by Peter David
16
AERON
TO A CERTAIN DEGREE, it was déjà vu to Calhoun. Once again he was standing before the Counselars of Aeron. Once again he found himself in opposition to the warmaster (what a pretentious title). This time, however, the circumstances were slightly different. Standing on either side of him were not only Si Cwan, but his sister, Kalinda, who was developing into quite an impressive beauty. Directly in front of him was Tsana. Considering everything she had been through, the girl was holding up well. Dr. Selar had overseen her being nursed fully back to health, although Selar had advised against bringing Tsana down to the planet’s surface at this particular time. It had been her contention that Tsana needed more time to heal, to rest up.
Tsana, however, would not hear of it. There was certainly much of the imperious in the youngster. It was as if, having finally wakened to a world in which she was the only living member of her family, she was forcing herself to adjust to that harsh reality and deal with it as straightforwardly as possible. Part of what was keeping her going was her burning desire to seek vengeance against the man whom she believed had slain her two brothers, betraying their trust and committing treason against the imperial family and the Aerons at large.
Standing directly behind Calhoun was Zak Kebron. Calhoun found it grimly amusing that—despite the presence of two Thallonians and a young girl who was, basically, the new ruler of Aeron—the one who was getting the most looks from the Counselars was Kebron. Perhaps they were afraid that the Brikar was going to go berserk and plow through them, smashing them apart with arms the size of boulders and skin so tough that he could likely laugh off whatever weapons they tried to throw at them. He studied them with a stare as dark as an approaching thunderstorm, and they looked suitably daunted. Well . . . good. Let them be afraid. If it put them at a disadvantage, so much the better.
The only one who did not appear the least bit put off by the assemblage of opponents was Burkitt. Naturally, he would not want to show any fear; that alone might be enough to be interpreted as guilt, and Burkitt would know that he mustn’t do anything that could worsen his situation.
Instead, Burkitt smiled generously, even looking concerned over Tsana’s current condition. “Are you sure you would not rather sit down, Tsana?” he inquired solicitously. He turned to Commander Gragg, who was standing a few feet away, and said, “Would you mind getting the young lady a pillow to line a chair—?”
“The young lady is your new Zarn,” Tsana said icily. “I prefer to stand.”
Burkitt shrugged slightly. “As you wish. Captain Calhoun, I must tell you that I do very much appreciate your returning the ‘new Zarn’ to us—”
Calhoun was about to speak, but the girl clearly showed no reticence in speaking her own mind. “He has not ‘ returned’ me, Warmaster. I will not dwell here until you have safely been brought to justice.”
“You fear your own people?” He made a slight, sad clucking sound with his tongue and, as laughter arose from behind him, said, “A true pity that you would. That certainly does not sound like the stuff that Zarns are made of.”
“Your view of Zarns is of no interest to me,” said Tsana. “Only your being arrested and tried for your crimes is.”
“My crimes,” he echoed.
“Yes, Burkitt,” said Calhoun. “Your crimes. The ones that she is calling you to account for.”
“The ones you told her to say,” retorted Burkitt. “Or the ones you planted in her fevered imagination. This is a truly pathetic ploy, Captain, and I do not appreciate it. I will not have my reputation stained—”
“Perhaps,” Si Cwan spoke up, “the only stains you care about are the stains of blood on your hands.”
Burkitt rose, body trembling in righteous indignation. “How dare you . . . I do not have to take accusations from a deposed Thallonian and a Starfleet captain who would toy with the memories of a helpless girl!”
“Sit down,” warned Calhoun.
“Or what?”
He chucked a thumb behind him. “Or I’ll have Mr. Kebron here break you in half.”
“For fun,” Kebron added.
Burkitt assessed the situation a moment, and then slowly sat, never taking his gaze off Calhoun. “Is that how you get your way, Captain? Threats? Intimidation?”
