Star Trek - NF - 005 - Martyr

by Peter David

 

  She moved her hand flutteringly in front of his face and then said with more force, "Si Cwan!"

 

  It snapped the Thallonian back to attention as he

 

 

 

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  blinked at her with surprise. "I am sorry . . . what did you say, Robin?" He leaned forward, his fingers interlaced, trying to refocus his attention.

 

  Robin stroked her chin thoughtfully, trying to find a way to phrase it without seeming combative, argumentative, or difficult. "Si Cwan," she said slowly, "I'm supposed to be serving you as your official liaison, correct?"

 

  "Yes, Robin," he replied, looking mildly surprised that she felt a need to state the obvious.

 

  "You've already gone through two other liaisons, in rather short order. There's an old Earth saying about 'three strikes, you're out.' Do you know what that refers to?"

 

  He paused a moment, his red brow furrowing, and then took a stab at it. "Repeated labor disputes can result in the loss of your business?"

 

  She began to laugh it off, but then reconsidered. "Okay, we can go with that," she decided. "And I wouldn't want you to be out of business when it comes to having a liaison. Someone to represent your interests to the captain, and at the same time to serve as an events coordinator for you."

 

  "I should hope not," Si Cwan said reasonably. "We have been barraged with contacts from dozens of worlds, each with their own interests and agendas. There is a goodly deal of administrative work to be done, and I am an ambassador, not an administrator."

 

  She held up a scolding finger. "Technically, you're not an ambassador either. You're forgetting you represent no government. But the captain has made it clear that he has no objection to your using that title, as long as you provide our vessel with guidance and aid in the exploration of Thallonian space."

 

  "Yes, yes, yes." He was making no attempt to hide his mounting irritation.

 

  "The first two people he assigned to this post got

 

 

 

 

 

  tired of your high-handedness in no time flat and made it clear they did not wish to remain in direct contact with you. The captain was prepared, at that point, to simply close up the position. But I volunteered, Si Cwan," and she leaned forward, tapping herself on the chest. "Me. I actually volunteered. Work an hour a day as your liaison, make myself available to you as emergencies require, and still maintain my bridge duties at Ops. I can do all that because I'm organized, which is the sort of person you need."

 

  "I'm most appreciative, Robin. Can we get on with matters now?"

 

  "Not quite," she said patiently. "What I'm trying to say is that my time is limited. I don't have oodles and oodles to play with in the course of any given day. Which is a roundabout way of saying that I sure don't have time to sit here and watch you nod off and stare into space."

 

  "I was staring into space?" he asked, sounding confused. He started to turn in his chair to glance out the viewing port behind his back.

 

  "No, I meant . . ." and she waved her hands in the direction of the area in front of his desk. He nodded in understanding. "All I'm saying is that something's distracting you, and it's not the most efficient way to manage the time." Then her voice softened. "It's . . . It's Kallinda, isn't it?"

 

  Slowly he nodded, and this time he genuinely did

 

  stare off into space, into the great void that glittered at

 

  him so frustratingly. "I truly do not know which is

 

  worse," he murmured. "To think that she is definitely

 

  dead and lost to me, or that she is alive somewhere out

 

  there, undergoing who-knows-what form of difficulty."

 

  "Zoran could have been lying," Lefler pointed out.

 

  He nodded. "That is true," he admitted. "Zoran Si

 

  Verdin is my oldest, most vicious and unforgiving foe.

 

  He would say or do anything to hurt me. It is entirely

 

 

 

  ") else document.write("

 

  blinked at her with surprise. "I am sorry . . . what did you say, Robin?" He leaned forward, his fingers interlaced, trying to refocus his attention.

 

  Robin stroked her chin thoughtfully, trying to find a way to phrase it without seeming combative, argumentative, or difficult. "Si Cwan," she said slowly, "I'm supposed to be serving you as your official liaison, correct?"

 

  "Yes, Robin," he replied, looking mildly surprised that she felt a need to state the obvious.

 

  "You've already gone through two other liaisons, in rather short order. There's an old Earth saying about 'three strikes, you're out.' Do you know what that refers to?"

 

  He paused a moment, his red brow furrowing, and then took a stab at it. "Repeated labor disputes can result in the loss of your business?"

 

  She began to laugh it off, but then reconsidered. "Okay, we can go with that," she decided. "And I wouldn't want you to be out of business when it comes to having a liaison. Someone to represent your interests to the captain, and at the same time to serve as an events coordinator for you."

 

  "I should hope not," Si Cwan said reasonably. "We have been barraged with contacts from dozens of worlds, each with their own interests and agendas. There is a goodly deal of administrative work to be done, and I am an ambassador, not an administrator."

 

  She held up a scolding finger. "Technically, you're not an ambassador either. You're forgetting you represent no government. But the captain has made it clear that he has no objection to your using that title, as long as you provide our vessel with guidance and aid in the exploration of Thallonian space."

