by Peter David
"Do you have a moment?" she asked.
Burgoyne rose and brushed off hish hands . . . an old habit from the days when s/he would be up to hish elbows in various engine parts and have lubricant all over hish body. S/he missed those days more than s/he liked to think about. "For you, Doctor . . . two moments. Perhaps even three."
"I need to speak with you. Privately." She paused. "Woman to woman."
"You sure know how to hurt a guy," said Burgoyne. S/he gestured toward hish office. "After you."
Selar nodded and walked briskly to the office, Burgoyne following. The door hissed shut behind them and Selar turned to face Burgoyne. "I need to speak with you—"
"Woman to woman, I know. Doctor, you better than anyone should know I'm as much man as I am woman. . . ."
"Yes, and you've made your 'manly' interest in me quite evident. And Hermats are renowned for their rather cavalier approach to sexuality. . . ."
"I don't think I'd say 'cavalier,'" replied Burgoyne. "We simply see the opportunities inherent in—"
"Lieutenant Commander." Selar raised a hand, palm up. "I am really not interested in discussing Hermat philosophies right now, as endlessly interesting as I am sure they are. I desire you—"
Burgoyne sat up straight, a grin on hish face. "You desire me?"
"No," Selar said quickly, "what I am trying to say is that I desire that you . . . cease your efforts to pursue me on an amorous basis. I am aware of . . . indeed, impressed by . . . your remarkable affinity for pheromones. That you sense my . . . my interests. But I am asking you, as one officer to another, as . . ."
"One woman to another?" asked Burgoyne with just a touch of annoyance.
"Yes. I am asking you not to pursue me. There are . . ." Selar put a hand to her head to steady herself. "There are solid medical reasons why it would not be a wise idea."
"Even though I know we could be great together."
"Even though. I do not . . . desire a relationship. I have . . ." Selar cleared her throat, suddenly feeling as if she couldn't hear her own thoughts over the pounding of her pulse. "I have made a conscious decision to eliminate that part of my life. I am asking you to honor it."
"Eliminate it?" Burgoyne could hardly believe what s/he was hearing. S/he leaned forward and, to Selar's surprise, took the doctor's hand firmly between hirs. Burgoyne, for hish part, was surprised by the warmth. With the frosty, formal reserve of Vulcans, Burgoyne had somehow always just assumed that their skin would likewise be cold to the touch. Such was definitely not the case. "Selar . . ."
"Doctor Selar."
"Doctor Selar, putting my own considerations aside . . . that's no way to live. Even Vulcans have mates. Where else would little Vulcans come from? What happened to you? Something must have happened to make you like this. . . ."
Carefully Selar disengaged her hand from hish. "With all respect, Lieutenant Commander, it is none of your business. Nor is it any of your business why I am taking the time to ask you, specifically, to cease whatever amorous interests you may have in me."
Burgoyne took a deep, steady breath. And then, in an utterly formal tone, Burgoyne said, "Of course, Doctor. You merely had to ask. As a suitor, you need not worry that I will pursue you, amorously or otherwise." S/he paused, and then added, "As a friend, I'm going to make the observation that you seem a very sad and lost individual, and keeping the world at arm's length your entire life will just give you a long and lonely life, and tired arms."
"Thank you for your astute psychological analysis, Lieutenant Commander," she said. "Perhaps you missed your calling."
Ensign Ronni Beth knocked on the door to the office and Burgoyne gestured for her to come in. Beth entered and immediately said, "Sir, there's a problem with the ion flux. Also, Lieutenant McHenry is waiting outside. He says the ship is a little sluggish responding to the helm, and wanted to talk to you about it."
"I'm on it," Burgoyne said briskly, coming around hish desk. As s/he did so, s/he said gamely to Selar, "On the other hand, perhaps I didn't miss my calling at that." And, in a gesture that could only be considered friendly, s/he patted Selar on the shoulder.
The merest touch of Burgoyne's hand jolted Selar, filling her with a sense of electricity rampaging through her. It was all she could do to control herself. Burgoyne didn't notice Selar's fingers gripping the edge of the desk. "Perhaps not," Selar said, fighting to keep her voice even. It seemed to her as if she had barely managed to get the words out, and then Burgoyne walked out of the office and Selar sagged with relief.
She rose from the chair and walked toward the door with unsteady legs. As she crossed the engine room, she saw Burgoyne chatting with McHenry. No . . . not just chatting. Laughing. Something had struck the two of them as amusing, and they were laughing over it.
And Selar felt jealous. She couldn't help it. She also couldn't believe it. Here she had come down to Engineering in order to put an end to Burgoyne's interest in her . . . and apparently she had succeeded, if one could take Burgoyne at hish word. Yet now, even seeing Burgoyne engaged in a casual conversation with someone else was enough to upset Selar.
"This is insane," she murmured, and she headed immediately to sickbay, hoping and praying that there would be someone sick up there to whom she could attend. When there wasn't, she felt like going out and breaking someone's leg so that she would have something to occupy her time and her mind.
