Restoration

by Peter David

  The position of Ferghut had changed exactly one time during Hauman’s tenure as leader, and what had struck Hauman was that the relatively new Ferghut (he’d only been in the position for two years) was strikingly similar in attitude to the previous one. Obviously the computer strove for, and achieved, consistency. Then again, legend had it that the parameters within which the computer searched had been crafted by the very first person to hold the title of Ferghut, so essentially they were seeing a leader perpetuating himself.

  Look what I have gotten us into, ancestors, he thought bleakly. But he had no choice, none at all. He remembered the last time he had seen Ferghut, how complimentary the Ferghut had been over the Makkusian advancements. He had flattered Hauman endlessly, and Hauman had wondered if the Ferghut was sincere, or if he was simply trying to put him off guard for some reason. Obviously it was the latter. But never in his wildest imaginings would Hauman have guessed the immensity of the Ferghut’s plans. He wasn’t just being laudatory to Hauman for the purpose of achieving some short-term goal, no, no. His goal was much more sinister: to put Hauman and the rest of the Makkusians off the scent while they endeavored to exterminate their race, so that they would have somewhere to move to. The immensity of the scheme was so appalling, that—even as he led a fleet into battle in order to eliminate whatever further threat the Corinderians might pose—Hauman could still barely wrap himself around it.

  The Makkusians did not have a large number of ships that were capable of making an assault. But, with any luck, it was not going to be necessary. The Corinderians were no more scientifically advanced than the Makkusians; as a matter of fact, when it came to space travel, they lagged a bit. So an attack on the homeworld of Corinder should have, theoretically, been a fairly easy thing. But nothing was ever certain, and Hauman wasn’t kidding himself. They were embarking on a hazardous and risky proposition, and anything could happen.

  The bridge around him was humming with activity. The men and women who were monitoring the instruments were, for the most part, younger than Hauman, and he was impressed—and, admittedly, also a bit appalled—by the eagerness that they were displaying for the upcoming battle. Whereas Hauman had been fully cognizant of the tragedy surrounding Corinder’s betrayal of their mutual live-and-let-live philosophies, the young Makkusians saw nothing except an opportunity to show a neighboring world that Makkus was nobody’s target.

  Hauman regarded his crew thoughtfully. No one carried any sort of rank, for the Makkusians had no such thing as a standing army. These people had simply been recruited as being the best and brightest that the Makkusians had to offer. First and foremost of the crew was a young man named Bibbyte. His eyes were alive with a fiery determination to drive home to the Corinderians just how foolish their plan had been. Derailing himself from his grim train of thought, Hauman turned and said, “Bibbyte … estimated time of arrival?”

  “We will be within firing range of Corinder in,” and he consulted a chronometer, “just under fifteen minutes. Have you chosen our preliminary targets, Hauman?”

  Expectant looks came from all around the bridge. Hauman took a deep breath. “I suspect,” he said, “that our first targets will be the Corinder defensive fleet.”

  “What fleet?” asked Bibbyte.

  “The one that they will inevitably send against us. What … you did not seriously expect, Bibbyte, that they would simply allow us to open fire on them with impunity? They must know that we’re coming by now; their long-range scanners would most certainly have detected it. And I’m sure that they can surmise we are not approaching out of any spirit of conciliation. They will defend themselves.”

  “They will lose. They certainly have to know that they will—”

  “Hauman!” called Lio, who had been put in charge of sensor scans. “Incoming fleet of Corinderian vessels!”

  “How many?” asked Hauman quietly. His own fleet numbered no more than a dozen vessels of varying size.

  “Eight,” replied Lio. This generated a laugh from the even-more confident Makkusians, until Lio added, “but initial scans indicate that their weaponry carries a charge roughly twenty-seven percent in excess of the greatest destructive force our own cannons can generate. Also, their armor seems capable of withstanding forty-seven percent more damage than our own.”

  There was silence on the bridge for a moment as the crew took this in. Hauman, who had been standing, slowly sat in the central chair. Then, very coolly, he said, “Bibbyte … let me speak to our fleet, please.”

