by Peter David
“Incredible,” he breathed.
“Follow me, please,” came Thul’s voice over the comm. “You’ll see a docking beacon flashing. That will guide you in.”
Calhoun did as he was told. It wasn’t particularly difficult maneuvering, really. If it had been remotely difficult, they probably would have had a computer come on line and handle it for him. As it was, he followed Thul’s lead across the vast interior and locked into position at a docking bay on the far side.
Moments later Vara and Calhoun had exited the freighter and were in what appeared to be a large reception area. People were walking briskly about on their business, but every single one of them paused in their stride to nod and acknowledge Thul’s presence. It was an impressive variety of races represented there…and Calhoun noticed that the vast majority of them were not members of the Federation. Of those individuals who were, Calhoun recognized a number of them from records that had been circulated to all Starfleet captains, warning about individuals who posed a hazard to life and liberty.
“This way,” said Thul. Lodec was next to him, and as Vara and Calhoun joined them, they made their way to what appeared to be some sort of turbolift.
As they walked, Calhoun found it more and more difficult to so much as look in Lodec’s direction. Every time he did so, he risked betraying the depth of fury that the merest proximity to the Danteri provoked within him. One of the few things that Calhoun had never been able to accomplish was to learn from the Danteri government the name of the individual who had wielded the whip that killed his father. Intellectually, he had always known that it was Falkar who had ordered the deed. That gave him the responsibility, and that scale had been balanced. But part of Calhoun had always wanted to crush the throat of the man who had actually done the deed. He longed to feel that pulse beneath his fingers, struggling and beating its last before falling forever silent.
And now, after all these years, he had the motherless scum at arm’s length. But he couldn’t touch him. The object was to stay in Thul’s good graces, and slaying the best friend of Thul’s late son was hardly going to accomplish that goal. Calhoun was anxious to learn what it was that Thul was up to, and determined to stop it. But now he had an additional incentive, something that—perhaps not surprisingly—gave him something more personal at stake than simply the entirety of the Federation’s survival.
At one point, Lodec seemed to sense that Calhoun was eyeing him. He glanced in Calhoun’s direction, but by that point Calhoun was looking off somewhere else. Lodec shook his head slightly, as if endeavoring to sort out his imagination from reality, and Calhoun simply watched him through half-lidded eyelids, like a great cat waiting in the high grass.
They stepped into the turbolift car. The doors hissed shut as Thul said, “General Thul, command level.” The turbolift immediately started moving, sliding noiselessly toward the instructed destination. The lift was situated on the inside wall of the Dyson Sphere, which meant that they had a dazzling view of the entirety of the place as they moved downward.
“What do you think of my little endeavor, Calhoun?” he asked. “I noticed you studying some of the other residents of my home quite carefully.”
“Well…if you’re really asking me…”
“Oh, I am. I am,” Thul said sincerely.
“As near as I can tell, a goodly number of the individuals here are…how should I put this delicately…”
“Scum?”
“Yes. Thank you. That’s the word I was looking for. And the problem with filling a place with the scum of the galaxy, with some of the least trustworthy individuals around, is that you’re going to have a hell of a time watching your back.”
“I could not agree more, Calhoun,” Thul said readily. Calhoun could feel the lift slowing to a stop. “On that basis, I’ve taken great care to have the best people watching my back. Here’s one of them now.”
The doors slid open and Calhoun stepped out, looking around.
Zolon Darg was standing there.
Clearly he had been waiting for Thul to show up. Perhaps Thul, in a rather perverse bit of amusement, had requested that he show up and meet them there. Whatever the occasion might have been, the fact was that Darg was there and it took him all of two seconds to recognize Calhoun.
For his part, Calhoun couldn’t believe how massive Darg looked. Bigger, wider than when Calhoun had last seen him, with arms, legs and chest so thick that one could only conclude that he had rippling muscles beneath his clothes, the likes of which no one had ever seen.
“Darg, this is—” began Thul.
That was as far as he got. With a roar of inarticulate fury, Darg charged forward and grabbed Calhoun by the front of the shirt. He slammed the Starfleet officer against the far wall with such fury that Calhoun felt every bone in his body rattle. His eyes felt as if they were ricocheting off his brain.
“Miss me?” he managed to get out.
Darg howled again and threw Calhoun to the floor. When Calhoun crashed into it, he barely managed to absorb the impact with his arms. If he hadn’t pulled it off, the impact would likely have broken his neck.
Calhoun couldn’t believe his strength; it surpassed understanding. Darg would have given Zak Kebron a run for his money, and perhaps even beaten him. Then there was no time to think as Darg drove a boot straight down toward Calhoun’s face. Calhoun barely managed to roll out of the way as Darg’s foot crashed down where Calhoun’s head had been moments before.
“I’ll kill him!” Darg shouted, which was the first coherent thing he had managed to get out since he’d first seen Calhoun. All things considered, it was a somewhat wasted pronouncement. His actions had already spoken far more loudly.
“Stop it, Darg. Right now,” said Thul, and there was an iron sense of command in his voice that snagged even Darg’s attention.
