by Peter David
“But not beyond yours,” noted Calhoun.
“No. Not beyond mine.” He looked askance at Calhoun. “You have not volunteered the information. Why?”
“Caution. I wasn’t quite sure how they would take it.”
“That was wise. A revelation of that sort might very well be more than they could handle. Or they would not believe you. Or they might try to kill you. No matter what, it would not go well for you.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully, and then said, “You wish to find a way back to the stars.”
“That is my hope, yes.”
“You arrived in a vessel. Crashed, I assume, else you would have simply climbed into it and taken off.”
“I’ll need to find it again, look it over. But the landing was very rough. It’s extremely unlikely that it’s spaceworthy, and I’m getting the distinct impression that I’m not going to find here what I would need to repair it. Unless, of course, I was interested in installing an air conditioner.”
“That you are an alien and yet are fundamentally shaped like us … that, I accept. But I understand your words, and you mine. How is that?”
“Instantaneous translator. I’m just lucky it wasn’t damaged in the crash, or we’d be standing here speaking gibberish at each other.” Calhoun studied Tapinza thoughtfully. “You’re going to suggest I take this position they’re offering, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “You are, to all intents and purposes, marooned here. What you need is some sort of broadcast device that will enable you to contact your … peers. Let them know that you are here, so they can come back and rescue you.”
“That was my thought, yes.”
“As you might have surmised, such technology does not exist on our world …” He let the rest of the sentence hang.
Calhoun picked up on it. “Yet.”
“Yet. That is correct.”
“Let me guess: It’s something that you are working on, trying to develop.”
“Trying, but not being entirely successful. I have what passes for technicians working on such a thing, but progress has been slow. You, on the other hand, could help me tremendously in that pursuit. Show me where our research has gone wrong, teach us—”
Calhoun shook his head. “Would that I could. The thing is, I’ve never been a technician. I can use such devices if they already exist, but knowing how to build one? No. No, I’m afraid my expertise lies in other areas.”
“Such as?”
He appeared to consider his assorted strengths and finally said, “I’m a hell of a dancer.”
Tapinza smiled thinly at that. “That will certainly serve you well. Very well, Calhoun. I shall continue my research, pursue my own endeavors. My people inform me that they are quite certain they will have a working device … in a year or two.” He watched Calhoun’s expression carefully, but was rewarded by nothing. Calhoun’s face was as inscrutable as ever, although there was brief amusement flickering in the purple eyes, as if he knew that Tapinza was trying unsuccessfully to read his mind. “Now, of course, I need not allow you to avail yourself of the device, if and when it should be operational. However …”
“If I take on the job of Majister, you will allow me use of it. And may I ask what your interest in all of this is?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Not readily, no.”
“Why … I care about these people, Calhoun. Care about what happens to them. No matter that I may have a low opinion of them; they are still my people, and I can—and should—do whatever I can to aid them. Particularly because I am a man of vision. If those with vision do not provide leadership … who will? And besides, Calhoun—do you have anything better to do?”
“It … would seem not,” Calhoun admitted.
“So, why not use your time constructively? To help others?”
“And possibly get myself killed.”
“Odd. You do not strike me as a man who fears death.”
“In that regard, sir … you’re correct.” He thought about it a moment more, but Tapinza knew he had him. He was positive of it.
“And there’s one other thing that you haven’t considered,” Tapinza added.
“What might that be?”
“You’ve seen the low level of technology all around us. A low level that exists primarily because of lack of vision. You, sir, have vision. Why, the two of us together,” Tapinza draped an arm around Calhoun’s shoulder, “could bring new technology, new concepts to this city … improve the standard of living beyond anything that the people of limited sight here could possibly believe.”
“You’re a great believer in technology, I take it.”
“I would think I’ve made that quite clear. And you are, as well.”
Calhoun laughed softly to himself. “I’m not quite as sure about that as you are. Technology has its uses, certainly. And I’m dependent upon it to get out of here. But it’s not the be-all and end-all that you seem to think it is. Once upon a time, I lived on a world that was very low in technology, indeed. In some ways …” he said wistfully, “I think those were the happiest times of my life. I didn’t know or care what was beyond my little sphere.”
“You lived in ignorance.”
“No. I thrived in ignorance. And that, Maester Tapinza … is not always a bad thing.”
Calhoun turned and headed back into the other room. The momentarily confused Tapinza followed him. When Calhoun entered, everyone in the room—with the exception of the Maestress—got to their feet. He gestured for them to sit and looked around at them for a long moment. Tapinza had the distinct feeling that Calhoun was dragging it out for his benefit.
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.” There was an audible sigh of relief from those in the room, and then Calhoun continued. “But I’m not going to commit to any length of time. It has to be understood—I’m just passing through.”
“Where are you passing through to?” inquired the Maestress.
“Wherever the road may lead,” Calhoun said.
“Well,” said the Praestor, “I’m hoping that our little town will grow on you, and you’ll be willing to stay here indefinitely. But, in the meantime, I’ll be more than happy to take whatever you’re willing to give us. Welcome to Narrin, Majister Calhoun.”
