Star Trek: New Frontier: Books 1-4

by Peter David

  "She's dead, you idiot!"

  The words lanced through Si Cwan's heart, chilled his soul. He didn't even realize that he was wavering slightly until he felt Kebron's hand on his arm, steadying him. His red face became dark crimson, as it was wont to do when he was truly upset. He was gripping the comm unit they'd lifted off the fallen Thallonian, gripping it so tightly that he was on the verge of breaking it.

  "Si Cwan... calm down," Kebron said forcefully. "I need you calm. They're trying to make you angry. Anger will put you at risk. At the very least, it will make you less useful to me."

  It was impossible to tell whether Si Cwan heard him or not. He snarled into the comm unit, "You're lying! You're lying!"

  There was no response and he shook the comm unit furiously until Kebron forcibly pried it out of his hands, even as he said, "You're wasting your time. He's not responding."

  Si Cwan spun to face the Brikar, and there was murder in his eyes. Kebron had felt mostly disdain for Si Cwan since they'd met. Disdain, annoyance, anger. Never, however, had he felt the least bit intimidated. The Brikar, with their massive build and the confidence that came from having as sturdy hide as they did, tended to make them rather hard to scare. When Kebron looked into Si Cwan's eyes at that moment, however, he was not exactly scared. But he knew beyond any question that he would most definitely not want to be this Zoran individual.

  "We're going to find him," Si Cwan said tightly. "We're going to find him and when I kill him, Kebron, understand: I cannot use this," and he indicated the plasma blaster. "He must die with my hands on his throat. No other means will be acceptable."

  "There are alternatives to killing him," Kebron told him.

  The temperature in the corridor dropped about twenty degrees from the chill of Cwan's voice alone. "No. There are not."

  And suddenly the comm unit beeped. Kebron tapped it and they heard Zoran's voice say, "Hello, Si Cwan. I assume you can hear me."

  Si Cwan was about to snap out a harsh response, but Kebron put a finger to his lips. At first Cwan was confused, but then he realized the wisdom in this course. Conversation with Zoran would only cause Si Cwan to become angrier, more inclined to lose his temper, and that would simply give Zoran even more confidence. Cwan had to forcibly bite down on his lower lip, and several drops of blackish blood dripped out.

  "Si Cwan," Zoran was saying slowly, "you were so easy to fool. All I had to do was reprogram the computer to synthesize her voice. Only took thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to get your hopes up." His voice dropped. It sounded like an obscene purr. "She died crying your name, Si Cwan. Over and over, she called for you. I won't tell you how she died. I won't tell you what was done to her, or how long it took, or any details at all. Do you know why? Because you'll envision every worst-case possibility. I wouldn't want to take the chance of the truth being less severe than whatever you might conjure up in your imagination."

  Si Cwan was visibly trembling. It was all he could do to contain himself.

  "I'm looking for you, Si Cwan," came Zoran's taunting voice. "Come and find me . . . if you can." And he shut off the comm link.

  "Si Cwan . . . Get a grip." Kebron saw that Si Cwan was inarticulate with fury, and he gripped him firmly by the shoulders.

  His voice was a strangled whisper. "I'll kill him..."

  "If I were you, I would, too. No question. But right now, in your state of mind, he'll kill you first.

  Again, no question. You're giving him exactly what he wants: a target who's out of control." But Si Cwan wasn't hearing him. He was completely internalized, muttering to himself, not at all relating to their environment. His head was filled with the imagined dying screams of his sister. Kebron shook him and said, "Cwan, I know how you feel."

  With effort, Si Cwan focused on him. "No, you don't... you can't. . ."

  "Oh yes I can," Kebron shot back. "My parents, on a mining colony . . . killed by Orion pirates who stripped the colony, looking for anything they could steal. They worked to send me to the Academy, and while I was there, their dedication was repaid with murder. And when I heard, I took leave from the Academy and tracked the pirates down. And you know what? I almost got killed. When Starfleet reps caught up with me, I was near death. I was in the hospital for two months while they put me back together. I never caught up again with the ones who destroyed my family, and I was lucky to survive the encounter, all because I was blinded by rage, just like you are now. Now snap out of it."