  Bibbyte, who was looking a bit less confident than he had been earlier, but nevertheless determined to do his job, did so within moments.

  “My fellow Makkusians,” announced Hauman, “as you are all no doubt aware, our enemy has moved to engage us. Battle will likely be joined within …” He looked to Bibbyte, who held up two fingers. “… approximately two minutes. We outnumber them, but their weaponry appears superior to ours. However,” he added, and there was a determined smile on his face that he hoped translated to confidence in his voice, “we are in the right. They have transgressed against us, and we will not suffer that transgression to stand. We will triumph over them. There is nothing more definitely written in the future history of our race than that. But even though our victory is assured, do not take that as leave to be overconfident; from such overconfidence does a humiliating fall extend. Be brave … be cautious … and, upon my command, engage the enemy at will. Hauman out.”

  There were approving nods from around the bridge. “Well-spoken, Hauman,” said Bibbyte, apparently on behalf of the crew. “We will follow you into the gates of hell itself.”

  “Let’s hope that you won’t have to do so anytime soo—”

  “Hauman!” Lio suddenly called out, and there was definite alarm in his voice, so much so that Hauman felt a wrenching shock to his gut. “Hauman, I—”

  Hauman was out of his chair, coming around to Lio’s station, almost afraid of what he was going to see. Hauman was no battle-hardened veteran, and wasn’t exactly prepared for whatever unexpected shocks combat might throw at him. But he was determined to put as positive a face on it as possible. Lio’s inexperience in combat situations was palpable, but he was putting up a good front, and Hauman was determined to do everything he could to help Lio maintain it. “Steady, son,” he said. “Tell me what you see …”

  “A vessel … huge. I think … I think it’s a Starfleet vessel. Dropping out of warp!”

  “Starfleet!” It was Bibbyte who had spoken, and he didn’t sound any too happy. “Is it possible they’re here to aid the Corinderians?”

  “If they are, we’re finished!” said Lio, looking ashen. “We … we can’t stand up to the might of a starship! Perhaps, if we had spent years developing our weaponry, instead of … of thinking that it would never be necessary, then, yes, we could accomplish something against them! As it is—!”

  “Do not panic, Lio,” Hauman cautioned him, putting a steadying hand on the crewman’s shoulder. He looked around at the rest of his crew, who all appeared to be a bit daunted by the prospect of battling a starship. “None of you panic. I know this ‘Starfleet.’ They will not interfere in a battle between—”

  “They’ve targeted us, sir,” Lio said hollowly.

  Hauman couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. “What?” He leaned forward and surveyed Lio’s instrumentation. There was no mistaking it. The starship had indeed focused its armed might on the Makkusians …

  “… and on the Corinderians!” Hauman suddenly noted. Lio looked and saw that Hauman was correct. “They have both of us in their sights!”

  “What sort of game is this? What are they playing at?” Bibbyte demanded … although he did so in a very low voice, as if the starship could hear them through the void of space.

  “Hauman … I believe that this vessel is the same one that came to Makkus some time ago!”

  “The Exeter. Captain Shelby’s vessel. Somehow, I am not entirely surprised,” murmured Hauman. “And
if I’ve made an accurate assessment of Shelby’s character …” His voice trailed off.

  “If you have, sir—?” prompted Bibbyte.

  “If I have, why, then, Bibbyte,” and Hauman smiled mirthlessly, “then in just a few seconds, the Exeter is going to be—”

  “Right in front of us!” Lio announced.

  And it was absolutely true. The starship, having dropped out of warp and moving at high speed as a result, had inserted itself directly between the two fleets that were converging on one another. The only way the two groups of ships were going to be able to fire upon one another was if they literally went through the Exeter … and if that occurred, it was more than likely that the starship would have something to say about that in response.

  “Shall I attempt to raise her via ship-to-ship?” asked Lio.

