by Peter David
"And it can't be that every situation, you do whatever the hell you want. Nor can it be that you let your frustration get to you so quickly and so easily."
"I'm not frustrated," Calhoun said. "I simply know what I know. And what I know is that Nelkar seems off. I don't trust Laheera."
"Be that as it may, Mac . . . do you want to be a dictator? With your history, do you feel comfortable with that label?"
He smiled thinly. "You always know just what to say."
"Long practice." She sauntered toward him, stopping several feet away. "Look, Mac . . . for what it's worth, I respect your gut, your nose . . . all your instincts. But that has to be balanced against conducting ourselves in an orderly fashion. We're the only Starfleet vessel out here. We're here at a time of disarray. We have to stand for something, and we can't simply come in and throw our weight around. It's patronizing; don't you see that?"
"Yes, I see that. By the same token, should I deliberately allow people to go into a dangerous situation when I can prevent them from doing so?"
She was silent for a long moment. "You mean like with the captain of the Grissom?"
With a deep sigh, Calhoun told her, "Eppy . . . you know I admire you. Respect you. Still have deep feelings for you, as much as I hate to admit it . . . although certainly not romantic, God knows . . ."
"Of course not," she quickly agreed.
"But so help me, if you bring up the Grissom again, I may become violent."
"Really. Try it and I'll kick your ass. Sir.
" And he laughed. "You know . . . I'll bet you could, at that." But then he became serious again. "Very well, Commander. But this will be done on my terms."
"Your terms being . . . ?"
For reply, he tapped his comm unit. "Bridge . . . open a hailing frequency to the Nelkar ship. Pipe it down here."
Within moments Laheera was smiling at them in that beatific manner she had. "Greetings," she said. "Are you preparing to transport your charges over to our ship?"
"Actually," replied Calhoun, "I was anticipating that we would transport them ourselves, if it is all the same to you."
Shelby looked from Calhoun to Laheera, trying to get some hint of her state of mind. But if Laheera seemed at all disconcerted by Calhoun's statement, she did not give the slightest sign. "That would be perfectly acceptable. I will send you the coordinates for our homeworld. Laheera out."
When she blinked out, Shelby asked, "What about the Cambon? We can't haul it along at warp speed."
"We'll cut her loose and leave her here to drift until we come back for her," he said after a moment's thought. "Considering the condition she's in, I hardly think we have to worry about scavengers."
"Bridge to Captain Calhoun," came McHenry's voice.
"Calhoun here."
"Captain, we've gotten coordinates for Nelkar." He paused. "Were we expecting them?"
"Yes, we were. Warp five would get us there when, Mr. McHenry?"
"At warp five? Two hours, ten minutes, sir. They're not all that far."
Shelby commented, "Considering their own vessel isn't exactly the most advanced I've seen, I can't say I'm surprised. That still leaves us with one outstanding problem."
"Yes, I'm quite aware of that. McHenry, set course for Nelkar, warp five. Then have Mr. Boyajian patch me through to the Marquand. Let's make sure we're not leaving them in the lurch."
"You're making the right decision, sir," said Shelby.
"I'm so relieved that you approve, Commander." He grimaced. "My only problem is ... you know that unpleasant feeling I've got about the Nelkarites?"
"Yes?"
"Well . . . now I'm starting to get it about the Marquand and its rendezvous with the Kayven Ryin. I hope that wasn't a mistake as well."
"Captain, if you keep second-guessing your judgments, you're going to make yourself insane."
"Why, Commander . . . I thought you decided I was insane the day I broke off our engagement."
And with a contemptuous chuckle, she said, "Captain . . . I hate to inform you . . . but I broke it off. Not you." She strode out of the conference lounge, leaving an amused Calhoun shaking his head. But then the amusement slowly evaporated as the reality set in.
He didn't like the situation. Not at all.
For years he had basically been his own boss. He had answered to no one except, in a very distant manner, Admiral Nechayev. He had been bound by no rules except those of common sense, and made decisions that were answerable only to himself. It had been an extremely free manner in which to operate.
