Star Trek New Frontier - Missing in Action

by Peter David

  “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, Elizabeth, but Thallonian space has turned into a free-fire zone. A civil war’s broken out.” He leaned forward, making no effort to disguise how disturbed he was by what he was telling her. “Si Cwan and his former allies are at each other’s throats. The New Thallonian Protectorate is currently in flames.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Shelby. “The things I’ve read and heard…Kalinda supposedly killing her new husband in cold blood. I know the girl, Admiral. I don’t believe she could have done such a thing. At the very least, if she did commit an act of violence against him, then it was self-defense.”

  “Some agree with you, Elizabeth, and some disagree. The problem is, not only is there this unresolved killing, but it’s stirred up resentments and disputes going back centuries. It’s more than political, more than a single death. It’s tribal. Generational. And there’s nothing we can do at this point except stay out of the way. In fact, we’ve been given explicit instructions by the combatants to stay out of their territory. Under the dictates of the Prime Directive, we have no choice but to honor that…”

  “How can we honor it?!” she practically exploded, standing up behind her desk with such violence that she banged her knee on the underside. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t allow her face to reflect her pain. “We have video record of one of our ships—”

  “—disappearing,” Jellico finished for her. “Show me a ship in distress, Shelby. Show me a ship that we can see and react to and respond to, and I’ll find some way of getting around the constraints we’re currently under. But this isn’t a crippled ship hanging dead in space, calling for aid. This is a ship that is no longer there. Any starship that gets sent in there is simply going to circle the area and find nothing while presenting a target for the angry forces of the House of Whatever who are looking for a target and suffer from itchy trigger fingers.”

  “With respect, Admiral, you don’t know what they’re going to find until we send someone out there. I fully understand that there’s an element of danger involved in going in there, considering the incendiary political situation. But Kat Mueller is more than capable of handling herself.”

  “Would I be wrong in assuming that you would have said exactly the same in regards to your husband before this transpired?”

  She opened her mouth to respond immediately, but then hesitated. Finally she nodded and admitted, “You…would not be wrong about that, sir.”

  He forced a thin smile. “Admiral…I’m not unsympathetic. You know that. You know that the differences I had with Mac are in the past. That I owe him too much to remain a hard-ass in how I regard him. But this comes from the highest levels. Sector 221-G is off-limits until the local situation has settled down and we are welcomed back into Thallonian space…or whatever the hell they’re calling it when all of this is over. I can’t order the Trident, or any ship, in there unless there’s a case of dire distress…”

  “A starship being swallowed by a sinkhole doesn’t qualify as dire distress…?”

  “This will sound harsh, Elizabeth—”

  “It’s all sounding harsh, Admiral.”

  He ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken. “…but with the ship vanishing, and no sign of any of them surviving it…it doesn’t fill any definition of ‘dire distress’ that is currently accepted.”

  “Need I point out, Admiral…that there’s the additional concern over a gigantic ship such as we’ve never seen before?”

  “A ship which has yet to cross into open Federation territory.”

  “So as long as it’s wreaking havoc in someone else’s territory…”

  “Someone else who has specifically told us to stay out.”

  “Dammit, Edward!” Shelby practically exploded. “So what are you telling me? That I’m supposed to just sit here and stew?”

  “Not in those exact words, but in so many words, yes.”

  The muscles in her face worked against each other, giving her the appearance of twitching fiercely. She looked as if she were struggling to form the next words. “I had a dream, Edward,” she said finally.

  “A dream?” He didn’t comprehend.

  “I had a dream that this was going to happen. Not this exactly, but that Mac was going to be in trouble and that he was going to need me.”

  “A premonition,” he said, understanding now.