“I hope you don’t get killed,” Spangler said cheerily.
“That makes two of us,” said Calhoun.
“Three,” said the Praestor, and everyone else in the room chimed in, upping the number one by one until only Howzer the mortician had not offered an opinion.
He glanced at his watch. “My, look at the time,” he said.
Calhoun looked at the others and commented, “Now there’s a man who has his priorities in order.”
Tapinza, however, had his own priorities in order as well. Calhoun’s little lecture about the joys of living in a low-tech world gave him the uneasy feeling that Calhoun’s priorities might be in conflict with his own. He hoped that would not be the case. He saw Calhoun as a potential ally. But if Calhoun were to become an enemy, well … Tapinza had had enemies before. They had all wound up in the same place, and Tapinza was still here. And Calhoun was unquestionably out of his territory. If it came to a conflict, there was no doubt who was going to come out on top.
SHELBY
“CAPTAIN, WE CAN’T. It’d be a violation of regs.”
It was all Shelby could do to stifle a laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation. She could not count the number of times she had said those exact words, in that exact tone, to Calhoun. She wondered if Calhoun had felt at those times what she was feeling now: annoyance. Impatience at being second-guessed. Perhaps a tinge of guilt, because the statement was absolutely true. Aggravated over being presented with a scenario where the compulsion was to help and the regulation was to withhold same.
By the same token, she knew precisely how she herself felt when issuing such pronouncements: frustrated at having to point out that which was so obvious. A sense of self-righteousnes
s, because she was so certain that she invariably knew what was best. Perhaps a certainty that she would not be making these kinds of mistakes or decisions if it were she who was in charge.
They had been on her—although with all respect, of course—from the moment they had all sat down together, starting with Shelby’s refusal to depart planetside. “I would have been within my rights to beam you up, Captain, whether you were inclined to go or not,” Garbeck had pointed out.
Shelby’s response was that she had been concerned over sending mixed messages about the UFP. To say to the Makkusians, on the one hand, how the UFP and Starfleet were going to be there for them when help was needed … and then the first time that some sort of jeopardy presents itself, they bolt? No, she’d felt it necessary to stay on the surface for the duration of the attack, for as long as she’d had to. It was, to her mind, the only way to show that she was acting in good faith. Still, it was an explanation that had not gone over well with her command staff. Then again, since when did she have to worry about what the command staff’s opinion of her was?
Seated there were Garbeck, Science Officer Tulley, Security Head Kahn, Lieutenant Augustine, Doctor Kosa, and the ship’s Counselor, Laura Ap’Boylan, a Betazoid with large, limpid eyes that had the remarkable knack of burrowing deep into one’s soul, and a thick shock of startlingly bright blond hair that made her look as if her head was perpetually glowing. It had been Garbeck who had spoken, but clearly they were of one mind.
For some reason, this bugged the hell out of Shelby. Whenever such discussions had arisen on the Excalibur, there had been as many differing opinions as there were people in the room. Yet here …
Stop complaining. You handpicked this crew. You didn’t likethe way things were on the Excalibur. So you don’t get to whine about it now.
“I’m aware of that,” Shelby said carefully. “Technically—”
“There is no ‘technically’ involved, Captain,” Garbeck told her firmly. “It either is or it isn’t. In this case, your suggested action clearly is in violation. These insects are a natural outgrowth of the planet’s environment—?” Although she was looking at Shelby, the question was obviously addressed to Tulley.
The science officer nodded briskly. “Yes. Absolutely. The captain was kind enough to bring us back a specimen or two,” and he inclined his head toward Shelby in appreciation. “We’ve made a thorough study of them and they are definitely native to this world. There is … a curiosity about it.”
“Curiosity?” growled Kosa. “Meaning, you found something and you’re not sure what it is.” Although Dr. Kosa was not particularly enamored of anyone on the ship, it seemed, he particularly wasn’t wild about Tulley. Shelby suspected that he felt Tulley in some way infringed on his territory at those points—such as this one—where scientific investigation and medical research tended to overlap. Tulley was quite aware of this mild hostility on the doctor’s part, and did not hesitate to give as good as he got. Shelby sighed inwardly and wondered if any other starship captain had ever had to deal with a chief medical officer and science officer who had serious antipathy toward one another.
With the sigh of one who carries the weight of the world upon his shoulders, Tulley said, “I’m simply saying that I’ve found something that requires further research, Doctor. Specifically, it’s the disease this insect is carrying. It seems to have—for want of a better way to put it—come out of nowhere. I’m having difficulty tracking down the root virus that it may have mutated from, although I suspect that is basically what has happened.”
“I’ll put my people on it,” Kosa said in preemptive fashion. “If it has to do with illness, it should be under my purview, anyway.”
“Captain,” Tulley protested, working to keep his annoyance in check. “This had been under the auspices of science.”
“You’ll work together,” Shelby announced, feeling like King Solomon. Kosa and Tulley glanced at each other, Kosa looking darkly smug and Tulley clearly not too happy about the decision.