But now . . , now he had rules hanging over him whichever way he turned. He had operated under rules before, yes . . . but he had been the one making the rules. Back when he'd been a freedom fighter on his native Xenex, his wiles and craftiness had earned him the respect of those around him and they obeyed him. They obeyed him unthinkingly, unhesitatingly. Had he told them to throw themselves on their swords, they would have done so with the firm conviction that there was a damned good reason for it.
But that wasn't the case here. Yes, he was captain. Yes, he was obeyed. But that obedience came as a result of a long tradition and history that dictated that obedience. They answered to the rank, not to him. When it came to he himself, he could sense that there were still double-takes or second thoughts. His crew—Shelby in particular—gave thought to his orders, questioned him, challenged him. It irked him, angered him.
And yet . . . and yet . . .
Shouldn't that really please him? Shouldn't that be something that made him happy rather than disconcerted him? After all, he had lived in an environment where blind obedience was expected as a matter of course, and punished if not given. The Xenexians had lived under the thumb of the Danterians, and during that time the Danterians had not been exactly reluctant to show who was boss at any given moment. They had unhesitatingly used the Xenexians as their objects, their toys, their playthings to dispose of at a whim or exploit as they saw fit. Young M'k'n'zy of Calhoun had seen those activities and a cold fury had built within him. Built and built until it had exploded into rebellion, and through sheer force of will he had brought an entire race with him.
Yes, he had indeed seen firsthand the dangers of requiring unquestioned obedience. At the same time, he was frustrated that the same rules under which he oftentimes felt constricted were what guaranteed that his own people would do what he told them to. He wanted more than that.
Time, a voice in his head consoled him. These things required time. He had always been impatient, always wanted everything at whatever moment he wanted it. It was an attitude that had, in the past, stood him in good stead. When tribal elders had told him that someday, someday in the far future, the Xenexians would be free, young M'k'n'zy had not settled for that. "Someday" was too ephemeral, too useless a concept for him. He wanted "someday" to be right then and there. He would make his own "somedays."
He smiled at the absurdity of it all. Despite everything he'd gone through, everything he'd seen, there was still an impatient young Xenexian within him who did not understand the need for patience. A young Xenexian who wanted everything immediately, and who had no use whatsoever for " someday."
He tapped his comm badge. "Calhoun to Shelby."
"Shelby here," came the prompt reply.
"Have we been in communication with Kebron and Si Cwan?"
"Yes, sir. They, in turn, have spoken with the crew of the Kayven Ryin. Although they are in distress, there is no immediate danger to them. They report life-support systems are still on line. Kebron and Cwan intended to board the Kayven Ryin and lend whatever aid they can until we rendezvous with them."
"Very well. Best speed to Nelkar, then . . . on my order," he added as an afterthought.
"On your order, sir," she said. Then there was a pause. "Captain . . ."
"Yes, Commander?"
"We're waiting on your order."
He smiled to the empty room. "Yes. I know." He paused a moment longer, then said simply, "Now."
&
nbsp; "Now it is, sir."
It was a small pleasure, making them wait in anticipation of the order. Childish, perhaps. A juvenile reminder of who was in charge, but he found that it gave him amusement. And lately he'd had very little of that.
"Oh, and Commander," he said as an afterthought.
"Yes, sir."
"Just for your information: I broke it off. Calhoun out."
* * *
On the bridge of the Excalibur, Lefler turned in her seat and looked quizzically at Shelby. She noted that it seemed as if Shelby's chest were shaking in amusement. "He 'broke it off,' Commander?"
"So he claims, Lieutenant," replied Shelby.
From the science station, Soleta inquired, "Will he be needing someone to reattach it?"
And then she stared at Shelby in confusion as Shelby, unable to contain it anymore, laughed out loud.
SI CWAN
II.
ZORAN THOUGHT THAT HE Was going to go out of his mind.