 

  "Yes, yes, yes." He was making no attempt to hide his mounting irritation.

 

  "The first two people he assigned to this post got

 

 

 

 

 

  tired of your high-handedness in no time flat and made it clear they did not wish to remain in direct contact with you. The captain was prepared, at that point, to simply close up the position. But I volunteered, Si Cwan," and she leaned forward, tapping herself on the chest. "Me. I actually volunteered. Work an hour a day as your liaison, make myself available to you as emergencies require, and still maintain my bridge duties at Ops. I can do all that because I'm organized, which is the sort of person you need."

 

  "I'm most appreciative, Robin. Can we get on with matters now?"

 

  "Not quite," she said patiently. "What I'm trying to say is that my time is limited. I don't have oodles and oodles to play with in the course of any given day. Which is a roundabout way of saying that I sure don't have time to sit here and watch you nod off and stare into space."

 

  "I was staring into space?" he asked, sounding confused. He started to turn in his chair to glance out the viewing port behind his back.

 

  "No, I meant . . ." and she waved her hands in the direction of the area in front of his desk. He nodded in understanding. "All I'm saying is that something's distracting you, and it's not the most efficient way to manage the time." Then her vo
ice softened. "It's . . . It's Kallinda, isn't it?"

 

  Slowly he nodded, and this time he genuinely did

 

  stare off into space, into the great void that glittered at

 

  him so frustratingly. "I truly do not know which is

 

  worse," he murmured. "To think that she is definitely

 

  dead and lost to me, or that she is alive somewhere out

 

  there, undergoing who-knows-what form of difficulty."

 

  "Zoran could have been lying," Lefler pointed out.

 

  He nodded. "That is true," he admitted. "Zoran Si

 

  Verdin is my oldest, most vicious and unforgiving foe.

 

  He would say or do anything to hurt me. It is entirely

 

 

 

  ") if( !cssCompatible ) document.write("

 

  possible that he created the spectre of my sister's survival in order to gnaw at me. To haunt my days and evenings. And do you know what, Robin?"

 

  "It worked?"

 

  He nodded sullenly. But then he seemed to shake it off with physical effort as he said, "Dwelling on it will serve no purpose, save that which Zoran may have desired to attempt. And it is wasting your time. I have feelers out in a variety of directions, to try and bring me news of Kallinda. Those who are still loyal to me, who are still friends of the old regime, are operating to further my concerns. In the meantime, there is no need to delay you any more than necessary simply because of my inability to focus on important matters."

 

  She put a hand out to lay it on his forearm. She wanted to say something that would comfort him, wanted to establish some sort of "human" connection to the Thallonian. Her hand hovered over his forearm for the merest fraction of an instant, and she allowed it to settle as lightly as possible on the arm. She was surprised by the extreme coolness of his skin. If she were given to flights of fancy, she would have imagined that it was a reflection of the distance he forced himself to keep from the world around him. The distance that was part of the baggage he carried with him, what with being royalty (albeit fallen royalty), an ambassador, and a brother seeking the only member of his family who might still be alive.

 

  He stared at her coolly, appraisingly, and she waited to hear what he would say next. The acknowledgment of her effort, the realization that it was possible to allow others to be close to him. To be his friend, to be ... whatever.

 

  "I do not like to be touched," he said, not unkindly.

 

  "Ah," was all Robin could think of to say as she quickly withdrew her hand. Suddenly it seemed al-

 

 

 

 

 

  most like an alien appendage, just hanging there on the end of her arm. Not quite sure what to do with it, she reached around with amazingly forced casualness and scratched the back of her neck. "That's . . . okay. That's fine, I can understand that."

 

  "I've made you uncomfortable."

 

  "No, not at all. Not at all." She cleared her throat loudly. "It was simply a... a human ritual. Don't think about it another minute. So, there's one more planet we've heard from, petitioning for the Excalibur to visit."

 

  "That makes, by my count, twenty-nine." Si Cwan let out a soft whistle. "They are very, very curious about us, Robin. "They want to know what the Excalibur is up to. They want to meet our captain. And of course . . ." He permitted a small half smile, not bothering to finish the sentence.

 

  "They want to see you," Lefler was kind enough to complete it for him. "Well, naturally. That goes without saying."

 

  "Yes, but thank you for saying it. I will present the captain with a detailed information list on the candidates, with order of suggested priority. He can, of course, deviate from that priority. But to do so would be quite foolish."

 

  "That likewise went without saying."

 

  "So which is the twenty-ninth world?"

 

  She checked her readout. "Zondar."

 

  A jolt of interest seemed to spark in Si Cwan. He had been seated, but now he came from quickly around his desk and leaned over Robin's shoulder to study her data padd. She became, for some reason, rather aware of the nearness of him, and endeavored to keep her mind firmly on her work. "Yes, Zondar. I have to admit, of everyone we've heard from thus far, they certainly seemed to be the most excited about the prospect of meeting with the captain."

