missing the point,” said the Visionary. “Calhoun would not be that foolish.”
“Obviously he is. And we will take advantage of it before they have the opportunity to think better of it.”
“Have you possibly considered—?”
“We have considered every possibility. Take us to within landing range,” the Commander ordered.
The ship had no navigator or pilot; it was completely automatic, all such duties handled by easily controlled computers. It was the philosophy of the Brethren that such duties were best left to machines since it allowed the Brethren’s time to be open for matters of far greater consequence, such as fighting, killing, and proving their superior strength by fighting and killing.
Having been issued orders, the ship descended. Shortly they were hovering close enough to the ground that the Brethren would be able to safely descend, cushioned within armor that would absorb the impact. There were limits as to what both the armor and the bodies of the Brethren were able to withstand, but those limits had been finely calculated and accounted for.
They came lower, nearing but not quite coming into contact with the uppermost reaches of the spires. There were weapons on board the vessel, but there was no point in opening fire on the masses below. What would be the sport in that?
The rest of the Brethren were assembling, preparing for the jump. As opposed to their initial appearance on Xenex, when they had landed one at a time, this time they would open the main bay door and de
scend en masse. They would present a united front of shock and awe, and thus would the Xenexians know that their end was imminent. With any luck, they would surrender. It would be excellent if they did that, because it was always entertaining to see the surprised expressions of surrendering people when you killed them.
“I wish you would listen to me,” said the Visionary. “The wisdom of this move—”
“We leave wisdom to effete intellectuals such as yourself,” said the Commander.
The squadron of Brethren, more than a hundred strong, had now assembled and were ready for the leap to the planet surface below. The Xenexians were bellowing defiance so loudly that their voices were carrying up to the ship. The Brethren, by contrast, did not have any joint cheers or shouts of superiority. They preferred to let their fighting do their speaking for them.
“Go!” called out the Commander.
The bay door irised open. Below them, the shouts from the Xenexians were even more audible, and the Visionary was able to pick out certain words from amid the overall crush of noise. None of them was particularly flattering.
“Look at them,” said the Commander. “So fierce. So determined. So foolish.”
The Visionary strained to look down among them. He still didn’t see Calhoun. “Their leader isn’t present.”
“He’s doubtless hiding down there somewhere. We will find him. And they will see that their legend can die as easily as any of them.”
“That is not the plan,” the Visionary said sharply. “We have been over this. Calhoun has become a symbol of defiance to too many races. We need to maximize—”
“The plans have changed,” said the Brethren. “The last time we changed plans, we slaughtered others of your race. If you stand in our way, you can share the same fate.”
The Visionary regarded him for a moment and then said quietly, “Best of fortune in your endeavors.”
The Commander of the Brethren turned away from the Visionary then as if he no longer mattered and went straight for the bay door. With several quick steps he was out, and the rest of the Brethren leaped behind him. The ship tilted slightly with the sudden shift in weight, and the Brethren landed with such force that the entire landscape seemed to shake.