“Yes. Bribery, on occasion,” Calhoun said helpfully. “In this instance, I was hoping the simple truth would do the job.” He turned and addressed the Counselars as if Burkitt were not in the room. “No one is endeavoring to diminish the crime that the Markanians committed against you. But enemies within can be even more destructive than enemies without. Before anything else happens, Burkitt must admit his culpability and his brutal murder of Tsana’s older brothers. She witnessed it herself.”
“Any testimony she might offer is tainted!” Burkitt said loudly. “It is not reliable! My fellow Counselars . . . there is not enough evidence here even to proceed to some sort of trial. Commander Gragg—”
Gragg stepped forward. “Yes, Warmaster.”
“I was alone with young Tsana, was I not? I have had opportunities to eliminate her, have I not?”
“Yes, Warmaster.”
“And one would think,” he continued, the smug expression on his face becoming more insufferable by the minute, “that if I were concerned about being implicated in murder, I would most likely have disposed of her.”
Calhoun was watching Gragg very carefully, and couldn’t help but feel as if wheels were turning within the commander’s head. As if things he hadn’t seen before, assumptions or conclusions he hadn’t dared make, were suddenly becoming clearer. However, Gragg’s words didn’t match up with what Calhoun believed was going through the commander’s heart. “Yes, Warmaster,” he said, sounding very stiff and formal. “I myself bore witness to the fact that she was helpless before you, and you were alone with her after my departure. She could not have offered testimony against you, were she dead.”
“And yet . . . here she stands!” said Burkitt, as if concluding a magic trick before an appreciative audience. “Here she stands, hale and whole.”
It was Kalinda’s very quiet, but very firm voice that spoke up. “Tell me, Warmaster . . . how would you have known she posed a threat, since you did not know that she was hiding under the bed and saw your murderous actions?” Si Cwan nodded approvingly.
Burkitt’s smile diminished ever so slightly. “I would have desired to play it safe . . . had I anything to hide. I did not. Furthermore, if my goal was to seize power for myself, the fact that she lived would have precluded that.”
“And the fact that you could not kill her without having any Markanians to blame it on would have precluded you finishing the job,” Calhoun pointed out.
“I will not even dignify that accusation with a defense.” His eyes hard, he said, “And I hope, Captain, that you are able to live with the consequences of your actions.”
“And what would those be?” Calhoun asked mildly.
He rose once more, pointing a trembling finger at Calhoun, saying, “You are forcing a governmental crisis! Tsana is the last of the imperial family. You are tainting her, turning her to your priorities, causing her to lash out against her own. If this continues . . . if this divide is not resolved, and soon . . . the Counselars will have no choice but to do away with the rule of the imperial family entirely!”
“You would not dare,” Tsana said. “The imperials have ruled the Aeron for centuries.”
“Things change, young one . . . my apologies . . . Zarn,” but he said it with such sarcasm that there wasn’t the slightest hint of respect in his tone. “If you have been turned against us, then your mind is addled. You are not fit to rule us. Another shall have to.”
“Another being you,” said Si Cwan.
He inclined his head slightly. “I would not presume to predict. That will be up to my fellow Aerons. You, Thallonian, are not one of my fellows. Instead, you represent the race that has brought us to this difficulty.”
�
�Oh, did we?” asked Si Cwan, sounding more amused than anything else.
“Yes! Had you not taken it upon yourself to separate us from the Markanians, to deprive us of our beloved Sinqay and the Holy Site, none of this would have happened. We are the stronger race; we would have eliminated them in time. And then, as promised, the Holy Site would have been ours.” There were grunts of agreement from behind him. “But we will not be deterred in our quest. We will triumph over the—”
“Oh. Right. The Holy Site,” said Calhoun, almost as if being reminded of an afterthought. “I’m planning to destroy it.”
There was dead silence in the Counselar chamber. Burkitt’s mouth moved with no sound emerging for some moments before he finally managed to get out, “What?” in a hoarse whisper.