“The point is, Captain,” continued Garbeck, “that this life-form is indigenous to this world. It’s not as if the Makkusians are being attacked by, say, the neighboring world of Corinder. If the Corinderians were assaulting them, we could intercede. But, in this case, we’re talking about a species that developed on this world, as did the Makkusians. In short, it has as much right to be there as the Makkusians themselves do. It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to simply step in and wipe them out … essentially, destroy an entire species of animal, which is what the Makkusians would have us do.”
“The Makkusian race has been decimated, and I mean that in the accurate sense of the word,” said Shelby, “namely, reduced by a tenth. One out of every ten Makkusians has died because of the disease these creatures are transmitting. And preliminary tests on the virus itself, according to CMO Kosa here, is that the damned virus mutates so quickly that finding a cure for it is problematic and could take months.”
“We’d nail it eventually,” Kosa said, “but right now we don’t even know how bugs get it, or how to cure them, let alone the people.”
“I’ve no doubt we’ll nail it. But how many people will die in the meantime? People versus insects, gentlemen and ladies. I don’t think we can lose sight of that.”
“Nor can we lose sight of the Prime Directive, Captain. I’m sure you know that, as does everyone here at this table,” said Garbeck.
And yet you felt the need to spell it out just in case, Shelby thought. My God … if I were in her position and Mac were in mine, which side would I be on?
“I haven’t lost sight of anything, Number One,” said Shelby forcefully. “I am very much aware that the Prime Directive would frown upon—”
“Prohibit,” Garbeck said.
Shelby paused just long enough for her annoyance at the interruption to register on Garbeck. Garbeck shifted uncomfortably in her chair, aware that she might very well have just overstepped herself.
“—prohibit,” Shelby quietly amended, “the annihilation of the life-form that is causing this hardship. After all, who knows? In a couple of million years, the Makkusians may be nothing but a distant memory, and these insects could well be the dominant life-form on the planet. It’s impossible to tell, and it’s specifically because we don’t want to have that kind of impact on worlds that we have the noninterference directive in the first place.” There were more nods, this time approving of what she was saying. Her hand was near the computer console, but no one noticed.
“Captain,” Ap’Boylan said, in her best conciliatory fashion. “I very much sense the conflict that you’re going through. You want to do what you feel is best for these people. It is natural for you to elevate them in importance above the insects, but one must remember that the—”
The conference lounge was suddenly alive with a high-pitched buzzing.
Immediately, her voice loud with alarm, Shelby said, “Tulley! Your specimens must still be alive!”
Suddenly everyone but Shelby and the Betazoid ducked and someone shouted in alarm, “Get it!” Kahn was on her feet, her phaser out, trying to sight the creature and pick it off.
Garbeck, meantime, had hit her combadge and was barking orders, instructing the area to be sealed off and a gas lethal to insects readied to flood through the corridors….
And then Garbeck noticed that Shelby hadn’t budged from her spot. Instead, she was sitting there with a small, satisfied smile on her face. Without a word, Shelby turned the monitor around. An image of the insects swarmed and moved across the screen, their earsplitting whine filling the room, but otherwise offering no more hazard to life and limb than any other picture on a monitor would provide.
“Sentiment’s a little different when you’re the ones at risk, isn’t it?” Shelby said quietly as she shut off the monitor. The noise promptly ceased.
Ap’Boylan still sat in her seat, having sensed what her captain was up to. Kahn holstered her phaser sheepishly. Garbeck looked extremely unamused.
“That was not necessary to make your point, Captain, in my opinion.”
“In my opinion, it was, and as it so happens, my opinion outranks yours,” Shelby told her.
But Garbeck wasn’t particularly cowed. “Captain,” she said firmly, “I have nothing but the greatest respect for you … but this is not the frontier. Starfleet captains have a great deal of discretionary power, certainly, but not enough to unilaterally toss aside the Prime Directive as they see fit.”
“I am aware of that, Number One,” said Shelby. “However … there are options.”
The officers all looked at one another. “Options, Captain?” asked Kahn.
“First, can we incapacitate these bugs in some gentle way?”
Tulley said, “Not without a lot of study.”
“Then could we get rid of these things if we had to? Worldwide, I mean.”
All eyes went again to Tulley. He gave it some thought, and then said, “Actually … yes. Yes, it wouldn’t be that difficult at all. Captain, would you mind putting on that buzzing again?”
Shelby didn’t quite understand, but she complied. A moment later, the buzzing was again filling the room. Tulley was concentrating on it, pursing his lips and humming along. His actions drew confused looks from the others, but they were respectfully silent. Finally he said, “All right, thank you, Captain.” Shelby shut it down, and they all waited while Tulley continued to hum.
“Lieutenant Commander … ?” prompted Shelby.
“All right. It’ll take a few passes, but it should work. Basically, we’ll use the deflector dish to generate a harmonic beam to a specific section of the planet’s surface … devoid of Makkusians, of course. We’ll key the beam to exactly imitate the buzzing sound that the insects produce, and, theoretically, they will swarm toward it, joining others of their own kind.”