  “I never really believed in such things,” she continued, “but I do now. And telling me that I’m supposed to do nothing when he needs me…”

  “Elizabeth,” he said patiently, “I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard such comments. I know that they—and that you—say them with sincerity. But let’s face it. You and anyone who has a family member working in Starfleet have doubtless had any number of bad dreams in which they’ve believed their loved one is in danger. And then nothing comes of it and they forget all about it. However, when something untoward does then happen, they seize upon the most recent late-night nightmare and hold it up as a premonition. So let’s not hold it up to be anything other than what it was, all right? And certainly don’t start trying to convince yourself that you were receiving mental summonses for help from Mac that you’re now ignoring.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything like that, Admiral.”

  “Good.”

  “What I was thinking was that, if I were in your position, I’d say to hell with whatever the highest authorities in Starfleet and the Federation had to say and I’d be doing whatever I felt was necessary in order to try and retrieve Calhoun.”

  He fixed a level gaze upon her. “No,” he said confidently. “You wouldn’t. You would not do that, Elizabeth, and you know it.”

  She looked about to protest, but then her shoulders sagged. “Probably not. And here’s the depressing thing: If the situations were reversed, Mac would.”

  “Yes, well…that’s one of the many reasons why you’re an admiral and he’s remained a captain…and very likely will until the end of his career.”

  “Which,” she said distantly, “may have already happened.”

  Jellico didn’t respond immediately. Finally he said, “Let’s hope that’s not the case.”

  “Absolutely,” said Shelby, making no effort to hide the sarcasm. “Because that’s what we’re all about, isn’t it. It’s right in the Starfleet credo: To boldly hope as no one has hoped before.”

  Shaking his head, Jellico said, “We’ll keep you apprised of any changes in the situation. Jellico out.”

  Her image disappeared from the screen and Jellico sat back in his chair, staring at the emptiness.

  He wondered what he was going to do when Shelby—as she inevitably would—ignored orders and spoke to Mueller, who would also ignore orders, and went in to try and find some way of getting to the Excalibur, presuming there was any Excalibur to get to…

  Well…maybe he’d be wrong. Somehow it seemed that everyone who came into contact with Mackenzie Calhoun sooner or later became infected with an infuriating tendency to act as if they knew better than Starfleet how to proceed in any given circumstance. It was one of the reasons that Jellico had so despised Calhoun, and it had taken extraordinary circumstances to reorient his thinking on that score. Still, the effect Calhoun had on people continued to resonate, and Jellico had to hope that good old Starfleet training would carry the day in terms of respecting the wisdom of the chain of command…

  The chime at Jellico’s office door sounded. “Come,” called the admiral.

  Jellico’s aide entered, looking very concerned. “Admiral,” he said. “Captain Picard is on the line. He heard a report that the Excalibur had disappeared, that Sector 221-G is off-limits, and wants to know why everyone is just sitting around doing nothing about it.”

  Jellico rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the beginnings of a sizable headache coming on. This had the makings of an exceedingly long and exceedingly bad day.

  U.S.S. Excalibur

  i.
/>   Mackenzie Calhoun had no idea how long he remained in darkness, nor did he have any sense of his arms or legs or any other part of his body. This alone was extremely disconcerting, since Calhoun usually had an extremely acute sense of his physicality. When he was quiet and concentrating, he could hear his own heartbeat. Now since he didn’t even hear that, he began to wonder if he was, in fact, dead. He didn’t think he was because he had every reason to believe that an extremely active afterlife was awaiting him, and here there was simply nothingness. It was too quiet to be true death, he thought.

  Then, while he wasn’t even dwelling upon it, he detected his heartbeat once more. It was surprisingly calm and steady, all things considered.

  One by one, the familiar noises of the Excalibur bridge started to crop up. The general ambience he took for granted until it wasn’t there anymore.

  Slowly he opened his eyes, morbidly curious as to what he would see. As it turned out, the answer was: Not much. The bridge was mostly dark. Only emergency lighting was available. Thanks to that, he was able to see general outlines of his people. One or two weren’t moving, and he prayed that it was simply a matter of their being unconscious. The rest were stirring slowly, pulling themselves together as he had been.

