by Peter David
“As I said, Captain, all is well,” continued Furvus with a glance toward Ebozay that seemed a rather nervous one. “Truthfully, I prefer it. My position was becoming somewhat stressful . . . my mate was complaining that I never see her . . . you know how it is . . .”
“I have some small familiarity with that,” she said quietly.
“Frankly, I can use the rest that this, uhm . . . early retirement will provide me. And really . . . it seems the only reasonable choice, Captain. Consider, if you will: I have been a staunch advocate of the ways of peace. Would I not be putting the lie to all my philosophies, my very way of life, if I were to make a precipitous decision that would lead to fighting? Well? Would I not?”
“Yes, I suppose you would,” Shelby said. She knew what she had to say next, and she was determined to be as judicious as possible in saying it. “Of course, you do realize that—if you had a personal problem . . .”
But he raised a hand, stopping her before she could really get started. “I know what you’re suggesting, Captain. You are trying to tell me—in as cryptic a manner as you can—that if I am in peril of my life, you will provide me sanctuary on your vessel. That is very generous of you, but I assure you, such is not the case.”
“He speaks truly, Captain,” said Ebozay, and although the general air of superiority was still there, there was also an air of—annoying—sincerity. “The former Ruling Council members provide no threat to me or my peers. There was some . . . initial resistance . . . from those who were unwilling to accede to our view of things, but that spirited disagreement is now over.”
“‘Spirited disagreement’?” Shelby couldn’t quite believe the double-talk that she was hearing. “Is that how you characterize weapons discharge?”
“You have very skilled detection equipment,” Ebozay said, unperturbed. “However, Captain, I do believe that how we choose to settle disputes internally is really none of your concern. Am I correct?” Without waiting for her to respond, he continued, “In fact . . . it’s my belief, as new head of the Ruling Council of Markania, that your presence, as requested by the previous Ruling Council, is no longer required. So, you may be on your way to wherever it is you go when you’re not harassing worlds that don’t want you.”
“I don’t do well with being dismissed out of hand, Ebozay,” Shelby said icily.
“Really? Then perhaps I’d best contact your Federation and tell them that you appear to be in violation of . . . what is that rule . . . ?” he inquired of Furvus.
“The Prime Directive,” Furvus told him in a low voice.
“Yes, that’s right, the Prime Directive. Noninterference. As long as you’re in orbit around our world, Captain, it seems to me that you’re on the verge of interfering. After all, you might lose your temper and do something rash, such as beam me out into space as an array of free-floating molecules. Can’t have that.”
As options go, it’s looking better and better, she thought, but wisely restrained herself. Instead she said, “Very well, Ebozay. If you’re so inclined, contact Starfleet. And they will tell you exactly what I’m going to tell you: The Gateway that you accessed poses a potential security threat not only to this sector of space, but to the Federation as a whole. And until such time as we know exactly where that Gateway is, who’s in control of it, and what it’s going to be used for, I have the authority to stay right here and keep looking. And furthermore, Ebozay, if you get in my way while I’m acting in that capacity, you will wind up with my bootprints in your face.”
He didn’t look especially intimidated. “Gateway?” he said innocently. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Captain. But please, feel free to look around as much as you wish . . . from up there. By the way . . . do you have the capacity to shift your viewer? To look at a particular area?”
“Yes,” Shelby said slowly, not quite certain where the conversation was going.
“Then would you be so kind . . . as to look at the exterior of this building? We’ll wait.”
Shelby felt her blood grow cold. “Arex,” she said, with a sick feeling that she already knew what she was going to see. “Do as he says.”
The screen wavered, and the image of Ebozay was replaced by the outside of the Council building. Gleau gasped, and there was a sharp intake of breath from Mueller, and a whispered, “Oh, my God” from someone else on the bridge, although she didn’t notice who. As for Shelby, she hadn’t known the precise details of what she had thought she would witness, but she had certainly intuited the gist of it.
The heads of the Aerons who had been captured earlier, and spared at Shelby’s behest, adorned the outside of the building. Their eyes stared sightlessly at nothing, and yet Shelby couldn’t help but feel—as unreasonable as it was—that every single one of them was staring at her.
“Put me back on with Ebozay,” she said, her voice carefully neutral so as not to betray the emotions within her. Moments later the screen shifted and Ebozay was smiling at her.
“Well?” he asked.
And to Ebozay’s surprise—and to her own, to some degree—she laughed softly. “Did you think to shock me, Ebozay? Did you think I would cry out in horror at your ruthlessness and go running for fear of your wrath? Sorry. When you’ve looked down the gun barrels of as many Borg weapons as I have, the dead eyes of disembodied heads just doesn’t inspire the amount of terror you’d think it would. It does tell me something, though,” she continued, leaning forward in her chair, her hands resting on her knees, a hardening edge to her voice. “It tells me that you’re more concerned about satisfying your own ego than leading your people wisely.”
