Double Helix #5 - Double or Nothing

by Peter David

  There was silence for a long moment. And then the Kreel representative stepped forward and said, “I’m out.”

  “As am I,” said the Orion, “although I’ll have anoth­er drink first…if our generous host doesn’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” said Darg calmly, but his attention was focused on the Kreel. “My friend…I understand your concern. And I wish you well in your future endeavors.”

  He gripped the Kreel by the forearm and nodded firmly. The Kreel eyed him suspiciously, apparently tensing for Darg to make some sort of sudden move.

  But then Darg stepped away, nodded and said, “Good-bye,” and then turned to the others. “I would ask you others to consider the matter a bit more carefully and deeply than our Kreel friend here.”

  As the Kreel headed out the door, the Capitano rumbled, “You have to at least meet us halfway here, Darg. At least give us some idea of just why you are so certain that you will be able to dispose of the Federation in such a—”

  There was a sudden scream from just outside the bar. The voice and tone was unmistakeable. It was the Kreel, and to say that he sounded in distress would have been to understate it.

  There was a rush for the door. The only ones who didn’t move in that direction were Zolon Darg and Kwint, the latter glancing at the former in silent query. Darg simply nodded and became extremely engrossed in studying his fingernails.

  As the others peered out the door, there were gasps of disbelief, a number of profanities, several quick prayers offered up to respective gods, and the sound of the Tan’gredi becoming physically ill…although considering the somewhat disgusting noises they customarily made, it was admittedly hard to distin­guish.

  What they saw was the Kreel representative, col­lapsed on the ground and trying with all his might just to stand up. His skin had become a distinctive shade of green, and gaping pustules had opened up all along his body.

  And then the Kreel slumped forward, hit the ground once more and fell silent. His body twitched spasmod­ically, but that was all.

  There was deathly silence in Kara’s. Then Darg moved among them, handing out small rectangles with coordinates engraved in them. “If you are inter­ested in learning more of what I’ve said…if you are interested in participating…and if,” and he glanced at Kwint in acknowledgment, “…if you are someone of vision…then show up at these coordinates precisely five Federation Standard Days from today. We might as well use their units of time measurement,” he added in amusement, “for as long as they’re vaguely applic­able.”

  “What did that to the Kreel?” the Tan’gredi burbled. “I’ve seen fast-acting poisons before, but—”

  “That wasn’t a poison…was it,” said the Orion slowly. “That was some sort of…of virus. A disease. You gave it to him somehow. What was it? Have you passed it on to us somehow?”

  “My dear fellows,” Darg said soothingly, “I assure you that you are perfectly safe.” And then he added, rather significantly, “for the time being. As Kwint stated, those supernovas can be rather vicious, and I would hate to see any or all of you incinerated.”

  The Capitano looked at the coordinates and growled, “I know this section of space. There’s noth­ing at these coordinates. Nothing at all.”

  “There will be,” Darg said with a small smile. “There will be.”

  And with that, Darg made it quite clear that the meeting was over. One by one, the assorted represent­atives departed, stepping rather gingerly around the remains of the Kreel. “Worry not,” Darg said with remarkable cheer, “he’ll be attended to shortly enough. I wouldn’t advise getting too close for the time being, though.” The representatives took care to attend to his advice.

  “Well,” Darg said once he and Kwint were alone. “That went about as well as could be expected.”

  “You suspected that someone was going to doubt you…to walk out…didn’t you,” said Kwint.

  Darg shrugged. “There’s always one. Frankly, I was hoping it would be the Kreel. Insufferable race.” Then he regarded Kwint more closely. “You spoke out of turn.”

  “Yes, I did. I considered your proposal intriguing, and seeing skeptical and even disrespectful looks from those…individuals . . was bothersome to me.”

  “And if something strikes you as bothersome, you feel an obligation to do something about it. Is that it?”

  Kwint nodded slightly. “Something like that.”