Still, at least she was back in "her" place. Her home ground. Selar drew strength from sickbay. If she were prone to dwell on the irony of such things, she would have mused on the inappropriateness of garnering strength from a place of illness. But she wasn't feeling particularly philosophical at that moment.
What she was feeling was the drive of Pon farr, and it infuriated her that she could not get the image of Burgoyne out of her head.
At that moment her comm badge beeped. She tapped it and said, "Dr. Selar here."
"Doctor?" It was the captain, and he sounded momentarily puzzled. She couldn't blame him, really, because she realized that her own voice was deeper and throatier than usual, as if she had too much blood in her body.
"Yes, Captain," she said, reacquiring her customary tone of voice with effort.
"I just wanted to alert you to have sickbay ready. Well be approaching the science ship Kayven Ryin shortly. Although at last report everyone there was fine, there may be some who need medical attention. At the very least, we'll want you to check them over and give them a clean bill of health."
"I shall be ready for them, sir."
"I expected no less. Calhoun out." She leaned back and let out something that was very unusual for her: a sigh of relief. There would be something for her to do other than dwell on her own problems. Perhaps this would not be such a hideous day after all.
On the viewscreen before them, there was nothing but assorted scraps.
Calhoun rose from his chair, staring with sinking heart at the remains in front of them. "Are you quite sure we're in the right place, McHenry?"
McHenry nodded briskly. As was always the case with McHenry, while he seemed easily distracted or otherwise occupied mentally when matters were proceeding routinely, he was one hundred percent focused when there was any sort of problem. Indeed, one could almost take a cue as to the seriousness of a situation by how McHenry was reacting to it. Considering his no-nonsense demeanor at the moment, it was a serious situation indeed. "Yes, sir," he said. "Absolutely positive. This was the last point at which we heard from Kebron and Cwan."
"What the hell happened?" demanded Calhoun.
"Scanning remains," Soleta said from her science station.
"Remains. Remains of the Kayven Ryin . . . or of the Marquand?" asked Shelby.
It took Soleta a few moments, and then she said, "Both."
"Any signs of bodies?" Calhoun wanted to know.
"Yes. Mixed in with the wreckage, I am detecting two fingers . . . what appears to be a leg . . . a piece of bone . . . from the length, a thigh bone, I should th—"
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br /> "Soleta," Calhoun said sharply.
She looked up at him blandly. "I thought you'd want to know details."
"What I want to know is, is it our people?"
"Impossible to say at this time. I can have them brought aboard and analyzed . . ."
"Do it," Calhoun said briskly. "Lefler, oversee the operation. I want enough parts of the wreckage and the bodies brought aboard so that we know exactly what it is we're dealing with. Soleta, coordinate with Burgoyne. Go over the remains millimeter by millimeter if you have to, but I want to know what happened here. Bridge to sickbay."
"Sickbay, Dr. Selar here."
"Doctor, we're going to have need of your services."
"As per your request, Captain, I am prepared to handle whatever personnel are—"
"There's no personnel, Doctor," he said flatly. "I'm going to need you to perform autopsies. Actually, that might be too generous a word. I'm going to send you puzzle pieces and you're going to have to assemble them for me so I can get the entire picture."
Calhoun had a feeling that if he'd been face-to-face with Selar, she would not have blinked an eye. He would have been correct. "Very well, sir. I will be ready."
"Captain," Lefler suddenly said. "There was another ship here. I'm detecting an ion trail."
He came over quickly to her, leaning over her station. "You think it's whoever destroyed the science station and the shuttle?"
"Possibly. By the same token, if we're going to be optimistic about it, they might have saved the lives of whoever was on the science station and the runabout."
"That is definitely optimistic, I'll grant you that. Can you determine the type?"
"Not at this time."
"Can you track it?"
She nodded briskly. "That I can do."
"Do it, then." He rose and turned to face his crew. "I want answers, people. I want to know what happened, so that when we catch up with whoever was the last person here, we know whether we're dealing with a potential ally . . . or avenging the death of two crewmen."
In the conference lounge, Calhoun sat at the head of the table. Grouped around him were Shelby, Soleta, Burgoyne, McHenry, and Selar. "So the ships were destroyed in two different manners?" he asked.
Soleta nodded, glancing at the computer upon which her analyses were appearing on the screen. "Yes, sir. The scorch marks on the remains of the Marquand indicate that they were destroyed by highintensity firepower, although it is impossible to determine whether the science station itself was the origin of the attack. Now the Kayven Ryin, Chief Burgoyne believes—and I concur, with eighty-nine percent certainty—that the ship was destroyed by a bomb."
"A bomb?" Calhoun couldn't quite believe it.
"Yes, sir," Burgoyne spoke up. "A superheated thermite bomb, if I'm not mistaken, judging by the blast radius and chemical traces. I saw what one of those things did once to a surveying ship that wandered into Gorn territory."
"So somebody fired on the Marquand and then blew up the Kayven Ryin. Any guesses as to why or wherefores?"