He felt as if the damned shuttle craft had been hanging there forever, tantalizingly, frustratingly just out of reach. He had wanted to send multiple messages to it, telling them to get over to the ship immediately, that help was desperately needed, that they were going to die within seconds if immediate aid were not provided. But Rojam had cautioned against it. "They have their own instrumentation," he advised Zoran. "If we try to trick them, if we tell them there's immediate danger when there isn't, they'll be able to see through it."
"Maybe we should take that chance," Zoran urged.
"Then again, maybe we should not," fired back Rojam. "What should we say? That our engines are in danger of exploding? That our life-support systems are failing? These are not possibilities, because their own onboard readings will tell them that we're lying. And if they know that we're lying, then they're going to start to wonder what the truth is. And if they do that, then we have a major problem."
"Damn them!" snarled Zoran, pacing the room. His long and powerful legs carried him quickly around the perimeter, and his blue body armor clacked as he moved. His red face was darker than usual as he mused on the frustration facing him. "Si Cwan wasn't part of the plan, but now that he's here . . . damn him and damn them all!"
"Damning them isn't going to do a bit of g—" Rojam began to say. But then he stopped as a blinking light on the control panel caught his attention. "Incoming hail from the Marquand," he said.
"It's about time!" Zoran fairly shouted.
"Will you calm down?" Juif said in exasperation. "If we're in communication with them and Si Cwan hears your bellowing, that's going to be the end of that!"
With effort, Zoran brought himself under control as Rojam answered the hail. "We were beginning to wonder, Marquand."
"We needed to speak with the Excalibur," came the deep voice that they knew to be the passenger other than Si Cwan. "What is your present emergency status? How long can you survive aboard your vessel?"
Zoran was gesturing that Rojam should lie, but Rojam was quite certain that that was not the way to go. He believed in all the reasons that he'd put forward to Zoran, and there was one other element as well: If Si Cwan was aboard the Marquand, not all the hosts of hell would get him to depart without his sister at his side.
"Lie!" Zoran hissed in a very low voice. "They're going to leave if we don't!" And the way his fist was clenching and unclenching told Rojam a very disturbing truth: namely, that if answered the question from the Marquand accurately and then the shuttle craft turned and left for the mother ship, Rojam would very likely not live out the hour. Not given the mood that Zoran was presently in.
But he felt he had to trust his instincts, and on that basis, he said, "Life-support systems are presently holding together. Our main problem is in engineering; our propulsion systems are out. Our batteries are running down and we likely could not survive indefinitely, but for the very immediate future, the danger level is tolerable."
There was a silence that seemed infinitely long, and Rojam could practically hear his life span shortening. But then the voice said, 'This is the Marquand. With your permission, we will come aboard and give what aid we can, while we wait for the Excalibur to rendezvous with us. Will that be acceptable?"
"Yes. Absolutely acceptable," said Rojam, relief flooding through him. Behind him he could sense Zoran nodding in approval.
"Just one thing . . . ?"
"Yes, Marquand?"
"Please put the passenger called Kalinda on with us. Her brother would like to speak with her."
"Uhm . . ." Suddenly sweat began to beat on Rojam's crimson forehead, his grimacing white teeth standing out in stark relief to his face. "Just a moment, please." He switched off the comm channel and then turned to Zoran. "Now what?"
"Now?" Zoran smiled. "Now . . . we give them what they asked for."
Si Cwan stared in confusion at Zak Kebron. "Why did you ask them to put Kalinda on?"
"Because," Kebron said slowly and deliberately— which was more or less how he said everything—"I am being cautious. It's my job to watch out for everyone on board the Excalibur. That even includes those who have no business being there at all."
"I appreciate the thought."
"Don't. As noted: It's my job." He paused. "Would you know your sister's voice if you heard it?"
"Of course." He waited for a response, but none seemed to be immediately in evidence. Concern began to grow within him. "You don't think there's a problem."