Darg rounded on Thul, and he looked like a barely contained nuclear detonation. “He’s mine, Thul! Mine to kill! Mine!”
“That’s enough, Darg. The idea! Throwing a guest of mine around,” and he helped the shaken Calhoun to his feet. “Are you all right, Calhoun?”
Calhoun was woozy, his knees starting to buckle. “Well…fortunately, I’m still alive. Except…that might be a bit unfortunate, too, because I don’t really feel like being alive at the moment.”
“I’ll remedy that!” snapped Darg, and he started to advance on Calhoun once more. “‘Calhoun,’ eh? So that’s the name you’re going by. I’ve never known it…but by God, your face has been seared into my memory long enough! And I’m—”
“I said enough!” and if there was any doubt until that moment as to who precisely was in charge, that strident bellow more or less demolished it. Darg froze where he was, in mid-step, as he had been advancing on Calhoun.
“I warn you, Darg. Do not cross me on this matter. Calhoun has done me a great service. Because of that, he is not to be harmed.”
“He nearly killed me,” Darg said slowly, as if addressing a child. “He…tried to kill…me…”
“Yes, he did. And the only reason that you’re still alive is because of me,” Thul reminded him. This appeared to be getting through, and he continued, “Because of Calhoun, Lodec stands with me now.”
“I could have gotten Lodec for you,” Darg said with contempt, as if the feat of freeing Lodec was a simple conjuring trick that could be performed by the average eight-year-old with a home starter magic bag.
“You were busy elsewhere. You cannot be everywhere, Darg, and I need others I can count upon.”
“You would put…that…” and his finger quavered as he pointed in Calhoun’s direction, “…that…thing…on the same level with me? You would depend on both Calhoun and myself equally? That is madness!”
“Grow up, Darg,” Thul said, and he certainly sounded as if he meant it. “What is past is past. Reliving grudges and offensive acts taken toward one another is a fool’s errand. And I am no fool. Now…Mackenzie Calhoun…Zolon Darg…you will work in tandem with each other,
in a spirit of cooperation. I do not want to hear rumors of either of you trying to kill the other one. That would be unacceptable. And a mysterious midnight poisoning…? That would be unacceptable as well.” Calhoun wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps that Darg had looked a bit crestfallen upon learning of the further edict. “You will work together. You will trust each other as much as can possibly be expected. If there are any disputes, they will be mediated through me. And gentlemen…think of it this way…”
“What way?” Calhoun asked, still rubbing the parts of his body that had been badly bruised while being tossed around.
“It will be in both your best interests to lead a long, healthy, and productive life here in the Thul Sphere. Because if either of you dies, I will automatically assume that the other had something to do with it, and act accordingly.”
“Wait a minute,” Calhoun said, “you can’t hold us responsible in such an open-ended manner. What if one or the other of us dies of natural causes?”
“That might be almost impossible to determine,” Thul said reasonably. “There are too many drugs and poisons that can simulate demise from a certain cause…and the poisons themselves are undetectable within minutes after doing the job. Therefore, we would likely err on the side of caution, decide that the means of death was actually murder, and act accordingly.”
“You can’t do that!” protested Darg.
“Darg…Calhoun,” Thul said slowly, with tremendous warning in his voice, “this is my place. I cannot suggest strongly enough that you do not tell me what I can and cannot do. Understood?”
Calhoun and Darg looked at each other. Calhoun did not think for a moment that Darg was going to let it drop quite that easily, and was fully aware that he was going to have to watch himself every waking minute—and, even more important, those minutes when he was not awake. Still, he simply nodded and said, “Understood.”
“Understood,” muttered Darg.
“Good. That’s settled then.”
“Mackenzie Calhoun,” Darg said slowly. “I know that name. You are with Starfleet. I’ve heard your name bandied about in Thallonian space. There are some who worship you as a god.”
Calhoun shrugged indifferently. “Some. I don’t encourage it.”
“You’re not wearing a Starfleet uniform. What is a Starfleet man doing here, anyway?”
“He is late of the fleet, Darg,” Thul assured him. “This is a place where new lives are started. All I care about is what a man brings with him, not what he leaves behind. Now then, Darg…the recruitment drive on Argelius. How did that go? We are running short on time, and are rapidly drawing to the ‘now-or-never’ moment.”
“It went quite well, actually,” said Darg, casting one more sidelong glance at Calhoun before continuing his comments to Thul. “Of the twelve representatives I met with, nine showed up in force several hours ago, bringing the required payment along with the people they represent. The population of the Thul Sphere has increased exponentially.”
“Perfectly acceptable,” smiled Thul. “That is perfectly acceptable. The resources of the sphere have been carefully built up. You see, Calhoun,” he continued, turning back to the officer, “this has hardly been an overnight project. I have labored many years to bring this to fruition.”
“You must be very proud.”
“Very, yes. And who is this?”
Calhoun didn’t understand the question, and then realized it wasn’t being addressed to him. Someone else was walking toward them from behind him, joining the group. It was Darg to whom Thul had been speaking.
