by Peter David
“This is not the appropriate time to discuss it, XO.”
“When might be?”
“When hell freezes over . . . a sentiment that may very well go a long way toward answering the question.” Shelby rose and crossed to her window, leaning with one hand against it and watching the planet below, as if she were capable of gathering up thousands of people in her one gargantuan palm. “Do you think Tsana has the intestinal fortitude simply to walk away, rather than seek further vengeance on behalf of her family?”
“Not having met her, I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Mueller reasonably. “I can speculate. . . .”
“Go right ahead. It’s just the two of us here.”
Mueller scratched her chin thoughtfully. “If I’m recalling the files on this matter properly—and I admit, the file has been growing exponentially since we became involved—the Aerons did, in fact, capture one of the individuals responsible for the assault.”
“Yes, that sounds right. They caught . . .” She turned her computer screen around, scanning the file that was already up on the screen. “. . . they caught a Markanian named Pmarr. Quite the upper-echelon individual, as near as I can tell. Probably a higher-up associate of Ebozay.”
“Probably. Do you think . . .” Mueller didn’t speak immediately, instead tapping out a cheery tattoo with her fingertips.
“Do I think that Ebozay would be willing to write off his associate as an acceptable loss so his world can move on?” Shelby suggested.
Mueller still didn’t reply hastily. Finally, though, she nodded. “That’s what it seems to be coming down to.”
“It puts a good deal of pressure on both of them,” said Shelby. “Tsana would have to walk away from a desire to punish as many people as possible . . . and Ebozay would have to be willing to finger Pmarr as one of the major instigators of the raid on Aeron. I don’t know for certain that either of them would be willing to take that step. Unless, of course . . .”
“Unless of course . . . what?” asked Mueller.
“Unless, of course, they feel as if they’re being given no choice.”
“You have something in mind, Captain?”
“I believe I do,” she said with a slow smile.
Very severely, Mueller asked, “Is it in violation of the Prime Directive?”
“It’s borderline, at best.”
“At best. And at worst?”
“It’s a horrific breach.”
“I see,” said Mueller and, after a moment, she shrugged. “Then I just suppose we’ll have to hope that Starfleet doesn’t find out about it.”
Only yesterday, the confines of Ten Forward had seemed so friendly, so pleasant. Now, when M’Ress entered, it appeared utterly alien to her. Every face that glanced at her in cheery recognition seemed to be mocking her, laughing at her behind expressions that appeared civil. Deep down, she knew that wasn’t the case. She knew that no one was thinking contemptuously about her; if anything, they weren’t thinking about her at all, but instead merely nodding to her in a reflexive greeting before going back to their conversations.
She saw him exactly where she knew she’d see him: at the far end of the room. He was seated at a table, a drink in his hand, engaging in small talk with another crewman. It was all M’Ress could do not to simply leap across the room, land with her knees planted squarely on his chest, and throttle him. Instead she restrained herself, moving sleekly across the room like a stalking panther. Such was her automatic stealth that he didn’t notice her until she was almost upon him. When he looked up at her, it was with such genuine pleasure at her presence that it was all she could do not to rip his eyes out.
“Shibolene,” he said. “What a pleasure to—”
“Don’t call me that, Gleau,” she said, both more and less sharply than she would have liked.
He blinked in polite confusion, immediately discerning that her mood was not a pleasant one, but clearly not the least bit aware as to why. “Did I say it incorrectly?”
“We need to talk.”
“We are talking.”
Her glance flickered to the crewman who was still seated, but he had already realized that his absence would be greatly preferred. “I think,” he said, rising, “that the Lieutenant would prefer to speak with you privately.” He glanced at her for confirmation, and she nodded curtly. “Yes, I thought as much. We’ll talk later, Gleau.”
He won’t be doing much talking if I rip his throat out, M’Ress thought grimly as she slid into the now-unoccupied seat. The instant the crewman was out of earshot, she said, “Did you use the Knack on me?”