 

 

 

  ") else document.write("

 

  possible that he created the spectre of my sister's survival in order to gnaw at me. To haunt my days and evenings. And do you know what, Robin?"

 

  "It worked?"

 

  He nodded sullenly. But then he seemed to shake it off with physical effort as he said, "Dwelling on it will serve no purpose, save that which Zoran may have desired to attempt. And it is wasting your time. I have feelers out in a variety of directions, to try and bring me news of Kallinda. Those who are still loyal to me, who are still friends of the old regime, are operating to further my concerns. In the meantime, there is no need to delay you any more than necessary simply because of my inability to focus on important matters."

 

  She put a hand out to lay it on his forearm. She wanted to say something that would comfort him, wanted to establish some sort of "human" connection to the Thallonian. Her hand hovered over his forearm for the merest fraction of an instant, and she allowed it to settle as lightly as possible on the arm. She was surprised by the extreme coolness of his skin. If she were given to flights of fancy, she would have imagined that it was a reflection of the distance he forced himself to keep from the world around him. The distance that was part of the baggage he carried with him, what with being royalty (albeit fallen royalty), an ambassador, and a brother seeking the only member of his family who might still be alive.

 

  He stared at her coolly, appraisingly, and she waited to hear what he would say next. The acknowledgment of her effort, the realization that it was possible to allow others to be close to him. To be his friend, to be ... whatever.

 

  "I do not like to be touched," he said, not unkindly.

 

  "Ah," was all Robin could think of to say as she quickly withdrew her hand. Suddenly it seemed al-

 

 

 

 

 

  most like an alien appendage, just hanging there on the end of her arm. Not quite sure what to do with it, she reached around with amazingly forced casualness and scratched the back of her neck. "That's . . . okay. That's fine, I can understand that."

 

  "I've made you uncomfortable."

 

  "No, not at all. Not at all." She cleared her throat loudly. "It was simply a... a human ritual. Don't think about it another minute. So, there's one more planet we've heard from, petitioning for the Excalibur to visit."

 

  "That makes, by my count, twenty-nine." Si Cwan let out a soft whistle. "They are very, very curious about us, Robin. "They want to know what the Excalibur is up to. They want to meet our captain. And of course . . ." He permitted a small half smile, not bothering to finish the sentence.

 

  "They want to see you," Lefler was kind enough to complete it for him. "Well, naturally. That goes without saying."

 

  "Yes, but than
k you for saying it. I will present the captain with a detailed information list on the candidates, with order of suggested priority. He can, of course, deviate from that priority. But to do so would be quite foolish."

 

  "That likewise went without saying."

 

  "So which is the twenty-ninth world?"

 

  She checked her readout. "Zondar."

 

  A jolt of interest seemed to spark in Si Cwan. He had been seated, but now he came from quickly around his desk and leaned over Robin's shoulder to study her data padd. She became, for some reason, rather aware of the nearness of him, and endeavored to keep her mind firmly on her work. "Yes, Zondar. I have to admit, of everyone we've heard from thus far, they certainly seemed to be the most excited about the prospect of meeting with the captain."

 

 

 

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  "I am amazed," admitted Si Cwan. "Why? Why should it be so surprising that they would want to see the captain?"

 

  "It's not that. I am amazed that they would want to see anyone." Slowly he circled the interior of his quarters, stopping so often to check, totally unconsciously, for any hint of dirt or dust. "The Zondarians are an extremely acrimonious race. They always have been. They've been in the throes of civil war for well over eight hundred years. They would fight until they were exhausted, then work out some sort of temporary peace, which would hold just long enough for all involved to catch their breaths, and then they'd"and he made vague stabbing motions"have at each other again. They're not unique in that they seem rather determined to obliterate themselves from the memory of Thallonian space, but they were certainly the most insistent little bastards that my people ever oversaw." "Oversaw how?" asked Lefler. She was reluctant to ask for details, for she was always concerned about some aspects of Si Cwan's past that she'd truly prefer not to hear about. But she didn't have much choice in the matter. She had to know as much as possible, and she simply had to acknowledge that, as part of a ruling family, Si Cwan may very well have been party to various acts that outsiders would consider to be barbaric or heartless, but in which Si Cwan had no voice and no choice. "Did you enslave them, or?" "Enslave them?" Si Cwan gaped at her in clear surprise. "Lieutenant, honestly. What do you take me for? Slavery!" He harrumphed at the very absurdity of the notion. "No, of course not." "Well, that's a relief to hear." "No, we threatened to destroy them." "You" She blinked in surprise. "You what?" "It seemed a reasonable threat," Si Cwan said affably. "After all, they were well on their way to