  “Status report,” he called out. He wasn’t expecting anything terribly useful to start out, but he felt it necessary to make sure everyone knew he was in one piece and in control…or, at least, as much as one could be of a situation that was completely out of control. “Where are we?”

  “On the floor, sir,” came the unmistakable voice of Zak Kebron, the ship’s massive head of security. His huge Brikar body was lurching to its feet.

  “Thank you, Mr. Kebron. That’s very helpful. Morgan, can you get us full power back online…?”

  There was no response, and at first Calhoun thought she was unconscious. Then he remembered belatedly that Morgan Primus, the ship’s ops officer, was no longer a human being at all. She was instead part of the computer system, and projected her presence via a hologram. He’d become so accustomed to having her around that her true nature had slipped his mind for a moment. With only emergency systems online, there wasn’t enough power available for her to create her holographic self.

  This was verified a few seconds later when Morgan’s voice, devoid of body, floated through the bridge. “Full power is going to take some time, Captain. Still assessing damage results from all over the ship.”

  “What have we got so far?”

  “Life-support systems minimal, but functioning. Shields down. Weapons systems at bare minimum. Warp engines out, impulse available. Turbolift system out. Sickbay fully functional.” That last was no surprise to Calhoun. It was standard operating procedure, in times of emergency, to give priority to sickbay needs on the assumption that medical services would be in demand.

  “Give me intraship,” he said.

  “Not sure if it’s function…ah! Okay, up and running, at least for now. Go, sir.”

  “This is Captain Calhoun,” his voice echoed throughout the ship. “All department heads, report in”—he glanced over at Kebron, the only one who was on his feet and seemed to have completely shaken off the pounding they’d just sustained—“to Security Chief Kebron. We’re working to get all systems back online, so bear with us a bit longer. You’re all professionals, and I fully expect that you will continue to act like it. Calhoun out.” He paused, regrouping his thoughts as his eyes more fully adjusted to the dimness. He had exceptionally sharp night vision, but this was a challenge even for him. “Sound off, people.”

  “Here, sir,” said Kebron.

  “Yes, I knew that, Zak. Anyone else?”

  “I’m okay, sir…I think,” came the unsteady voice of Xy, the science officer.

  “Me too,” said Xyon, Xy’s namesake and Calhoun’s space pirate of a son.

  No one else spoke up immediately. Morgan he knew about, but the conn officer, Tania Tobias, was eerily silent, as was second-in-command Burgoyne 172.

  “Someone check on Tobias,” he said as he spotted Burgoyne lying a few feet away. He crouched next to the Hermat and checked hir over for some sign of broken bones. Calhoun was no doctor, but he had more down-and-dirty surface-war experience than he cared to think about. An inevitable result of surviving as many battles as he had was developing the ability to make quick and accurate diagnoses of injuries that fellow warriors had sustained. So it was with some authority and experience that he was able to determine that Burgoyne was—from the evidence on hand—relatively unharmed…

  Unless s/he’s bleeding internally, in which case s/he could be dead in no time…

  Oh yes, that was exactly the kind of useful thinking that would benefit his ship and crew.

  “Burgy,” he said softly, shaking hir shoulder. “You okay?”

  Calhoun felt as if an age passed before Burgoyne replied. “I’ve had better days, Captain,” Burgoyne managed to get out.

  Calhoun slid his arms under Burgoyne’s. “Need help?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  He carefully lifted Burgoyne to hir feet, amazed at hir lightness. Perhaps Burgoyne had hollow bones. He glanced over at Tobias and saw that Xyon was checking her over. Xyon looked up worriedly. “Father,” he said, “she’s not coming out of it. There’s a swelling on her head. Maybe she’s concussed.”

  “Do you think you can get her down to sickbay?”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Remember, the lift is out. You’ll have to—”

  “Take her down the emergency exit, I know.” He slung her over her shoulders as if she weighed less than Burgoyne. “I can manage.”