He smiled, understanding flooding his face. “Ahhh . . . is that what this is about?”
“Yes, that’s what this is about. The Knack . . . a Selelvian ability to ‘persuade’ people, to push them in certain directions that Selelvians want them to go. I want to know if one of those pushed was me, and one of those directions was your bed.” It was a tremendous effort for her not to speak too quickly, to let the words bubble out of her in a torrent of rage.
Gleau, for his part, remained calm . . . even sympathetic. “It’s not a secret, you know. The Knack, I mean. It used to be, but as more of us have shown up in Starfleet, we’ve been more forthcoming about it. Everybody knows.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’ve been out of circulation for a while.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
His eyes narrowed. “M’Ress, I’d feel a bit more comfortable discussing this if your fangs were not so well displayed.”
She realized that he was right; her upper jaw was jutting out, her extended teeth quite prominent. It must have looked somewhat threatening; it was meant to. With a visible effort, she reset her teeth so that she didn’t look ready to take a bite out of him. “You still haven’t answered the question.”
“It’s not an easy question to answer,” he said, leaning back, the fingertips of either hand touching one another.
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not,” he insisted gently but firmly. “And since this is knowledge you’ve only recently acquired, I’ll thank you not to present yourself as an expert at it. The simple fact is that I’m not entirely certain whether I used the Knack on you or not.”
“How can you not know?”
“Because, to a degree, it’s an autonomic reflex. I found you attractive, you found me attractive. In such a circumstance, the Knack kicks in, released in a manner not unlike endorphins. But it doesn’t force you to do anything against your will—”
“Stop talking about it as if it’s something separate from you,” she said heatedly. “It’s as if you’re trying to divest yourself of any responsibility for it. You’re responsible, Gleau. You’re responsible—”
“For what?” he replied, still the picture of calm. “M’Ress, nothing happened that you didn’t want to happen. If I did use the Knack, all it did was smooth the way for something that would have occurred in time anyway.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I know it to a reasonable certainty. You do as well, although you’re too angry to admit it. But you will eventually.”
“How do you know that? Are you planning to use the Knack to make me admit it?”
He sighed. “Weren’t you listening, M’Ress? I told you, even with the Knack, I couldn’t make you do anything that was against your will. If there’s anything you should ‘admit’ to, it’s that you did something that you felt good about at the time, and now you feel—I don’t know—guilty, perhaps. And you’re trying to blame me.”
“I wasn’t feeling guilty at all! I still don’t feel guilty!” she snapped back, and then realized her voice was louder than she would have liked, because people were starting to look in her direction. She lowered her tone and said, “What I feel is used.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Don’t tell me that my feelings are ridiculous.”
Gleau sighed once more, as if the entire discussion had weari
ed him. “M’Ress . . . I had no idea you were so provincial. . . .”
“Provincial!”
“It’s understandable, I suppose, coming from another time . . .”
“I may be from another time, but it’s not Earth’s Victorian era, I can assure you of that,” she said. She was aware her fangs were out again, and this time she did nothing to pull them in. Gleau obviously noticed them, but said nothing, as M’Ress continued. “But in any time that any female comes from, she shouldn’t have to be concerned that a male is using some sort of undue, unfair influence on her.”
“There was nothing undue or unfair about it!” he protested. “We both enjoyed ourselves, and we were both happy. What does it matter how that came about?”
“It matters to me. And I don’t see why you can’t understand that.”
He sighed.
“If you sigh again,” she warned him, “I’m going to leap across this table and beat you senseless.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “All right . . . not a more provincial time, but certainly a more violent one, apparently.”
“It’s patronizing.”
He appeared to gather his thoughts and then, speaking very slowly and very clearly, as if he wanted to get everything on record, he said, “I did not intend to patronize you. I did not intend to ‘use’ you in any way. All I intended to do . . . indeed, all I thought I had done . . . was make you happy. If I failed in that endeavor, I most humbly and sincerely apologize.”