  “ ‘Something like that.’ I see.” Darg looked Kwint up and down. “You know, Kwint…you have poten­tial.”

  “Potential as what? You mentioned bringing me into your organization before…”

  “Part of what I was doing during this meeting was keeping an eye on you. Trying to determine what one can expect of you. But you know…I’m still not sure. Your speaking up was not particularly wise on your part…but on the other hand, it took nerve. I suppose you simply felt you had to ‘equalize’ things once more.”

  “In a way.”

  “ ‘In a way’ is another means of saying ‘something like that.’ Yes, Kwint, definite potential. If you seem worthwhile, you might definitely be in line for my number two man.”

  “Me?” Kwint looked like he couldn’t believe it. “But we’ve only known each other for a few hours. Are you sure?”

  “I work on instinct a good deal, Kwint. That’s how I judge people, and most of the time, I’m right.”

  “What happened to your previous number two man?”

  “I killed him.”

  “Oh.” Kwint didn’t seem to know what to say.

  Darg, for his part, couldn’t have cared less. “I said most of the time, I’m pretty reliable. Everyone has setbacks.”

  And suddenly his hand was on Kwint’s chest, and he was lifting the smaller man up and slamming him against a wall. The pressure on Kwint’s chest was such that, not only had the wind been knocked out of him, but he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. He pulled in futility at Darg’s immovable hand.

  “Have a care,” Darg said quite softly, “that you do not have a setback of your own.” Then his hand opened wide and Kwint slid to the ground, coughing violently as he gulped down air. “Do we understand each other?”

  Kwint nodded, still coughing.

  “Now…you can attend to your first duty as a member of my organization.” And he handed Kwint a large sack and a thick pair of gloves. Kwint, having managed to recover his breath, looked in confusion at Darg. Darg simply pointed in the direction of the remains of the Kreel. “Kindly clean that up. That is the first rule of my organization: We pick up after ourselves.”

  Kwint looked none too thrilled.

  “Setbacks,” Darg reminded him in a slightly sing­song voice. Kwint promptly did as he was told.

  XI.

  NICE NIGHT TO BE SEDUCED , thought Calhoun.

  Indeed, it was a splendid night, one that seemed to be filled with promise. However, Calhoun couldn’t be entirely sure just who was going to be seducing whom, or what precisely was going to be promised.

  This “Vara Syndra” was unlike any woman he’d ever encountered. She was pure sex. Calhoun found it difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand, or even remember what the matter at hand was. But that wasn’t what he needed to do at all. He had to stay focused, remember what his—

  Grozit, look at those hips. The sway of them, and the arch of her back…the way she swivels when she walks…

  He nearly had to slap himself across the face to try and bring himself back in line with what he was do­ing.

  Vara Syndra was talking as she walked, and he came to the abrupt realization that he hadn’t heard a word she said. At one point, though, she smiled at him in a way that seemed to indicate that she not only knew the effect she was having, but that she was ac­customed to it. He wondered why she was suddenly so much further ahead of him, and suddenly noticed that he’d stopped walking. He was just standing there and admiring her.

  Stop it. This isn’t funny, he snarled at himself,
and forced his feet to go back into motion. It was incred­ible to him that this female appeared to be an associ­ate of General Thul. One wondered how in the world the man got any work done. Then again, she was certainly eminently capable of making slacking off appear to be the single greatest pastime known to man.

  They had been strolling about, apparently aimlessly, for more than an hour. But now they had arrived in a section of San Francisco that had been restored to much of the late twentieth century architecture. It was an architecture which had made that city so unique before the massive earthquake and fire had practically levelled the place in the first half of the twenty-first century. Vara Syndra was guiding him to one of those townhouses. It had an old-world elegance and charm to it, but at the same time it also had an air of dark foreboding. Calhoun allowed the possibility that he might just be projecting his own concerns upon it. There was the further possibility that, when compared to the vision that was Vara Syndra, everything had an air of dark foreboding.