“I won’t have any trouble finding it; Si Cwan can bring me right to it,” and he nodded toward Si Cwan, who bowed slightly in a rather mocking manner. “I haven’t quite determined how,” Calhoun told them. He continued to sound very casual about it, as if discussing the best way to gut a fish after catching it. “We could just scourge the entire surface with phaser fire. It would take a while, heaven knows, but it could be done. Basically make the entire surface uninhabitable.” He was pleased to see that the smug expression was now entirely gone, to be replaced by something akin to mounting panic. Not easing up, he continued, “Then again, if I wanted to go the expeditious route, I could simply plant some matter/antimatter in the planet’s core, bring them together, and just blow the place up.”
“But . . . but the Prime Directive—!”
“Applies only to civilized worlds. Sinqay, so far as we know, is devoid of life. I mean, all right, there may be some cuddly, fuzzy animals living there, but unfortunately for them, cuddly fuzzy animals have almost no voice in the UFP, so I doubt there’ll be much protest raised. There’s nothing to stop me from going around and blowing up all the uninhabited worlds I want.” In point of fact, there was, but he hardly saw the need to mention that.
And that brought all of them to their feet, all the Counselars shouting at once. And loudest of all was Burkitt, bellowing “It is our Holy Site! Our promised world! How dare you—!”
“How dare I?” Calhoun’s voice easily carried above theirs; he was someone who’d developed the lung power to address armies while still in his teens. Shouting above nine men was no challenge at all. “How dare I?” he declared again. “How dare you? How dare you put so little value on life, that thousands upon thousands die in pointless warfare, all because you care more about a piece of territory than you do about the lives of your own people? More die, and more, and more, and it doesn’t stop! It never stops!” Inwardly, Calhoun was telling himself that he should be more restrained, that he shouldn’t do anything that might come across as losing control. But he was simply too angry, too fed up to tolerate any more of the tripe that he was hearing. “The bickering, the warfare, and children die, and men and women die, all because you’re more concerned about words written by people long dead than you are about the rights of your people to live long and happy lives!” His voice harsh and condemning, he swept the room with his arm as he demanded, “How dare you stand there and defend your rights to be brutal to each other? You’re like children! Children pointing at each other and crying, ‘He hit me first! He was mean to me! He took my toy!’ Well if that is how you are going to behave, Burkitt, then that is how you are going to be treated. You will be treated as if you were children. The toy you cannot agree to share with your brothers and sisters will be taken away from you, for good. Perhaps in doing that, you will finally shift your focus away from pointless bickering and instead put your energy towards such esoteric considerations as compassion, and loving your fellow man.”
Burkitt looked ill, but he rallied himself as best he could. “We are not children, no matter how much you would paint us as such, nor are you our parents. This attitude of yours bespeaks monstrous arrogance. Monstrous. You are in no position to judge us.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I am in a position to carry out my own judgment. And you, Burkitt, and all of you, will have to live with this. Unless, of course, you choose to open up peace talks with the Markanians. That is the only course you can take that will prevent me from doing as I have said I will.”
Turning his attention to Tsana, Burkitt said coldly, “And do you endorse this action of your newfound allies, oh mighty Zarn? Even you, a child, know what the tradition of Sinqay means to us. Do you endorse this action on their part, and in so doing, close the door—now and forever—on whatever claim you may have to leading us?”
If Burkitt had been intending to intimidate Tsana, he was totally unsuccessful. “A planet whose surface wasn’t walked on by my father, or his father, or his father before him, is of far less interest to me than the cancer in the soul of our people that you represent, Warmaster. I care about justice.”
“And justice demands the Markanians pay for their crimes!”
“As they will. But you will pay first for yours. Even engaging in peace talks, we will still demand those responsible for the death of my family be called to account for their actions. But our own hands must be clean, Warmaster, and yours are covered with the blood of my kin. Until such time as you admit to your misdeeds, and that you Counselars,” and she addressed the entirety of the room, “agree to open peace talks with the Markanians, we have nothing more to talk about.”