“I don’t want your apology.”
“Then what do you want?” He sounded exasperated.
“I . . .” She hesitated, because in truth she didn’t know. “I want not to feel the way that I do. I want not to feel as if I was manipulated against my will.”
“You weren’t.”
“You don’t know that! You said so yourself. Was that a lie? Did you, in fact, know what you were doing? Did you use the Knack on me? Rush me along when I might not ordinarily have gone?”
He looked down and started to sigh once more, but then caught himself before the sound completely emerged from his throat. She took a grim, amused pleasure from that.
“Probably,” he said. “As I said, I can’t know for sure, but if I had to guess—based upon your reactions, my gut instinct—I’d say probably, yes.”
She took that in, absorbing the information, trying to get a grip on the conflicting emotions within her. “I see,” was all she said.
He was clearly waiting for her to speak again, but she said nothing. Finally he ventured, “M’Ress . . . believe it or not, I’m glad we had this talk.”
“Oh, so am I.”
“And I’m glad we were able to settle this—”
“Settle?” She rose. “Nothing is settled, Gleau. This isn’t over. This is just beginning.” And with her tail twitching like a barely controlled whip, M’Ress turned and walked out of Ten Forward, leaving an extremely disconcerted and worried Gleau in her wake.
22
HOLOCONFERENCE
TSANA LOOKED AROUND the holodeck, her eyes wide. Already she had done things more amazing than any of her people . . . more than she had ever dreamt she would accomplish in her lifetime. She had moved among the stars. All right, perhaps technically not among them, but certainly being in orbit around her world counted for something. Neither her father nor mother nor any of her siblings had ever left the surface of their world, and yet here she was. Then the thought of her family, and what had happened to them, lodged itself in her mind, and it was all she could do to push it away without tears welling in her eyes. “Are you all right?”
Kalinda was standing next to her, looking down at her with obvious concern. Tsana managed a nod. Nevertheless Kalinda reached down, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. Tsana wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of it was, but it made her feel better for some reason.
“Thinking about your family?” asked Kalinda.
Tsana nodded, wide-eyed, wondering if Kalinda had been able to read her mind. “How did you know?”
“Because I think my face looks kind of like that when I think about my family,” she said. “If not for my brother, Si Cwan, I’m not sure what I’d do.”
“I don’t have a brother,” Tsana said softly, “and I’m still not sure what I should do.”
Kalinda squeezed her hand again. “You’ll think of something,” she said confidently.
Si Cwan then entered, deep in discussion with Calhoun and Burgoyne. They immediately saw Tsana there, and Burgoyne went right over to her while Cwan—more reserved—hung back. As for Calhoun, he seemed rather distant, having moved off to be by himself in a corner of the room. Tsana thought that was understandable. He was, after all, the captain, and doubtlessly had a great deal on his mind.
Burgoyne crouched so that s/he was on eye-level with her. “How are you, Zarn?” s/he asked politely.
“I am . . . well . . . although I’m not exactly used to being addressed in that manner,” she admitted. “I hear ‘Zarn,’ and my reflex is to look over my shoulder for my father.”
“I can appreciate that. I’ll be honest with you, Zarn . . . throughout history, people have found themselves thrust into leadership roles.”
“But I wasn’t ready for it.”
“No one ever really is, no matter how much they think they are. But you grow into it, by doing what you know to be right. I understand that matters have been somewhat . . . prickly . . . on your homeworld since Burkitt’s death.”
She nodded. “The Counselars have been somewhat in disarray. I have to say, that’s helped me a great deal. They seem anxious to listen to me, even if I am only ‘a child.’ ” She said the words with sufficient distaste, conveying volumes of annoyance in doing so.
Calhoun, seeming to stir from his introspective stance, called, “There’s an old Earth saying, ‘Out of the mouths of babes . . .’ ”
She stared at him. “Yes? What comes out of the mouths of babes?”