  It was the longest speech Si Cwan could ever recall Kebron making. For that matter, it was the longest speech Kebron himself could recall making. And he had to keep on speaking quickly, while he had Si Cwan's attention. "This Zoran... tell me all about him. Tell me what to expect."

  "Zoran..." Si Cwan took a deep breath. "Zoran ... he'll probably have company, besides the ones we already disposed of. One named Rojam,the other named Juif. They're a trio."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because," Si Cwan said coldly, "we used to be a quartet." He paused a heartbeat. "Have you ever had to kill your best friend? Is that in our mutually shared experience as well?"

  "No," admitted Kebron.

  "Well... good," and Si Cwan gripped Zak Kebron by the elbow. "Come along, then. I'll show you how it's done."

  V.

  "ISN'T IT AMAZING?" murmured Calhoun, as the planet Nelkar rotated below them. He gazed at it upon the screen. "One planet looks so much like another when you're up here. Sometimes you want to take planetbound races who are at war with each other, bring them up here, show them their world. Make them realize that it's one world that they should all be sharing, rather than fighting over it."

  From her position next to him on the bridge, Shelby asked, "And if someone had done that for young..." She hesitated over the pronunciation, as she always did, gargling it slightly, "M'k'n'zy of Calhoun... would he have stopped fighting?"

  "No," he said with amused admission. He thought of the short sword mounted on the wall of his ready room. "Mr. Boyajian," he said in a slightly louder voice, deliberately changing subjects, "have you raised the planet's surface yet?"

  "Not yet, sir. As of this point, I'm . . . Wait. Receiving transmission now."

  "On screen."

  The screen wavered ever so slightly, and then a male Nelkarite appeared. He had much the same angelic look as Laheera did ... that same "too good to be true" appearance that Calhoun had felt so annoying when they'd first encountered the Nelkarites.

  "Greetings," he said in a musical voice evocative of Laheera's. "I am Celter, governor of the capital city of Selinium. Welcome to Nelkar."

  "Mackenzie Calhoun, captain of the Excalibur. Laheera informed us that you were willing to provide sanctuary for the passengers we have aboard."

  "That is so. And she informed us," and clear amusement tinged his features, "that you did not trust us."

  "It is my duty to be judicious when making first contacts," Calhoun said reasonably. "I would be remiss if I did not have at least some concerns with depositing four dozen people on an alien world." are the aliens here. If anyone has the right to be concerned, it is we. Yet we welcome you, trust you. We would like to think that we should be accorded, at the very least, similar consideration."

  "Point taken," said Calhoun. "Nonetheless, if it is our passengers. I'd prefer a firsthand report of the environment where we're dropping them off."

  "As you wish, Captain," said Celter with polite indifference. "We have nothing to hide. We are merely doing our best to be altruistic. These are, after all, unusual times."

  "All times are unusual, Governor, Some are just more unusual than others. Please send us the coordinates for an away team, and we will prepare your new residents for landfall. Calhoun out."The screen blinked off before Celter could say anything else.

  And then, before Calhoun could give any order, make any pronouncement, Shelby said crisply, "Captain, request permission to head the away team, sir."

  The request stopped Calhoun in midthought, and he turned to Shelby
. One look into those deep purple eyes of his, and Shelby instantly knew that her surmise had been correct: Calhoun had intended to lead the away team himself, despite Starfleet's policies to the contrary. Had he voiced the composition of the away team before she'd said anything, she would have had to try and talk him into changing his mind after already speaking it. She had no desire to get into a contest of wills with him; by the same token, she had every intention of fulfilling her obligations as first officer of the Excalibur. And one of those obligations was to spearhead away teams so that the captain could remain safe within the confines of the bridge.

