Gateways #6: Cold Wars

by Peter David

  Arex sagged against M’Ress, exhausted but laughing in his high-pitched voice. “Great going!” he managed to get out. “Great going, M’Ress . . .”

  “I didn’t do it,” she replied.

  “What—?”

  “I said, I didn’t do it. I wasn’t touching anything when it shut down. I was too busy holding on to you.”

  “Well . . . well, maybe something you pushed took a while to work . . .”

  “No. No, I don’t think so.” She had untangled herself from Arex and was studying the controls again. Then she looked across the way and saw that Soleta was looking at the other set of controls. Naturally Soleta didn’t allow any emotion, such as triumph or self-satisfaction, to cross her face, so M’Ress called to her, “Did you—?”

  But Soleta shook her head. “No. I was at least two minutes away from working out the basic configurations. It is a rather diabolical device when one studies it closely. Particularly if certain command sequences are—”

  “Okay, fine,” M’Ress cut her off, then immediately regretted sounding so brusque.

  Soleta raised an eyebrow in response, but said nothing. Instead she was focusing her attention on the console. “As near as I can determine,” she said after a moment, “the shutdown came from an outside source. The power source of these devices is still undetermined, but whatever that source is, it appears to have been severed from the Gateways themselves. Captain . . .” and she turned to address Calhoun.

  No response was forthcoming.

  “Captain?” she said again, and then, “Si Cwan . . . Kebron . . .”

  “Right here,” came the voice of the Thallonian ambassador. She turned and saw that Cwan and Kebron were in the midst of extricating themselves from debris that had fallen on them.

  “Are you all right?” she inquired.

  “I’ve seen better days,” admitted Si Cwan, who appeared somewhat banged up.

  “Where’s the captain?” Kebron asked.

  “That seems to be the question of the moment,” Soleta told him.

  Suddenly getting a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach, M’Ress suddenly called, “Captain Shelby!”

  The lack of response hung there in the stillness of Sinqay’s air. Attempts to reach them via combadges produced no response. For a moment, no one said anything.

  “Kebron,” Soleta said slowly, “notify the Excalibur . . . that captains Calhoun and Shelby are missing in action.”

  “All right,” replied Kebron, adding mordantly, “but if you think I’m going to attend another funeral for Captain Calhoun, you can just forget it.”

  28

  SOMEWHERE

  CALHOUN HAD NEVER, in his entire life, felt as cold as he did at that moment. When he had first been spat out of the vortex, it had been like being hit with a thousand needles all at one time. He had almost been paralyzed right then and there, lying on the snow-covered ground, the terrifyingly cold winds hammering through him. The sky above was a pure white haze, and when flakes were propelled across his face, they scored like tiny whips. It was like being trapped inside a snow globe. He had absolutely no idea how long he lay there, but he knew that he just wanted to keep lying there, because fighting against the fury of the cold around him was simply impossible.

  But when his mind wandered over that word—impossible—it was enough to motivate him to stand. It took a hideously long time for the command from his brain (Stand up! Stand up, dammit!) to reach the rest of his body, and he felt as if he were observing himself from a very great distance as he did so, as if he were inside and outside of himself all at the same time.

  Impossible . . . unacceptable . . . impossible . . . unacceptable . . . he kept saying the two words to himself in his mind, saying them so quickly that the two words became linked. No matter how many times one part of his brain—the logic side, no doubt—kept telling him that what he was facing was impossible, just as quickly another part of him assured him that to believe something was impossible was simply unacceptable.

  He staggered to his feet, only to have his boots sink into the snow. He felt no ground beneath; instead, all there was was more packed-in snow, frozen solid. He stood there for a moment, trying to breathe, but every inhalation was more stinging to his lungs. Grozit, what the hell am I going to do? If I can’t even breathe, it’s impossible to—

  Impossible . . . unacceptable . . .

  The events on Sinqay were still a blur to him. He was not at all sure what had happened. All he could remember was that massive energy vortex forming in the air, and then the Iconians were hauled into it, and moments later he saw Eppy being yanked through the air as well, and he’d leaped for her and . . .

  . . . and . . .

  His bewildered mind suddenly sorted it all out, and even though the very act of inhalation was painful to him, he nevertheless shouted, “Eppppyyyyy!” as loudly as he could. He had no idea which way she might possibly be, or even if she was there at all, but despite the agony in his lungs, he called her name a second time, and a third. Snow was starting to whip around him, although he couldn’t tell if more was falling or if what was already on the ground was being stirred about.

  Then he thought he heard his name being called in response, but he couldn’t be sure. It might be the wind playing tricks on him. It might even be self-delusion, or—

  “Maaaaac!”