Calhoun blinked. “Actually, you know, I’m not sure. I’ve heard the saying a number of times, but no one ever seems to complete the sentence.” He looked hopefully at Si Cwan and Burgoyne. Both shrugged.
“Do I look like an old Earther?” Si Cwan inquired. “I would think that the only thing that comes out of the mouths of babes is drool.”
“Do I seem a drooling babe to you?” asked Tsana, sounding hurt.
Calhoun rubbed his brow in resignation. “No. You don’t. Never mind. Forget I brought it up.” He turned away once more, and for a moment Tsana felt guilty, as if she’d upset him somehow. Ultimately, though, she was more than happy to forget having brought it up. Then she allowed worry to flicker across her face once more. “We’re going to be meeting with the enemies of Aeron. Is your large security guard going to be here? I feel safer when he’s near.”
“He’ll be so flattered to hear that,” muttered Si Cwan. He sounded a bit cranky about it, although Tsana couldn’t understand why.
“Security guards aren’t necessary in this circumstance, Zarn,” Burgoyne assured her. “This is going to be a holoconference only. The other people will look real enough, but they’re simply representations. Furthermore, this is being broadcast to key members of the various governments: to your Counselars on Aeron, and to the Ruling Council of the Markanians. If you then need to confer with them privately, you can step into the adjoining room and do so.”
“You’ve thought of everything, Commander.”
Burgoyne tilted hir head slightly in acknowledgment. “I appreciate the vote of support, although it’s hard to think of everything. There’s always a chance that something has been overlooked. Hopefully not in this case, though.”
She cast a worried glance in Calhoun’s direction. “Is the captain all right?” she asked. “He seems very distracted.”
“Well . . .” Burgoyne looked at Calhoun once more, apparently to make sure he wasn’t listening, then lowered hir voice and said, “. . . truth be told, he’s been under a great deal of pressure lately. Not
only is there the usual strain of running a ship this size, but also I understand his new marriage—well . . . it hasn’t been going as well as he’d hoped. There’s been some . . .” S/he whispered the word, “. . . difficulties.”
“Difficulties?” echoed Tsana.
Burgoyne nodded, but then cheered up. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, though. I doubt he’ll let the strain show.”
For some reason, Tsana found this less than reassuring.
Burgoyne’s combadge beeped, and s/he tapped it. “ Burgoyne, go ahead.”
“Commander, this is Lefler,” came Robin’s voice. “ Trident signals ready. We can activate the holoconference on your signal.”
“Captain, we’re ready,” Burgoyne called over to Calhoun. Calhoun leveled his gaze at hir, and then simply nodded. “Bring ’em on-line, Lieutenant,” said Burgoyne.
Tsana had told herself she would be ready for it, but when other people simply snapped into existence in the room, she was nevertheless taken aback. On the opposite side of the room were two women wearing the same types of uniforms as Calhoun and Burgoyne. One woman was dark blonde, with a scar that reminded her of Calhoun’s, while the other was shorter, with lighter hair and an air of command about her. Standing in between them was a Markanian, and Tsana immediately tensed up. For just one moment, part of her wanted to flee deep into her own mind, to try and get as far away from that evil race as possible. But she knew that this Markanian, this leader of his people, would be watching her carefully for any sign of weakness. She was, after all, “only” a child, and he would not require much in the way of excuses to feel dismissive toward her.
“Captain Calhoun,” said the shorter woman quite formally.
“Captain Shelby,” replied Calhoun, facing her with his hands draped behind his back. “You know Commander Burgoyne, and Ambassadors Si Cwan and Kalinda. May I present Tsana, ruling Zarn of the Aeron.”
“Greetings,” said Tsana carefully.
“Greetings, Zarn,” Shelby said with a slight bow. “This is my first officer, Commander Mueller, and this is Ebozay, head of the Ruling Council of the Markanians.”