by Peter David
“Yes, I . . . wished to speak to you about the young Zarn.”
He frowned. “Is there a problem?”
“There . . . may be, yes, sir.”
He waited for her to tell him what it was, but she simply stood there. Deciding prompting was obviously required, he said, “Well? Are you going to share it?”
Soleta let out an unsteady breath. “Captain, as you know, Tsana was quite . . . withdrawn . . . when she came to us. Her situation was rather dire. Dr. Selar utilized the Vulcan mind-meld, and even that was insufficient. It even prompted something of an emergency situation when the Doctor was unable to break off her meld. I, in turn, stepped in and aided in Tsana’s restoration.”
“All right. I’m following you so far, but I’m not exactly seeing a downside.”
“The downside, Captain,” she said, “is that it is not customary to perform a mind-meld with one so young. And certainly not with one who is not Vulcan. A youthful mind is a very impressionable thing. Furthermore, the mind that Dr. Selar and I found when we probed was—to all intents and purposes—shattered. The proper thing to do would have been to spend months slowly, carefully, endeavoring to reconstitute it. Instead, because of the exigency of the situation—particularly in regard to Dr. Selar’s own difficulties—I was forced to . . .”
“To what?” Calhoun was starting to feel a bit apprehensive.
“To cut corners, in essence.”
“Cut . . . what corners? What are you talking about specifically, Soleta?” He had never seen her looking quite as uncomfortable as she was right then.
“It . . . is difficult to describe for someone who does not possess such capabilities himself. Even Dr. Selar would not fully understand; she was unaware when it was happening. I believe she was simply relieved to be out of her predicament, and was not considering the matter too closely. The simplest way to describe it is to say that the force of my involvement, my insertion into her mind, may very well have had long-term and permanent effects on her.”
Apprehension was turning into frustration. “I’m not following, Soleta,” Calhoun said impatiently. “What sort of . . . ?” But then, suddenly, he understood. “Wait . . . effects such as, say, a young girl speaking with a savvy and wisdom far beyond her years?”
“Something like that, yes,” admitted Soleta.
“That girl,” Calhoun said, pointing toward the door as if Tsana were standing on the other side, “during the holomeeting, expressed herself with such confidence and perception that I would have sworn I was standing next to an adult. Except I wasn’t. I was standing next to a miniature version of you.”
“Not me precisely, Captain,” she corrected, sounding a bit defensive. “I haven’t taken possession of her mind or laid my own personality over hers, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Right now I’m not sure what I’m thinking, Lieutenant.”
“I’m saying I had a sort of . . . ‘influence’ over her. She has some of my maturity, perhaps some aspects of myself, mixed in with her own. It will affect her higher reasoning faculties, most likely. She’s not damaged—”
“Not damaged!” He was appalled. “You’re telling me that you essentially robbed her of her childhood!”
Her face hard, Soleta said, “No, sir. The Markanian raiders did that. I salvaged what was left in the best way that I was able to. I will accept responsibility for the changes I may have inadvertently made on her thought processes and personality, but I will not take the blame for the ruination of her life.”
Calhoun let out a long, heavily burdened moan, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he did so. “No one is trying to blame you for the ruination of anything, Soleta. The question is, can it be fixed?”
“Fixed?”
“Fixed. Repaired. Made the way it was. Is it possible to remove whatever ‘influence’ you might have left upon her?”
“Possible? Yes. But it would have to be done on Vulcan, under the care of Meld Masters. It would take time. Two, maybe three—”
“Weeks?”
“Years.”
Calhoun moaned again. Suddenly he was missing Shelby more and more. Something about her presence had prompted him to be more stoic, less openly bothered by things that went horrifically wrong. Things like this.
“I . . . am sorry, Captain,” Soleta said, looking down. “I have failed you.”
“Nooo, you haven’t failed me, Soleta,” he said. He reached over to pat her shoulder, but she gave him a look that prompted him to, at the last moment, smooth down his hair instead. “You did the best you could, and you gave her some sort of life . . . more than she had before. Perhaps . . . you gave her what she needed in order to survive,” he admitted. “Hopefully she’ll grow into the mind that you’ve provided her.”
“Nevertheless . . . I am sorry, Captain.”
“But you’re apologizing to me rather than her.”
“Because I feel a responsibility to you as my commanding officer to tell you what I suspect happened. But if you feel I should tell her what happened, I will.”
Calhoun considered it for a long moment, sensing an indefinable weight upon him. Finally he said, “No. Don’t tell her.”
“No?”
“For better or for worse, Soleta, she’s their leader now. A leader must know his or her own mind . . . must never doubt. If we give her reason to doubt her own mind, we’re doing her no favor at all. We’re hampering her ability to do what needs to be done. She could end up going through her entire life never being certain of anything. What sort of life is that for her, and for her people? No,” he said, suddenly feeling much older than he had minutes before, “for better or for worse, Tsana is now who she is. Fortunately, Soleta . . . you’re a good person. If anyone’s going to have had an influence on her, at least it’s someone who’s honest, and trustworthy, and isn’t wrestling with inner demons or frustrations.”