Burkitt turned back to Calhoun. “So is this your strategy, Calhoun? Try to bring pressure to bear upon me? Hope that I will confess to a crime I did not commit, in exchange for saving our Holy Site? Well, it will not happen! I will not bow! I will not yield! Take the child and be damned!” He stabbed a finger at Calhoun. “And know this: You will be declared an enemy to all Aerons, and we have a long memory. Sooner or later, you will be made to pay for the actions and threats you have made here today.”
“As will you,” Kalinda said.
Apparently he had almost forgotten she was there. “I have nothing to pay for.”
Kalinda approached him with slow, measured tread. It seemed as if her eyes were drilling through him. “So you say,” she said.
“So I know,” he retorted.
“Yes, you know. You know the truth.” Her voice lowered, and in that unearthly calmness was even greater menace. “And the dead know it as well. And they are angry with you, Burkitt, most angry indeed.”
“I see. And you know this . . . how?”
“Because they speak to me, Burkitt,” she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “They speak to me . . . and I have told them to speak to you. And they will. You have my utmost assurances on that. They will speak to you . . . and cry to you . . . and howl to you . . . until the only way to assuage your conscience is to confess your sins. Then, and only then, will they leave you in peace. But I warn you, Burkitt, do not delay overlong. Because if you do, it may reach a point where even your confession does not assuage, and they will be with you, always . . . always . . .”
“This is nonsense!” snarled Burkitt. “The lot of you, with your threats and predictions . . . and your betrayal!” That last was directed at Tsana. “Get out. All of you! This audience is over! We are done with one another.”
“You may be done with us,” Calhoun replied, as calm and collected as Burkitt was agitated. “However, I assure you, Burkitt . . . we are not remotely done with you.” He tapped his combadge. “Calhoun to Excalibur. Five to beam up.”
Moments later, they shimmered out of existence, to rematerialize aboard the starship. Calhoun immediately turned his full attention to Tsana, going to one knee so he could look her in the eyes. “Are you all right, Zarn?” he asked.
She looked at him with a world of pain in her eyes. “My family is dead and my people think me a traitor. How could I possibly be all right?”
For that, Calhoun had no answer.
It was evening, and Burkitt still had not managed to calm his fury. He had a bottle of half-consumed liquor before him, and o
ffered it to Commander Gragg, who politely declined. For what seemed the hundredth time, Burkitt muttered, “The audacity! You saw it all, Gragg. You heard! They accused me . . .”
“Not just ‘they,’ Warmaster. She. She did.”
“A dupe. A mind-controlled dupe.”
Gragg, standing stiffly, his hands behind his back, had heard Burkitt say that so many times. Perhaps it was the sheer repetition, or the lateness of the hour, or a growing unease . . . whatever the cause, Gragg opined, “She did not appear mind-controlled to me.”
Through the haze of the alcohol in his brain, it took a moment or two for that observation to penetrate. Burkitt slowly turned his full attention to Gragg. “What . . . are you saying?”
“I am simply saying . . . how she appeared to me, Warmaster.”
He rose unsteadily. “Are you telling me you believe her? That you think I would have—?”
“I do not know what to think or believe, Warmaster,” Gragg said, all in a rush. “You made such a point of showing me how you were not going to harm the girl while she lay in her coma. . . .”
“Yes! What guilty man would have done such a thing, spoken so freely—?”
“On the other hand, Warmaster, it could be argued that who but a man who felt a lack of innocence would feel the need for such a display?”
His mouth twisting in fury, Burkitt snarled, “You . . . sidestepping, double-talking coward! You dance around without committing yourself! Do you trust me, or do you not? Answer!”
“These are dangerous times, Warmaster,” said Gragg cautiously. “Trusting no one would seem to be the wisest course.”
Each word thick, Burkitt said, “Get out. Get out of here before I kill you with my bare hands. And pray that I am sufficiently with drink that by the morning I will have forgotten this entire exchange.”
Gragg bowed stiffly at the waist, turned, and exited.