  “Thank you. Oh…and check on Moke on your way back. Let him know I’m okay and tell him to stay in his quarters until he hears from me.”

  “No problem.”

  Stepping carefully in the darkness, Xyon made his way to the emergency exit. He gripped the edges of the ladder with either hand, keeping Tania deftly balanced on his shoulders, and then he clambered expertly down the ladder. Calhoun thought, not for the first time, that his son would have made a hell of a Starfleet officer.

  And then his voice floated back up from the exit chute: “I told you that Kalinda was in trouble.”

  He had to admit that Xyon had done just that. If Calhoun had listened to his son’s misgivings earlier, it was possible that a good deal of the trouble they’d encountered since then could have been avoided. But he hadn’t, and they hadn’t been. There was no use dwelling on it now, though. Calhoun turned in his chair and addressed Xy. “Science officer, report. What hit us?”

  From the darkness, Xy replied, “Something big.”

  “I think we need a bit more than that to go on.”

  “Something really, really big.”

  “Upon review, I’d have to concur with the lieutenant,” Burgoyne said.

  “Gentlemen, I appreciate a dazzling display of repartee as much as the next captain who’s thinking of court-martialing his bridge crew. However, I think it important that we focus.”

  “As do I, Captain,” Xy said readily. “But all my instrumentation is down, the monitor is blank,” and he indicated the viewscreen, which was, indeed, nothing more than a large black rectangle at that moment, “and I have no data at my fingertips that would allow me to—”

  The lights suddenly came up. They looked around in surprise and there were a few ragged cheers.

  “All right,” Xy continued without missing a beat. “I have a monitor, I have fingertips, and ideally I should shortly have data. Just give me a few…” Then his eyes widened as he stared at the now active viewscreen. “What the hell…?”

  Xy was normally an unflappable individual, a natural result of the partial Vulcan heritage he’d gotten from his mother, Dr. Selar. But now he was gaping at the screen and making no pretense of anything other than shock.

  Calhoun automatically turned to see what Xy was reacting to, as did everyone else.

  There were no stars. Nothing. There was j
ust…

  “What…is that?” Calhoun said slowly.

  The customary darkness of space had been replaced by an environment unlike anything that Calhoun had ever seen. It was thick and pulsing, mostly clear but with a faintly pinkish hue. And it was that way for as far as the eye could see. “Kebron,” he said, “can you give me a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  The view on the screen angled and shifted around. It was the same in all directions. There were some variations in color and shading, but overall it was consistent.

  “What are we, in someone’s heart?” asked Calhoun.

  “At the moment, Captain, I wouldn’t rule anything out,” said Xy.

  “I can appreciate that, Lieutenant, but speaking for myself, I’d appreciate it if you did, in fact, start ruling some things out…beginning with whether or not we’re still in our own galaxy.”

  “Frankly, Captain,” Xy told him after a few moments, “I don’t even think we’re in our own universe anymore.”

  Before Calhoun could respond, there was a sudden fluttering at the ops seat, a beam of light dancing around Burgoyne. S/he immediately vacated the seat and everyone watched as the light beam turned horizontal and started to expand. Calhoun tensed for an instant, but then he relaxed as the familiar form of Morgan Primus appeared in her place at ops. “Sorry about the delay, Captain,” she said.

  “Glad to have you back, Morgan,” Calhoun said.

  “Xy,” Burgoyne said, smoothing down the front of hir uniform after having scrambled to get out of Morgan’s way, “is it possible we’re in the fluidic universe? The one that species that harassed the Borg came from?”

  “I don’t believe so,” said Xy. “Unfortunately, I’m guessing.”

  “Guessing? Why are you guessing?” asked Calhoun.

  “Because,” Xy said, sounding both reasonable and yet frustrated, “I’m not getting any readings on it.”

  “None? No sensor readings at all?”

  Xy shook his head. “It’s as if…as if they simply can’t process the information. As if they’re not calibrated for it.”