It was all Soleta—secretly half-Vulcan, half-Romulan, the product of a brutal rape, with a deep, burning resentment against her dead Romulan father that could never be resolved—could do to keep her face utterly neutral. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Captain. I appreciate it very much. And I’m sure that Tsana would appreciate it as well.”
25
TRIDENT
SMYT’S EYES NARROWED as she saw the furred being peering in through the forcefield door of the brig. She was already feeling somewhat out of sorts, being forced into a position where she felt as if she were on display. On the one hand, this was not going at all the way she had hoped. On the other hand, much of what was occurring had been exactly as the giant had described. That being the case, she was well on her way to finally getting home. She supposed that it would be ungrateful of her to resent the manner in which it was happening, but she did nevertheless. They had no security guards on the other side of the brig, since technically she wasn’t a prisoner. She could come and go as she pleased; all she had to do was use the com device they’d given her to summon a guard to shut down the forcefield and allow her to leave. Smyt suspected, though, that their intent was to deprive her of any company, make her feel lonely so that she might give in and let them take the Gateway off her hands . . . at which point, they would do who-knew-what with it? No, no, she was going to continue to hold onto it for as long as it took.
But who, then, was this . . . female, it looked like. A female with pointed ears and soft orange fur. “Can I help you?” asked Smyt with exaggerated politeness.
The furred female seemed to be considering the casual question very carefully. Finally she said, “My name is M’Ress. I’m a scientist.”
“How wonderful for you,” Smyt said with only slightly exaggerated lack of interest. “My name is Smyt. I’m a hostage to science.” When M’Ress tilted her head in curiosity at that, she said, “In answer to your unspoken question, yes, this is a Gateway. I’m sure you’ve heard all about it. . . .”
“I’ve gone through one.”
This was more than enough to snare Smyt’s fu
ll attention. She’d been sitting in a very relaxed fashion, but now she stood and approached M’Ress with open assessment. “Have you indeed?”
She nodded. “But it didn’t just move me through space. It moved me through space and time.”
Inwardly, Smyt felt as if her heart had just stopped. It was everything she could do to maintain her outer cool, as if what M’Ress had just told her was the most routine thing in the galaxy. “Oh, yes,” she said blithely. “They’ll do that.”
“They will?” M’Ress took a step forward, stopping just short of the force barrier that blocked the front of the brig.
“Of course they will. Any time, any place.”
“Can . . .” M’Ress’s gaze flickered toward the small crate in the corner of the room. “Can . . . that one?”
“Ahhhh,” said Smyt, and then she lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, implying a greater sense of confidentiality between the two. “You want to know if I can use this Gateway . . . to transport you back to where you came from.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I’d have to be fairly stupid not to realize that’s what you were wondering about.”
Her eyes wide . . . quite captivating, really . . . M’Ress whispered, “Can it?”
“No.”
At that, M’Ress was visibly crestfallen, as Smyt knew she would be. She paused to let the statement sink in, and then she said softly, “However . . . it’s possible I can locate one that can.”
M’Ress was all eagerness. There was nothing in the female, Smyt realized, that had the slightest artifice. Or if there was, she certainly wasn’t displaying it now. She was nothing at the moment except a sample of living, breathing, walking need. Her tail twitching furiously, she said, “Where? How can you locate it? Can you take me to it?”
“All things are possible,” Smyt said mysteriously. “If I do endeavor to help you, though . . . you have to help me.”
“How?” But then, very quickly, as if she suddenly remembered something, M’Ress’s expression darkened, and she said, “Whatever it is, it can’t be anything that would compromise this vessel or put anyone in danger. That is simply not an option.”
“Already you’re setting limits.”
“Better to do so now,” said M’Ress, “and avoid misunderstanding, rather than keep my peace and encourage it.”
“All right. Fair enough,” Smyt told her approvingly. “Then let us get this much understood, to start out. We’ll be approaching this beloved Sinqay quite soon. I feel as if I am surrounded by enemies, or at the very least, by people who have interests other than my own at heart. I want someone there whose interests in some way overlap with my own. That would be you. When we reach the planet, make certain that you are part of the group that goes to the surface. That way if I have need of your aid, you will be right at hand.”
M’Ress nodded. “I believe that can be arranged.”
“That’s not going to happen, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Commander Gleau, his polite and cheery smile never wavering, strode briskly down the hall. M’Ress, however, was the faster of the two, and she was able to keep pace with him quite effortlessly, looking as if she were gliding across the floor. “I have confidence in you, sir. You can make it happen. If there’s a landing party—”
“A what? Oh . . . an away team, yes. If there’s an away team, M’Ress, and a representative of the science department is required, that person will naturally be me. Hello.” He smiled and nodded to a yeoman passing by. She smiled back.
It made M’Ress’s skin crawl, caused her fur to stand on end. But she fought to maintain her concentration on the issue at hand.
“And what if there’s a Gateway down there?”
He stopped and looked at her blankly. “What an odd question. Do you have reason to believe there might be?”
“It’s . . . possible.”
“Oh, I suppose it’s poss ible, yes. And it’s poss ible that I may open my mouth and a flock of trained pelicans will fly out. But I don’t think it terribly likely, do you?”