  “Not necessary, I think,” Hauman guessed. “I suspect that we will be hearing from them in relatively short ord—”

  “An incoming signal from the Exeter, Hauman!” said Lio.

  This, of course, came as no surprise whatsoever. “Put it on screen, Lio,” Hauman said, not allowing any of the turmoil he was feeling within him to bubble to the surface.

  A moment later, Shelby’s face appeared on the screen. But the screen itself was split, indicating a dual transmission. There was another image on the screen next to Shelby, and Hauman recognized him immediately. Amazingly, his face had an open and “honest” appearance to it, as if he not only had nothing to hide, but wouldn’t know where to stash it even if he did.

  “Hello, Hauman,” said Shelby, but her words barely registered on him at first. Instead, his attention was focused entirely on the Ferghut. The Ferghut, for his part, had his face carefully neutral, even inscrutable. Hauman made a mental note not to engage the Ferghut in a game of bluffing, because he suspected the Ferghut would win effortlessly. It was impossible to tell whether the Ferghut was happy or sad, pained or relaxed.

  “Captain,” and he nodded his head slightly. He did not even bother to acknowledge the Ferghut at first, but then he came to the realization that the background behind the Ferghut was of the planet’s surface. “So … Ferghut,” he noted, “I see you didn’t find it within yourself to come up here and face me.”

  “I certainly feel no need to do something so foolish as to put myself at risk,” the Ferghut retorted. He did not sound defensive or angry. Instead, he sounded mildly amused. His tone of voice enraged Hauman even further.

  But Shelby did not give that answer a chance to build. Instead, she said briskly, “By this point, you’ve no doubt noticed that my vessel is between your fleets, which are converging upon one another.”

  “Captain, as I told you moments ago,” the Ferghut said, in a voice laced with tragedy, “they are converging upon us. We are simply trying to defend ourselves from this unwarranted attack. You make it sound as if this desire for conflict is mutual …”

  “How dare you act as if you’ve no idea what this is about!” said Hauman, outraged at the sheer gall of the creature. “You know why we are here! You know what you have done!”

  “Do I?” asked the Ferghut, the picture of innocence.

  “Captain, in the face of such perfidy—”

  “Again he insults us. Captain, surely you see that—”

  “Quiet, the both of you!” said Shelby in a voice that indicated she was not going to put up with much more of this. “Hauman … the Ferghut here claims that he has no idea why you are attacking. Have you sent him a formal declaration of war, outlining his transgressions?”

  “Why in the world should I outline that which he already knows?” demanded Hauman. There was nodding from all around him. He felt a degree of confidence growing from that; at least his own people were not being the least bit taken in by this nonsense.

  “Indulge me,” replied the Ferghut.

  Shelby was looking at Hauman expectantly. Hauman knew that this was a waste of time. He also knew that the Exeter would not fire upon him … Except, he thought he knew that, but he wasn’t sure he knew that, and therein lay the shred of doubt that prompted him to carry this dance of denial forward to its conclusion.

  And so he proceeded to lay out, in fast, broad strokes, the nature of their grievance against Corinder. As the Ferghut listened, his full face grew darker and more serious as he appeared to weigh every word. Once he even muttered, “Oh, dear,” as if receiving some piece of particularly shocking news.

  “—and so you see why we have been left with no choice!” Hauman concluded. “These … creatures … endeavored to practice nothing less than genocide! Our future security … our future as a race … depends upon our exacting revenge upon the Corinderians and letting them know that nothing like this must ever happen again! They must know that their actions carry with them dire consequences! And you, Captain, are taking it upon yourself to forestall our war! To prevent the Corinderians from dealing with those very consequences! Are you endorsing their attempt to—?”

  “I’m endorsing nothing except the path of peace,” Shelby shot back, “a path that you previously walked with as much confidence and certainty as anyone I’ve ever seen. I’m trying to return you to that path before a destructive conflict diverts you from it forever. Ferghut,” she continued quickly, before Hauman could interrupt her, “you’ve heard the concerns, the charges, leveled by Hauman on behalf of the people of Makkus. Do you have any response?”