  “In here,” she said, stopping at the door and gestur­ing that Calhoun should precede her.

  Calhoun had a fairly reliable sixth sense for danger. So if there was an ambush of some sort waiting inside, for whatever reason, he would likely have been alerted to it. Then again, considering how distracted he was by Vara Syndra, it was possible that an entire regiment of Danteri nationals, thirsting to avenge themselves against the fabled liberator of Xenex, were concealed within and Calhoun still wouldn’t know the difference. Still, there was enough of the cautious and experi­enced warrior about him that he was prompted to say, as suavely as he could manage, “After you, Vara.”

  “How very gallant,” she said, and entered without hesitation. Calhoun followed a moment later.

  There wasn’t a single Danteri, or other such soldier, in sight.

  There was, however, a full-size portrait of Vara Syndra decorating the portico, and she was gloriously nude in it. She was also discretely positioned, but still…

  “Oh,” said Vara Syndra in a teasing voice as she saw where his gaze was drawn. “That old thing. Do you really think it captures me?”

  “I don’t think a hundred big game hunters could adequately capture you,” said Calhoun.

  “Aren’t you sweet.” She ran a finger teasingly under his chin, and then sashayed up a long, winding flight of stairs. Calhoun took them two at a time.

  At the top of the stairs she went through a door that Calhoun followed her through, which in turn led to a large suite of rooms. And seated rather comfort­ably in the elaborately furnished suite was General Thul. He was holding a drink, swirling the contents around casually, and he gestured to a cart nearby which had an assortment of beverages arrayed on it in assorted decanters. “Greetings, Captain Cal-houn…or is it accurate to call you ‘captain’ anymore?”

  “Simply ‘Calhoun’ will do for the time being.”

  “Really. Your friends, so I understand, address you as ‘Mac.’ I was hoping that we might become friends.”

  “Interesting that you should be aware of that. Been checking up on me, have you?”

  “It wasn’t all that difficult, Calhoun. After your rather unceremonious eviction from the gathering, you and your past ‘antics’ were very much the talk of the party for some time afterward.”

  “Indeed. I’m flattered.”

  “You needn’t be. Much of it wasn’t particularly complimentary. Still,” and he stroked his yellowed beard thoughtfully, “even those who were less than flattering clearly had a measure of grudging respect for your…curious talents.”

  Calhoun said nothing.

  “M’k’n’zy of Calhoun,” continued General Thul. “A young Xenexian who watched his father beaten to death in the town square by Danteri oppressors, and was inspired by that incident to free his home world from Danteri rule. By the age of twenty, he had ac­complished this rather remarkable feat, achieving the rank of warlord and becoming possibly the most ad­mired man on his world. All of Xenex was at his feet, but he instead walked a different path at the behest of one Jean-Luc Picard. He joined Starfleet, developed a reputation as an independent thinker whose sheer bravery and resourcefulness got the job done, and then resigned after an incident that resulted in the death of his commanding officer aboard the Grissom. Spent a number of years doing whatever jobs be could for whomever he could before rejoining Starfleet and being assigned command of the Excalibur, presently on extended assignment to my dear Thallonian space. And now…?” He waited, but Calhoun still said nothing. “Now…what, Calhoun?”

  “I don’t know,” Calhoun admitted. “I wasn’t expect­ing this to happen. Then again, in retrospect, I sup­pose it was inevitable. Starfleet and I have never ex­actly been a smooth fit.”

  “I’ve thought as much myself.” General Thul rose from his chair and slowly walked in a circle around Calhoun. Calhoun, for his part, simply stood where he was, his hands draped behind his back. “I may be able to make use of a man like you.”

  “Give him my regards.”

  “Who?” Thul seemed momentarily puzzled.

  “The man like me.”

  The confusion remained for a second longer, and then Thul allowed a smile. “Very witty. That was very witty, Calhoun.”

  “Not really. But my head’s a bit foggy. Give me about three hours, I’ll have reduced you to helpless giggles.”