"I always think there's a problem," replied Kebron. "It saves time. And lives." He checked his instruments. "Their life-support appears stable. Pity. If they had lied about that, I would have known that there was something wrong. Perhaps it is a more subtle trap."
"Or perhaps they're truly in distress. But then . . . why hasn't Kalinda come on—?" It was a disturbing thought. He had simply taken for granted that his sister was truly a passenger on the science vessel. The notion that she might not be was agonizing for him. To have his hopes raised and then dashed in such a manner . . .
But even more disturbing, he realized, was the concept that he had not questioned it for one moment. One did not acquire or maintain power by being easily duped. Had he let his love for his sister, his desire to try and reconstruct some semblance of his former life, completely blind him to all caution? That was a very, very dangerous mind-set to have.
And then a girlish voice came over the comm system. "Si Cwan?" it said.
Si Cwan came close to knocking Kebron aside— or as close as one can come to budging someone who is essentially a walking mountain of granite. "Kally?" he practically shouted.
"Si Cwan, is that you?"
"Yes . . . yes it is . . . Kally, everything is going to be all right . . ."
"I'm so glad to hear your voice, Si Cwan . . ."
Si Cwan felt himself choking with relief, but then Kebron said in a sharp whisper, "Ask her something only she would know."
"What?" He seemed to have trouble focusing, which of course bugged the hell out of Kebron.
"Something only she would know," he repeated. Slowly, Si Cwan nodded. "Kally . . . remember that time? That time shortly before we had to leave? Remember that? When I said that I would always be there for you? Remember, when we spoke at our special place?"
There was a short hesitation, one that made Si Cwan wonder ever so briefly, and then her voice said, "You mean that time by the Fire Falls? That?"
He closed his eyes and nodded. Kalinda, meanwhile, naturally couldn't see him as she continued, "Si Cwan? Is that what you're talking about?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Why did you want to know about that?"
"Just being careful. You understand. These days, we can't be too careful." He looked triumphantly at Kebron, who merely grunted and edged the ship forward toward the Kayven Ryin.
"Okay, Si Cwan . . . whatever you say."
"We'll be there in a few minutes, Kally. Don't worry. We'll be right along."
"Okay, Si Cwan. I'll see you soon." And the connection brok
e off.
And the moment that happened, Kebron brought the ship to a dead halt in space. Si Cwan was immediately aware of it. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
Zak Kebron turned in his chair. "I don't like it." "What?"
"I said I don't like it."
Si Cwan appeared ready to explode. His body was trembling with repressed fury. "Now, you listen to me," he said sharply. "I know what this is about."
"Do you," asked Kebron, unimpressed by Si Cwan's ire.
"It's not enough that you continue to resent me, or deny my right to be aboard the Excalibur. But now . . . now you'd hurt a young girl whom you've never met . . . who's never done anything to you . . ."
"It must be nice to be a prince," Kebron said evenly, "and know everything there is to know about everything." Then he glanced at the control board. "They're hailing us."
"Of course they are! They're wondering what's happening." Si Cwan came around his seat and confronted Kebron, fury building. "They have no idea that a resentful Brikar is endeavoring to make my life impossible!"
Kebron ignored him, instead bringing the hail on line. He began to say, "Marquand here," but he wasn't even able to get that much about before an upset voice said, with no preamble, "Why are you backing off?"
"We are returning to our vessel," Kebron said flatly. "A situation has come to our attention. Marquand out." And with that he severed the connection.
"What are you hoping to accomplish?" demanded Si Cwan.
"Merely being cautious."
"The hell you are. This is all part of your attempt to upset me, to interfere with—"
Unperturbed, the Brikar cut him off with a terse "This solar system, like all others, does not revolve around you. I do not like that she severed communications with us. If I were a young woman, connecting with my brother who might have been dead for all I knew, I would keep talking to him until he was aboard. I wouldn't shut down the connection, as if I were afraid he might figure out that I was an impostor."