  All this was conveyed by a silent look passing between the two. It was so subtle, so understated, that it went past everyone else on the bridge. Calhoun knew Shelby's mind, and she knew his. He knew precisely why she had jumped in, and he didn't seem particularly appreciative of it. By the same token, he was also aware that she was trying to be respectful of his position and feelings. She had volunteered in such a way that her presence on the away team could now come across as a snap command decision by Calhoun, rather than a point of order over which the two of them would have to argue.

  Slowly he said, "Very well. Commander Shelby, you'll take an away team composed of yourself, Lieutenant Lefler, and Security Officer Meyer."

  Robin Lefler looked up from her station. "Me, sir?"

  "I want an assessment on their level of technology. Your engineering background makes you the appropriate choice. Plus you finished in the top three percentile of your class in First Contact Procedures at the Academy."

  She blinked in surprise, clearly impressed by her captain's apparent command over the minutiae of her academic career. Even she didn't remember exactly where she'd ranked in that one particular class. "Uhm... yes, sir." She rose from her station, and Boyajian, a solid "utility player" on the bridge, stepped in to take her place. She headed out at Shelby's side.

  "Captain," McHenry said the moment they were gone, "how did you know that Lefler scored so high in the F.C. Pro class?"

  Calhoun smiled. "I didn't. But who's going to deny doing well in a class?"

  "Captain."

  He turned to face Soleta, who had just spoken. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

  "Dr. Selar would like me to come down to sickbay."

  "Are you ill, Lieutenant?"

  "Not to my knowledge, sir. I'm not entirely certain why she wants to see me. Shejust now contacted me privately over my comm badge. I assume it is some sort of personal matter. Permission to leave the bridge?"

  Calhoun considered it a moment, wondering whether he should go directly to Selar and ask after her. But something told him to keep a distance from the situation. "You're asking my permission for something as simple as leaving the bridge?"

  "Regulations state, sir, that during a time of contact or in the midst of a mission, all hands are to remain on station and must request permission for any reason if—"

  "I know the regs, Lieutenant, but the person who wrote them isn't here. You're a big girl, Soleta. Just tell me you're going and don't drop your comm badge down the commode or something so I can't reach you."

  "Sir, leaving the bridge."

  "Have a nice trip."

  She headed into the turbolift and Calhoun sighed inwardly. What was going to be next? Shouting "Captain on the bridge!" whenever he set foot into the place? Part of him appreciated the endeavors to have respect for proper procedures. By the same token, he had seen people follow procedures so rigidly that others had died because of it. Died needlessly.

  An inner voice warned him not to dwell on it excessively, for that way lay madness. And so he turned his attention back to the planet that was spinning below them.

  He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising.

  He didn't like the feel of this one bit.

  The Excalibur didn't have the facilities to beam all four dozen passengers from the Cambon down at one time. So they were sent down in groups of six, with Shelby, Lefler, and Meyer in the first group. Meyer was slim but wiry, and he had piercing blue eyes that seemed to take in everything that was happening around them. He also had the fastest quick-draw on the ship.

  Lefler immediately began studying the architecture of Selinium, as well as recording her observations on her tricorder. They had materialized in what appeared to be a main square of the city. They were standing on an upper walkway, constructed brisk clip. Lefler noticed that the vehicles were strictly low-tech, moving on wheels rather than any sort of antigrav or mag-lev basis.

  The city towered all around them. However, it was not a particularly large place, which was unusual considering it had been mentioned as the capital. In point of fact, the initial scans of Selinium didn't seem to indicate more than a hundred thousand people residing there, which was—relatively speaking—puny.

  Still, there was something about the buildings that seemed... off a bit. Lefler promptly began scanning them. She was so involved in it that she didn't even see the welcome party approach the away team, and didn't look up until she heard Shelby say, "Hello. I'm Commander Shelby, U.S.S. Excalibur. Captain Laheera, as I recall."

  Laheera, flanked by several other officials, bobbed her head in acknowledgment. "'Captain' would be more your term than ours. The more accurate equivalent would a term along the lines of 'First Among Equals.' But 'Captain' will suffice, if you are comfortable with that."