“Oh, I will lead them, Captain,” he said with an air of confidence that Shelby would have loved to drive right down his throat. “I will lead them to Sinqay. I will lead them back to our promised world. But I will not bring them there so that they can live in fear of the Aeron attacking them. Sinqay will be a battleground no longer; I owe them that much. The Aeron will know, once and for all, that the Markanians are not to be trifled with. They will know that, even if we have to wipe out every single one. It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Captain.” With that, the screen blinked out.
There was dead silence for a moment. And then, very coldly, Shelby said, “XO—inform Starfleet of the situation on Thallon 18. Apprise them of the change in government, and that we are continuing with our search for the Gateway we believe to be here. Once we have found the Gateway, we will proceed along the best possible course circumstances will permit.”
“That being—?”
“Ideally?” There was no hint of humor in her face. “We take the Gateway and ram it up Ebozay’s ass.”
“I see. Would you prefer that I—”
“Edit that out, yes. But keep the image locked near and dear to your heart, XO,” she said grimly. “I certainly know that I intend to.”
13
MARKANIA
EBOZAY LAUGHED, his voice echoing off the walls of the now empty Council Room. He spread his arms wide, as if he could drink in the power that was now his. Power that he was going to use to benefit all his people, no matter what that foolish Starfleet captain thought. “She doesn’t understand,” he said. “She doesn’t—”
Then he heard a soft footfall, and he turned . . . and gaped at the newcomer. “Smyt!” he gasped.
Smyt, yellow-skinned, chinless, leggy, and curvaceous, smiled from the doorway. “Everyone has to be somewhere,” she purred, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
The amusement, however, quickly faded, because Ebozay was across the room cat-quick, one hand at her throat, the other shoving her shoulder, driving her back until she slammed up against the wall with teeth-jarring impact.
“Have you lost your mi—?” she started to say.
“Traitoress!”
“Is that even a word—?”
He pulled her several inches from the wall and smashed her against it once more. “You deceived us! Used us! You gave aid to our enemy!”
He
r air of detached amusement, which she’d managed to maintain for a brief time even as he was slamming her around, had quickly disintegrated. “What are you talking about?! How did—?”
“Did you think we were stupid? Did you think we wouldn’t—?”
There was a sudden howl of energy being unleashed, a quick blast that lifted Ebozay off his feet and sent him hurtling halfway across the room. It was as if he had been yanked back by a large, invisible string attached to the back of his clothes. He hit the floor, and not gently. He was in superb condition, but even so he felt jolted and momentarily confused by the impact. But then he shook it off and staggered to his feet. Through eyes that were both bleary and yet coldly calculating, he peered angrily at Smyt, wiping away a trickle of blood from a gash his lower lip had taken upon landing. “How did you do that?” he demanded sullenly.
Her arms were folded, her hands tucked unseen into large, draping sleeves. Her billowing shirt hung loosely about her; it was voluminous enough that she might well have kept an entire armada up those sleeves, let alone some sort of handgun that could knock him around like a pebble. The copious blouse was a stark contrast to the tightness of the leggings that adorned her from the waist down. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to tell you all my little secrets, are you?”
“You betrayed us . . . how could—”
Impatience flashed across her face. “Why do you keep saying that? I’ve betrayed no one. No one.”
“The Gateway opened here, with Aerons pouring through like sewage through a tunnel.”
“Now there’s a pleasant image,” muttered Smyt. She looked pityingly at Ebozay for a moment, then walked over to him, crouched, and took his head in her hands, one hand on either cheek. “Listen carefully: I did not aid the Aerons in any way. I did not bring the Gateway to them. Why would I do such a thing?”
“Riches.”
She snorted derisively. “Riches? Is that all you think I care about?” She released him and stood, looking down at him imperiously. “Ebozay, I possess a Gateway. I can go any place I wish. I desire to be compensated for my time and trouble, yes, but if all I wanted was riches, I could rig the Gateway to put me into the heart of the greatest treasure vaults in the galaxy.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“For all you know, I have,” she replied easily. “All the more reason, then, to take my word that I have no financial interest in playing one side against the other.” Anticipating the question he was about to ask, she said briskly, “I am interested in justice, Ebozay. I’m interested in what’s right. I travel around the galaxy, meeting different races, discerning the injustices that may have been done to them, and righting them. That is what I do. That is who I am. And you, Ebozay . . . you are selling yourself short.”
“In what way?” he demanded, one eyebrow cocked curiously.
“You are underestimating the passion, the fire within you when you speak of how your people were ill-used. Have you forgotten? We met . . . you were intimidated by me at first . . .”
“I was not intimidated in the least.”
“. . . but when you realized I intended you no harm, you spoke of the things you wanted for your people. You spoke angrily of the wrongs done to you by the Aerons. In short, Ebozay . . . you convinced me. I knew that I had found an excellent leader, a worthy cause, for the gift of the Gateway. And now . . . ,” she looked stricken, “now you would accuse me of duplicity? I . . . I don’t know what to say. . . .”
“Why don’t you say where they got a Gateway?”
“I don’t know,” she said impatiently.
He had risen from the floor and was now approaching her, although far less belligerently than before. “So we’re just supposed to believe it was coincidence?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know.”