“This fellow,” Darg said, “was of tremendous use to me on Argelius. I have taken the liberty of inviting him to join our operation. General Thul…this is Kwint. Kwint, this is our glorious leader, the great General Thul. And this is Thul’s glorious associate, Vara Syndra, and Lodec of Danter, and…” he growled the name reluctantly, as if hating to acknowledge that it needed to be spoken, “Mackenzie Calhoun, late of Starfleet. Gentlemen, lady…this is Kwint.”
Calhoun turned and saw a man with silver hair and beard, but a face that otherwise he recognized instantly. His voice caught in his throat as he found himself staring straight into the eyes of Jean-Luc Picard.
XVIII.
“WE WERE SET UP, SI CWAN. I’m sorry, but that’s one of the things I drew from her mind,” said Soleta. She looked around a conference lounge that was occupied at that point by Shelby, Riker, Selar, and Burgoyne, and Si Cwan. Cwan’s face, in particular, was deathly serious. “This ostensibly ‘peaceful’ race you spoke of had actually allied itself with the Romulans. Because of their machine make-up, they were apparently the perfect tools to help put into place the final elements that were needed for Thul’s plan. And they decided to test those elements on our computers. They were simply able to take our computer system over with no problem, punching through all the safeguards and security codes as if they weren’t even there.”
“So their plan is to try and take over computers of starships?” asked Burgoyne. “But why? It sounds somewhat abstract to me.”
“You mentioned Thul. That would be Gerrid Thul,” Si Cwan said slowly.
“You know him, then,” asked Riker.
“More by reputation, although I seem to have a vague recollection of meeting him when I was quite young. A rather power-mad individual. At the time he was a second-level Thallonian nobleman. Very eloquent, but that eloquence helped to cover a ferocity of ambition that was rather chilling. My father once said that Thul is a man who uses lies the way a surgeon uses a scalpel, and assigned him to be in charge of one of the farthest-flung of our outposts. But Thul craved power, and decided that the best way to go about it was to court the emperor’s sister, my aunt. My father thwarted that, feeling that Thul wasn’t good enough for her. This infuriated Thul. Then there was a rebellion…Thul’s son was killed, I believe…and then one thing led to another, and Thul wound up in prison.”
“Well, he’s out, and apparently he has no love for the Federation. What I managed to draw from Sela’s mind before she collapsed is, unfortunately, spotty at best,” admitted Soleta. “Thul has been experimenting with some sort of virus…a virus that apparently is one of the most devastating that the Federation has ever dealt with.”
“Dealt with? You mean it’s surfaced before?” asked Riker.
“Apparently it has, yes,” said Soleta. “The Enterprise first encountered it several years ago on Archaria III. It then resurfaced on Terok Nor a few years later. A variation was used to attack the Romulan royal family, and finally, just before his defection, Tom Riker reported dealing with the virus on a planet in what was then the demilitarized zone between the Federation and Cardassia.”
“But what’s been the point of it all? These repeated attempts at a virus…?” But then Shelby realized it. “He’s planning to unleash it on the Federation, isn’t he.”
“Apparently so,” said Selar. “From what I have garnered, this virus crosses races with the ease that we cross warp space. If Thul does manage to unleash it somehow, it could annihilate every living organism it comes in contact with.”
“But a virus can’t travel through space. How can he possibly do it?” asked Si Cwan.
There was dead silence for a moment as they looked at one another.
Then Riker’s eyes widened. “I get it. Good lord…I get it.”
“Get what?” asked Shelby. “I don’t understand…”
Riker leaned forward, his fingers interlaced. “Federation races share technology. That’s one of the fundamentals of the alliance. That technology includes such standard items as holotech…computers…and replicators.”
“So?” asked Shelby…and then she understood. “Oh, my God.”
Riker nodded. “Replicators work via computers. They tap into a data base and use that information to replicate food, clothing, whatever’s needed. It’s one of the underpinnings of our way of life, because as long as replicators exist, no one wants for anything. With the aid of the artificial inte
lligence equipment and research that Thul has stolen, via such catspaws as Zolon Darg, and the help of the Narobi, Thul has found a way to access any and all computers throughout the Federation. Because computers are the connecting tissue of the entire Federation.”
“Thul has come up with the ultimate computer virus,” Soleta said, comprehending.
“That’s right,” said Riker. “He’s going to take over the data base of every computer in the Federation, just as easily as he took over ours. Every homeworld, every colony, every starship, everything in the shared computer environment. Once he’s ‘in,’ he’s going to program the replicators to produce this virus of his.”
“But replicators can’t create living things,” said Shelby. “Aren’t viruses partly alive?”
“Partly, yes. But there are ways around it,” Soleta said. “I can think of several.”
“So can I,” said Riker, “And either it’ll put the virus right into the food, or the clothing, or he might just pump it right into the air. We should consider ourselves damn lucky that he didn’t decide to try and replicate the virus aboard the ship or we’d all be goners.”
“We can probably thank the Romulans for that, ironically enough,” Soleta said. “I know them, I know how they think. We did them some serious damage. They probably wanted to beam aboard first and obtain some personal vengeance for the ships of theirs that we destroyed. Once done with that, they likely would have started pumping their virus throughout the ship after they left…” Her voice trailed off.