  No. No illusion, no confusion . . . it was her. At first he couldn’t tell what direction her cry was coming from, but then he heard it a second time, and he saw her in the distance. She was standing at the top of a snowbank, her arms wrapped around herself. It was a ludicrous gesture, as if such a thing could conceivably give her any protection, but it was a natural thing for her to do. She looked terrible, her hair already frosted, her lips turning blue, and she was shivering. Of course, Calhoun doubted that he himself looked any better.

  There was someone standing next to her. Calhoun tried to shield his eyes against the snow, and then was able to make out that it was the Markanian . . . what was his name? Ebozay, that was it. He was standing next to her, and he didn’t appear to be in much better shape than she was. He was hunched over, as if the wind and cold were literally beating him down. It might have been, Calhoun realized, that the Markanians simply didn’t do well with cold. On the other hand, it could also be that the material of which Starfleet uniforms were made provided somewhat better allpurpose insulation. But their uniforms were certainly not designed to tolerate this level of exposure.

  Shelby was starting to shout something to him, indicating that he should come toward them. Calhoun did so, and as he did, Shelby and Ebozay started to move toward Calhoun at the same time.

  And then they vanished.

  Calhoun couldn’t believe it. At first he thought that they had simply been some sort of illusion, a creation of his fevered imagining. Except . . . why in the world would he have been imagining Ebozay? Shelby, yes, but the Markanian? It made no sense. And as he considered that, the wind finally carried the sound of crashing toward him, like something collapsing. Instantly he realized what had happened: Shelby and Ebozay had fallen into some sort of snow-andice-filled pit.

  Instantly Calhoun was running as best he could. He leaped, staggering, swaying, fell flat on his face, only to stagger to his feet once more. He was breathing as shallowly as possible, so as not to create even more agony in his lungs than was already there. It felt to him that he was taking forever to get there; it had seemed a relatively short distance to cover, but that had been wishful thinking. Instead the distance seemed to grow and grow and, like Zeno’s Paradox, he was starting to wonder if he was ever going to get there.

  Then, before he knew it, he sensed a sudden downward angle in the ground just ahead, and he skidded to a halt. Air was rushing up at him, snow swirling about even more fiercely, and quickly he amended his original assessment. It wasn’t a pit; it was some sort of ravine, crusted over with a thin layer of snow that effectively hid it and practically made it a death trap.

  He
peered cautiously over the edge, and let out a mournful sob. There was an outside chance he might have started to cry, but he contained himself, because, naturally, his tears would have frozen on his cheeks.

  The ravine wasn’t really all that deep . . . not more than seven, perhaps eight feet. If Shelby or Ebozay were standing, and Calhoun leaning over, he could actually manage to haul them up without any sort of additional implements. But they were not standing. Instead they were lying at the bottom of the ravine, both unmoving. Calhoun could see at a glance that Ebozay was dead. It was not the frost or snow or subzero arctic weather. He had simply fallen badly. He was upside down, his neck twisted in one direction, his back in another. Unless he had no bones at all, there was no possible way that he could be alive. Luckily for him, his death had likely been instantaneous. Look at everything he missed, Calhoun thought grimly and without amusement.

  Shelby was a different story. She also appeared to be in bad shape, but she wasn’t lying in such a way as to indicate that she was automatically dead. Snow, however, was falling on her face with no protest from her, and her eyelids were starting to frost closed. Calhoun wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. He could climb down there after her, but he doubted he’d be able to find the strength or purchase to clamber back up. Nor was there anything remotely approaching shelter down there.

  “Eppy!” he shouted down to her. “Eppy! Eppy, come on, wake up! It’s me! It’s Mac!”

  Nothing.

  “Eppy! Dammit, wake up! You’ve got to!”

  Still nothing.

  Desperate, his mind racing, he suddenly shouted, “Eppy! It’s the Borg! It’s the Borg, Eppy! They’re coming! We’ve got to get away!”

  From below, there was a soft moan. Through cracked and blue lips, she murmured. “B . . . B . . . Borg . . . ?”

  He stifled his desire to shout out in joy, and instead called, “Yes! The Borg! And you’re needed up on the bridge, Eppy! No time to be lying around! Let’s go, let’s go!” He was lying flat on his stomach, and he was sure he was starting to lose all feeling in his hands.

  “Up on . . . bridge . . .”

  “Yes, that’s right!”

  Slowly, incredibly, impossibly, Shelby sat up. Her eyebrows were thick with frost, her eyes barely open, and when she stood, she swayed as if she were a windsock. “Up here! Let’s go!” shouted Calhoun to her, his hand extended.

  “Up . . . there?” Clearly she didn’t understand.

  “Up here, yes. Turbolift’s broken.”

  “Oh.” Remarkably, that seemed to be enough for her, and she extended a hand up toward him. But then the strength started to go from her legs, and she almost collapsed. Seeing that she was starting to fall again, Calhoun lunged, hanging dangerously forward over the edge of the ravine, and snagged her by the wrist. He tried to haul her up. She was a deadweight. At the angle he was lying, sapped of strength as he was, there was simply no way he was going to be able to pull her up.