  Lefler was struck by the fact that Laheera was relatively short. Indeed, of the group of them, none of them was much above five feet tall. And yet there was something about them, some sort of inner light that made them appear—it was hard to say—bigger than they actually were. Bigger, more impressive... something.

  Certainly her clothing did not leave much to the imagination. As opposed to the more "official" look of the outfit she'd worn when they first saw her, Laheera was now dressed completely in clinging white: a tight white top with a hem just below her hip, and white leggings under them. The cloth adhered so closely to the line of her figure that Shelby had to look twice to ascertain whether it was, in fact, body paint. It wasn't, but it certainly could have been.

  Shelby made quick introductions, and then found that Captain Hufmin of was hovering nearby. He had been one of the first to come down, concerned with making sure that his charges were being properly attended to. Although Shelby could tell, from the slightly panting way that he was looking at Laheera, that there had been more to Hufmin's cooperative attitude than merely wishing to honor the desires of his passengers. He was clearly taken by the indisputable beauty of their hosts. And considering Laheera's current ensemble, his interest was on the rise. Laheera could likely have asked him to stick a phaser in his mouth and pull the trigger, and he would gratefully have complied, with his last words being profound thanks for the honor of serving her.

  Lefler, meantime, turned her attention back to her duties while the introductions were being made. Shelby sidled up to her as Laheera, along with her associates, moved beyond them to meet and greet the rest of the refugees, who were continuing to beam down.

  "Opinions, Lieutenant?" asked Shelby.

  "Commander... you're familiar with the Borg, as I recall."

  "A bit," Shelby said dryly.

  "Well... this place reminds me of them a little bit, in that the Borg have... what's the word...?"

  "Assimilated?" suggested Shelby . . . always a good word when discussing the Borg.

  "Right. Assimilated technology from throughout the galaxy. The thing is, the Borg have integrated it smoothly into one, uniform whole. Here, it's... it's a hodgepodge. Look around you." She indicated the buildings. "Everything's just sort of strewn together, with no rhyme or reason. You can't get any sense for the character of the environment. Over there, for instance," and she pointed. "Look at the dome of that building."

  "What about it?" said Shelby, but then she slowly started to answer her own question. "Wait a minute. . . isn't that. . . ? "

  "Andorian, yes. You can tell by the markings along the lower rim."

&n
bsp; "What's a dome from an Andorian building doing here?"

  "There's an abandoned Andorian colony on the border of Sector 221-G. My guess is that at some point, the Nelkarites picked it clean. They took whatever caught their interest. That person over there, with Laheera? Wearing a cloak of Tellarite design. That gold iris-eye door fitted into that building over there? It's off an Orion slave ship. This place is like a giant jigsaw puzzle. It's like," and she tried to find the right comparison. "It's like walking into a cannibals' village and finding clothes or trinkets taken from previous... uh . . . meals."

  "Are you saying we have to worry about becoming the Nelkarites' consuming interest?" Shelby said slowly. She noticed that Laheera and the others had finished greeting the refugees, and were now heading back toward herself and Lefler.

  Lefler seemed to consider the notion for a moment, but then she discarded it. "No... no, I don't think so. They just seem interested in technology, that's all. I don't think there's anything particularly dangerous about them. They're just a small, scrappy race, trying to make use of whatever they happen to get their hands on, for the purpose of getting ahead. I'll wager they even cobbled together the ship we confronted."

  "Yes, Soleta made the same observation. Not saying it was 'cobbled together,' but it seemed to be a patchwork of other technology, most conspicuously Kreel."

  "It's possible that Kreel raiders tried to show up here to take advantage of them . . . and paid for it with their ship."

  "Which means that the Nelkarites are fully capable of protecting themselves," Shelby mused. "Certainly that's good news for the refugees. They could use some protection."

  "Commander," came Laheera's musical voice. "Did I hear you saying something about...protection?" She seemed almost amused by the notion. "Certainly you don't think we pose a threat to you?"

  Captain Hufmin sauntered up on the tail end of the comment, and before Shelby could say anything, he announced confidently, "Oh, I doubt that Commander Shelby ever thought such a thing. Right, Commander?"