  “What possible response could I have?” replied the Ferghut. “I am shocked … shocked! … at the nature of these accusations. We do not desire war with our good neighbors. These studies that they claim to have made, connecting this insect infestation and the disease it carries, to us, are—”

  “One hundred percent accurate,” Shelby interrupted him. “I’ve had my own people make their investigations on these creatures. You see, we demolecularized them. We certainly didn’t store the DNA records of all of them in our transporter pattern buffers, but my chief engineer and my science officer were able to put together enough to verify the Makkusian’s findings. It is quite clear that, in some way, the Corinderians were responsible for—and there is no way to put a positive face on this—attempted genocide.”

  The Ferghut looked even more stunned, as if he’d been hit between the eyes by a large rock. “This is … this is extraordinary news, surely. Horrific. I have no intention of doubting your word, Captain, since the honesty and integrity of Starfleet and its representatives is common knowledge, but still … would it be possible for you to transmit—”

  “A copy of the report prepared by my people? Absolutely,” Shelby said. Her voice hardened. “But I’m telling you right know, Ferghut, that this is only going to buy you a short amount of time.”

  “We have not guaranteed it will ‘buy’ them any time,” Hauman declared.

  But Shelby fired him a look that, even through the conveyance of a viewscreen rather than in person, was sharp enough to quiet him. “I wish to give the Ferghut my personal guarantee that the Makkusians will not do anything while he is investigating this situation.”

  Hauman considered this. He felt the eyes of his people upon him, but did not look at them so he would not be influenced. “One hour,” he said finally.

  “One hour!” said the Ferghut, sounding aggrieved. “Captain, honestly, this is—”

  “One hour sounds sufficient to me,” Shelby interrupted him. “The test results you have requested have just been transmitted to you. And let me underscore the seriousness of this, Ferghut. You can deny personal knowledge of this all you want—”

  “He must have known, Captain, surely you see that!” Hauman cried out.

  Shelby kept talking. “—but the bottom line is that it doesn’t matter whether you deny it or not. The Makkusians demand vengeance, and frankly, I don’t blame them. But I want to avoid a war that could wind up with both planets as little more than floating cinders. Because I’m reasonably certain that this fleet represents only the first wave. As of this moment, the Makkusians are doub
tless preparing even more vessels to attack, as are you, and a continued conflict is going to have terminal consequences for all involved. I don’t think anyone wants or needs that.”

  The Ferghut looked very grave. “One hour then,” he said tersely. “And, Captain … whatever happens … thank you for your endeavor to stave off a conflict,” and he stressed the final words, “that no one wants.”

  His image then blanked out, and Shelby’s filled up the entirety of the screen. “I can count on you, Hauman, to hold your position and keep your fleet in check?”

  “Peace is always desirable, Captain,” Hauman said carefully. “We have not moved so far away from our beliefs that we have forgotten that. But survival is important as well. We have not lost sight of that. We trust that you haven’t either.”

  “I’ve lost sight of nothing,” Shelby assured him. “And in an hour’s time, we shall see … what we shall see. Shelby out.”

  The screen blanked, a star field returning to replace it. There was a long moment of silence …

  … and then, as one, the bridge crew stood and applauded their commander, Hauman, for his bravery and his refusal to back down in his pursuit of justice for the Makkusians.

  He simply hoped that he was worthy of that continued confidence, for he had no idea what he was going to do if he had to go up against the Exeter. The battle against the Corinderians was daunting enough. Against the starship as well? He didn’t like those odds at all.

  TAPINZA & CALHOUN

  WHEN THE MAESTER SAW CALHOUN come riding into town that morning, he made a beeline for him. Something in the way that Calhoun looked at him, however, stopped him dead in his tracks. For a moment—just one moment—Tapinza thought that Calhoun was going to pull out his plaser and shoot him down on the spot. But then he rallied, reminding himself that he, Tapinza, had dealt with far more formidable foes than Calhoun. Besides, amazingly, this was one instance where his conscience was utterly clear.