“Smyt, I have my own followers to answer to. And they are not happy. They are also wondering, very loudly and very aggressively, whether you betrayed us. Fortunately, I was able to channel that aggression into constructive purposes . . . namely ‘convincing’ the Ruling Council to step aside. But if this duplication of technology is not explained in some sort of satisfactory manner, their anger could become redirected at me.”
“So what you are saying,” she said thoughtfully, “is that, for better or worse, our fortunes are tied together.”
“That is what I’m saying, yes. The fortunate thing, at least, is that we still have our Gateway, safely hidden away and under guard. So at least my people know that you did not take it to the Aerons. That has proven the only mitigating factor to those who would believe that you have been duplicitous.” He shook his head. “I do not understand how the vessel above has not detected it.”
“I have it shielded . . . just as I myself am shielded against whatever life-form scans they may be using to try and detect my presence. If the Gateway is activated, they will detect that; there’s no way of preventing it. The energy signature is too strong, too unique.”
“But you said,” and he stabbed a finger at her, “you said that the Gateway was one of a kind.”
“I said the portable Gateway that I possess is one of a kind, yes. To the best of my knowledge, that remains true. On the other hand, it is possible that the Aerons found a permanent Gateway constructed somewhere on their world. I’m not omniscient, Ebozay. I do not have a map nor record of every Gateway in existence.”
“And they happened to discover this Gateway and make use of it just after we did the same thing with yours?” he said skeptically.
Leaning against the large conference table, she scratched her brow thoughtfully, almost as if his presence in the room were an afterthought. “If coincidences never occurred, Ebozay, we wouldn’t have the word ‘coincidence,’ now, would we? Still, it does trouble me. But I have no means of investigating it at the moment; the only way I could is if I activated the Gateway, and if I did that, the starship in orbit around this world will zero in on it.”
“Why should you fear the starship?”
“I don’t fear it—neither its crew nor commander,” she said dismissively. “But they can prove aggravating, and I endeavor to minimize the aggravation in my life. I shall have to think on this. However, Ebozay, if it will smooth your personal situation, summon your lieutenants, your followers . . . whomever you wish. I shall speak with them personally, explain to them how I am firmly on the side of the Markanians. How I have not, and would not, betray you. How I will not cease working on behalf of the Markanians until you have managed to eliminate the Aeron threat entirely, and the Markanians are able to return, once and for all, to their beloved Sinqay. Would that help?”
“It would.”
“And you . . .” She gazed at him with a look of wicked amusement. “What could I do . . . to help you . . . ?”
She wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and brought him to her. Her lips, as always, tasted papery, and her skin was so cold it was like making love to a corpse. But he simply reminded himself that she represented a great ally for his people, and as he pushed her back onto the table, sliding his hands down her sleeves, he mentally counted to a thousand. When he was done with that and she was still not done with him, he proceeded to compose his grocery list.
14
EXCALIBUR
“NO, CAPTAIN. Absolutely not.” There was no anger, no sense of indignation or defiance in Doctor Selar’s tone as she faced a clearly annoyed Captain Mackenzie Calhoun. But Calhoun was being careful not to let that annoyance overwhelm him, or prompt him to act in a precipitous or bullying fashion. He knew that he was treading on dangerous and delicate ground, and being overly forceful wasn’t going to help in the least.
They were in Selar’s private office just off sickbay. Through the clear but soundproof partition, he could see her technicians going about their business. Here and there throughout sickbay were crewmen who were having the standard range of ailments treated, from a broken leg to a raging head cold (although word was down from the Starfleet general that there would be a
cure for the common cold by the end of the century. Then again, they’d said that last century).
And there, lying off in a corner, monitored by instruments but otherwise not doing anything other than breathing, was Tsana.
It was impossible to say whether she knew she’d been taken off her world. It was impossible to say anything about her, really, because she was lying in the exact same position, exact same state of mind, as when she had been on her homeworld, before Calhoun had transported her off it. Technicians were, even at that moment, taking readings off her, studying her, speaking about her in soft, understated voices (since it wouldn’t do to have any negative prognosis spoken within earshot). In fact, they were doing everything except causing any sort of change in her condition.
“You realize I could order you to, Doctor,” said Calhoun.
But before Selar could reply, Commander Burgoyne—standing to the captain’s immediate right—said, gently but firmly, “No, Captain. You cannot.”
Calhoun turned to face his first officer. “I cannot?”
“No, Captain.” S/he folded hir arms in the classic stance of one who was taking up a defensive position. “Starfleet has taken pains in recent months to make that extremely clear. There were apparently one or two disputes about it on other vessels.”
“You’re saying that I cannot order Dr. Selar to attempt a Vulcan mind-meld.”
“That is correct.”
“Because it’s against Starfleet regulations.”
“That is also correct.”
He considered the situation. “Is that the only reason?”
“No, sir,” said Burgoyne politely. “I would also be obliged to tell you that you are being an insensitive cretin, and that not only would I not permit Selar to be bullied in such a manner, but anyone who did attempt it would answer to me.”