  “What do you think of this one, Vara?” Thul said.

  Vara had draped herself over a nearby chair. Cal­houn suddenly found that it was all he could do not to jump out of his skin. “I think a good deal of him, General.”

  “So do I. Then again,” and he returned to his seat, “caution is always to be preferred. These are, after all, dangerous times.”

  “Not for you, I’d think,” said Calhoun. “General Thul, doer of good works. Darling of the Starfleet upper rank. What danger have you to fear?”

  “Oh, I’d rather not speak of such things. After all, we wouldn’t want to upset Vara. Would we, Vara?”

  Vara Syndra fanned her face with her hand as if she were a southern belle fighting off an attack of the va­pors. “I should certainly hope not,” she said.

  Every movement, every gesture she made, even the rising and falling of her chest as she breathed, was alluring to Calhoun. I must be losing my mind. She must be doing something. But I have no idea what. Moreover, I don’t care all that much, which is even more disturbing. “What things,” he forced himself back on track, “should we speak of, then.”

  Thul didn’t answer immediately. Instead he strolled with slow, measured steps toward a skylight that provided a splendid view of the starlit sky. He stood under it and gazed heavenward. “I have a small matter that I need attended to. You may very well be just the man for the job, and it would fulfill an old debt.”

  “I see,” Calhoun said neutrally.

  “You see, I’ve recently managed to track down a certain individual who is a ‘guest’ of the Andorian government.” The contempt was evident in his tone. “They’re holding him on trumped-up charges of espi­onage.”

  “But certainly a well-connected individual such as yourself would be able to have him freed through the use of your considerable contacts.”

  “I have my friends, Calhoun, but make no mistake: My influence is not quite as wide and all-encompassing as you obviously think it is. Andorians, you see, are members of the United Federation of Planets, and the UFP will not involve itself in how member worlds conduct themselves. However,” and now he turned back to face Calhoun, “I was hoping you might be able to aid this individual’s…recovery.”

  “You want me to break him out of wherever it is the Andorians are holding him?”

  “Nothing goes past you, I see, Calhoun. That’s very comforting to know. You should be aware, though, that participation in this matter will likely be the end of your association with Starfleet, particularly if they learn of your involvement.”

  “That association doesn’t appear too promising at the moment anyway,” said
Calhoun.

  Thul openly scoffed. “You mean that business with Jellico? Calhoun, I have enough contacts to know that Jellico has not earned himself quite as many friends as he would like to think he has. There are some who would probably applaud that you struck him. Although serious black marks on your record might appear as a result of the incident, that wouldn’t necessarily spell complete doom for your career. My mission, however, likely would. So the question is, do you worm your way back into Starfleet? Perhaps apologize to Jellico in the hopes of smoothing matters over? Or do you acknowledge where your talents would best be suited?”

  “And when I accomplish this mission of yours…?”

  “ ‘When.’ Not ‘if.’ ‘When.’ Very confident, aren’t you.”

  “When it seems warranted. If I didn’t go into risky situations confidently, I’d never come out of them.”

  “Very well…when you accomplish the mis-sion…then you and I shall speak again. We shall speak of things of…great importance. So…what say you, Calhoun?”

  Calhoun found himself staring at Vara Syndra once more. She wasn’t even looking at him at that point. Instead, in rather leisurely fashion, she was trailing her fingers along the curve of her leg.

  “What does the job pay?” asked Calhoun.

  “A man after my own heart,” Thul said with a smile. “what would you consider to be adequate compensa­tion for your time?”

  Calhoun looked at Vara. Vara looked at him. Thul looked at both of them, and his smile widened.

  “Everything,” he said, “is open to negotiation.”

  XII.

  BURGOYNE BURST ONTO THE BRIDGE, which was an unusual enough event in and of itself since s/he didn’t tend to hang about the bridge all that much. Even more unusual, s/he went straight to Shelby and stood in front of her, hands on hir hips. “May I speak with you, Commander?” s/he asked.