  “Eppy, you’ve got to help me here! I can’t do this alone!”

  “Help . . . you?” she said thickly.

  “Come on, Eppy! Damn it, I’d accept this from a first officer, but you’re a captain now! Now do your duty and get up here!”

  She blinked, still standing on her toes, arm oustretched, and then her vision seemed to lock on to him. “M-Mac . . . ?” she managed to get out.

  “Yes!”

  “Mac!” At least for the moment, her mind was clear, and she realized where she was and what was happening. “Oh . . . God, it’s cold—!”

  “I know! Now get up here!”

  She brought up her other hand and he grabbed it as well. Within moments, not only was he pulling her, but she was pushing with the toes of her boots, shoving against the frozen wall of the small ravine. They did not speak, merely grunted with the exertion, and finally she was on the snow next to him, gasping and moaning.

  “Calhoun . . . I’ve gotta say . . . this is the crappiest honeymoon . . . ever . . .”

  He actually started to laugh, until the sudden exertion caused another stabbing in his chest. He got to his knees, and then he saw just how banged up she was. There were vicious bruises and cuts on the side of her head where she’d been hurt in the fall. He wondered how long she was going to be able to keep going . . . how long either of them would be able to.

  “Ebozay . . . he was with me . . . he—”

  “He’s still down there. He’s dead,” said Calhoun, seeing no reason to sugarcoat anything at this point.

  She nodded grimly. “We’re next,” she rasped out.

  That was when they heard something. It was a sound like something charging up and then discharging energy. It was coming from just over a rise that seemed to be within distance.

  “Come on,” said Calhoun, for really, they had nothing left to lose.

  They staggered, they stumbled, they fell, and this time when Calhoun stood up, Shelby was unable to move. She was whispering, and Calhoun put an ear to her mouth. “Too . . . dizzy . . .” he heard her say. “Too . . . tired . . . just . . . rest here for a few minutes . . .” Now he saw that there was blood dried just under her hairline. She’d probably have been bleeding a lot more if the arctic wind hadn’t frozen it.

  “Like hell,” he grunted, and he hauled her to her feet. But she couldn’t stay on them, and finally Calhoun lifted her up in his arms, cradling her.

  She looked at him with an expression that was nearly one of disgust. “Typical . . . soooo typical . . . always have to . . . show off . . .” Then her head slumped back. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse slowing, and Calhoun didn’t even bother to call her name because if she was going to die, better that it happen peacefully while she was asleep.

  He trudged forward, battling for every foot of distance, and it seemed to him as if he were making no headway at all. And then suddenly, just like that, he was at the top of the rise, and what he saw absolutely stunned him.

  It was a Gateway, throbbing with power, utterly untouched by the snow and ice that covered every other square inch of the planet’s surface. It was triangular in shape, and there appeared to be some sort of runic lettering upon it, but it was in a language that he had absolutely no familiarity with.

  Lying directly in front of the Gateway were the two Iconians. Calhoun had been looking forward to questioning them closely about everything they knew, but as he staggered forward with the insensate Shelby in his arms, he quickly realized that he wasn’t going to have that chance. The female Smyt was lying there, eyes to the white sky, unmoving, unbreathing, frozen to death. A couple of feet away was the male Smyt, and he was flat on his stomach. He was likewise dead.

  Why didn’t they go through this Gateway? Calhoun wondered, bewildered. Then the answer came to him: It hadn’t been activated for some reason. But it was certainly functioning now, the power rolling around within. The entire thing seemed to reek of age, and technologies that were far beyond anything Calhoun could possibly have conceived of.

  That was when he realized that there were words in the icy surface just in front of the male Smyt. He had managed to make just enough of an indentation in it that—for a few minutes at least, before the snow filled it in—it was legible.

  GIANT LIED

  Giant Lied? The phrase meant nothing to Calhoun. What giant? What had he lied about? To whom? Was that it? Was that the only explanation he was going to get from the Iconians and their involvement in the strife between the Markanians and the Aerons? It didn’t seem right.

  At that moment, though, there was no more time to ponder the cosmic rightness or wrongness of events anymore. Calhoun was crouched in front of the Gateway, Shelby in his arms, and he couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. No mist was coming out of her mouth, her eyes were not fluttering behind the lids. She might already be dead, Calhoun himself was barely alive, and although a great unknown sat in front of them, he had absolutely no options in the matter. Sometimes you just don’t get to choose where you’re going to wind up, he thought
grimly.

  And with that final, bleak acknowledgement of an unfortunate reality, Calhoun, with Shelby in tow, stepped through the Gateway, not knowing what lay beyond.

  To Be Continued In . . .

  STAR TREK: WHAT LAY BEYOND

  Coming in November

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  Enterprise: The First Adventure • Vonda N. McIntyre

  Strangers From the Sky • Margaret Wander Bonanno

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