“I just . . . have a hunch about it, Gleau. I’m asking you to let me pursue that hunch.”
“M’Ress,” said Gleau patiently, “I understand.” He stopped walking and turned to face her.
“You do?”
“You’re anxious to prove yourself. Anxious to thrust yourself into the midst of potential danger. But you’re too new—”
“I’ve been speaking with Smyt,” M’Ress said abruptly.
That caught Gleau’s attention, and he looked at her with a new sense of urgency. “The female with the Gateway?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“The workings of the device.”
His expression dissolved into one of faint disapproval. Some part of M’Ress was utterly mortified that he was in any way upset with her. But another part reminded her that her desire to please him was very likely not her own. “And you did not share what you learned with me . . . why?”
“Because she didn’t really tell me anything. But I think I established a degree of trust. My presence on the away team would be, at this point, more valuable than yours.”
“Your input is duly noted, Lieutenant. I’ll take that under advisement.”
He started to walk away, and M’Ress said, more forcefully, “I’d take it under a bit more than that if I were you.”
The Elf stiffened and he stopped, turned, and walked slowly back to M’Ress. “What, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?” His tone was as gentle and soothing as ever, but there was something else there . . . warning, perhaps? Or maybe . . . fear?
“I think you know what it means.” Her every instinct was now telling her to move away from him, and she did exactly as her instincts said. She turned her back and started to head off down the hallway.
Immediately he was alongside her, giving a fairly hearty—and false-sounding—laugh. “M’Ress,” he said, “are you threatening me?”
“No, Gleau, I’m walking away from you. Why, am I walking in too menacing a manner for you? How do you want me to walk? Or perhaps you can simply use the Knack and make me walk the way you wish.”
“I knew it. This is about that, isn’t it?”
“It’s about me walking, Gleau. That’s all.”
“It’s not.” He stepped around her to face her, and now she could see it without question: He was definitely nervous. There was sweat forming on his upper lip. It made her feel a surge of validation. “You’re hinting that you’re going to go to Captain Shelby and say . . . I don’t know what. Twist our time together into something that it wasn’t.”
“Something it wasn’t? Such as . . . what? Genuine?”
“You can’t threaten me, M’Ress.”
“I’m not threatening you, Gleau,” and then she smiled, baring her fangs slightly. “But you feel threatened by me, don’t you? You don’t know my mind. You’re uncertain of yourself around me. Well, congratulations, Lieutenant,” she laughed bitterly, her cat eyes burning with quiet vengeance. “You now have the slightest inkling of what it feels like for me. And if—”
Gleau’s combadge abruptly beeped. “Gleau here,” he said, not making eye contact with M’Ress.
“Mueller here. Your presence is required on the bridge, Mr. Gleau.”
“On my way,” said Gleau. He turned and faced M’Ress once more, pointing at her and saying, “We’ll discuss this in more detail later.”
“Not if you’re fortunate,” said M’Ress. And as Gleau headed off toward the turbolift looking unmistakably shaken, M’Ress could not help but emit a soft, and rather genuine purr.
26
ABOVE SINQAY
THERE WAS A DEATHLY silence on the bridge of the Excalibur after Soleta made her pronouncement. All eyes were upon Calhoun, and Calhoun in turn was staring at the planet over which they were in orbit . . . the planet that had once been the home of a race so fervent in their love for the world that the members of
that race had been willing to destroy each other for it. “Are you sure?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“Positive, Captain.”
“Kebron, get me the Trident on the horn.” Calhoun had no need of sensors or any other such devices to ascertain whether the other starship was in the vicinity. He could see it on the other side of the planet, orbiting in perfect synchronization with the Excalibur.
For once, even Kebron didn’t seem inclined to be flip. Moments later, the image of the planet on the viewscreen had been replaced by the concerned face of Captain Shelby. Calhoun knew, without even asking, that she had discerned the same facts that he had. Without even bothering to ask if that was the case, he said simply, “Have you told him yet?”
She shook her head. “And you? Have you informed the Zarn?”
“No, I haven’t. I don’t exactly see how we can’t, though.”
“I tend to agree. I’ll inform Ebozay of the current situa—”
“No,” Calhoun said abruptly.
From the viewscreen, Shelby stared at him uncomprehendingly. Even the other members of the bridge crew seemed puzzled. “ ‘No’? Mac, we just agreed we have to tell them. We can’t just pretend we forgot we were coming here.”
“I didn’t say we should, Elizabeth. But I think it would simply be best . . . if we beamed down.”
“Without giving them warning . . . ?” And then she understood. “Without giving them warning,” she repeated, this time with full comprehension.
“Exactly, yes.”
“You realize that it could be rather . . . traumatic.”
One word rolled off Mackenzie Calhoun’s lips, and it was every bit as harsh as he intended it to be:
“Good.”
There was a contemplative silence on the bridge of the Trident for a long moment after the communication ended, and then, very softly, very thoughtfully, Shelby said, “Mueller, would you be so kind as to locate Ebozay and bring him up to speed with . . . as much as we wish him to know at this point?”