"I dislike the notion of 'guesses,'" said Soleta. "If I had to reconstruct a scenario, I would say that the Marquand was ambushed within range of the science station . . . and then the station was subsequently destroyed, either to leave no clues as to what happened . . . or to kill whatever survivors there might have been aboard the station."
"Speaking of survivors," and Calhoun turned his attention to Selar, "what do the remains of the bodies tell us?"
"I have run DNA analysis. They are definitely Thallonian."
There was silence for a moment. "Si Cwan?" Shelby finally asked.
But Selar shook her head. "I do not believe so. Nor am I able to determine precisely what the cause of death was. Whether they were killed by the blast or before it is impossible to say."
"Any remains of a Brikar?"
"No, Captain. Not from what was presented to me."
Looks were exchanged around the room. Shelby asked, "Considering the density of Brikar hide . . . what are the odds that there would have been nothing detectable left of him?"
"If I had to estimate," and she considered it a moment, "seven thousand twenty-nine to one."
"That's impressive," Calhoun said slowly. "All right, McHenry," said Calhoun. "Have you got any bead on where we're heading? Where this 'mystery ship' has gone?"
"Well, obviously I don't know for sure where the trail ends until we get there," said McHenry. "But I tracked it ahead and, assuming that it didn't change course . . . we're heading straight toward Thallon."
"Thallon? Are you sure?"
McHenry nodded with conviction. "Yes, sir. I don't make mistakes."
"You don't?" Burgoyne said with amusement. "How very nice for you. I've never met anyone who doesn't make mistakes."
"I made a mistake once," McHenry said, but then he frowned and said, "No . . . wait. That time wasn't my fault. Sorry, my mistake. I was right the first time."
Wisely, no one commented.
"Well, we were supposed to go to Thallon," Shelby said after a moment. "Seems that we're getting there sooner rather than later."
"Indeed. Mr. Burgoyne, let's crank up the warp speed, shall we?"
"Ask and it's yours, sir."
"McHenry," said Calhoun, "best speed to Thai-Ion."
"Yes, sir."
"And let's hope to Hell that Kebron and Cwan are there." He rose and clearly the meeting was over.
As they were heading out, Burgoyne said to Mc-Henry, "By the way, I think I've got that little problem taken care of. Let me know how she handles."
"Great. Thanks," said McHenry.
Selar looked at the two of them, realized that there were more unwelcome thoughts going through her head, and said in a low voice to Soleta, "I need to speak with you. Alone."
Soleta looked at her with mild surprise, but then nodded. "At my first opportunity," she said.
"Thank you." Selar looked around the now-empty conference lounge, and then said, "Soleta . . . I have never needed a friend before. But I need one now. I hope you will . . . indulge me." And she walked out quickly before Soleta could respond.
THALLON
VI.
IN THE MAIN COUNCIL CHAMBER of the Thallonian palace, the leader gaped at Herz. "An . . . embassy?"
"Yes, sir," Herz said, shifting uncomfortably.
Also in the room were: Zoran; D'ndai of Calhoun, the brother of M'k'n'zy of Calhoun . . . who, in turn, had not gone by that name in some time; and a new arrival . . . Ryjaan ofthe Danteri Empire. Ryjaan was squat and bulky, with bronze skin glistening with an even greater sheen than was typical for the Danteri. He had a ready smile, which had an additional tint of the sinister about it as his perfect teeth were slightly sharp.
Ryjaan had his hands draped behind his back and said, "Well, well . . . we've certainly got a muddle of this, haven't we? D'ndai, I ask you to take your brother out of action. But you . . . you don't have the nerve to handle it yourself. So you ally yourself with Zoran here, who sets up a trap for the purpose of doing what I asked you to do . . . except he doesn't wind up snaring your brother. Instead he snags a security officer and a fallen prince." He turned to the leader and said, "This is one charming alliance we've forged between ourselves, Yoz. The Danteri and the Thallonians, working hand in hand, creating a coalition that could eventually rival the Federation. And what have we got? A Federation starship commanded by an extremely dangerous individual . . . and a prisoner who has taken over his cell."
The leader, the one who had been addressed as Yoz, turned back to Herz and said angrily, "Drag him up here. Go in there with guns blasting and take him out."
"We, uhm . . . we tried that, sir."
"You did? And what happened?"
The door had flown open, packed with guards who were heavily armed, and they opened fire.
With a roar the Brikar had charged them. The blasts had slowed him, staggered him . . . but they had not stopped him. Si Cwan had remained safely behind the Brikar, and the
n Zak Kebron got his hands on the foremost of the assailants.
Soon the hallway was thick with blood, and it was all Thallonian. The guards had retreated, screaming, slipping and sliding on blood that was spilling everywhere, and Zak Kebron—as calm as anything—closed the door.
It wasn't the Thallonians' fault. They had not known that there were few things more dangerous than a wounded Brikar. Unfortunately, they had found out the hard way.
Yoz, Ryjaan, D'ndai, and Zoran listened in quiet amazement. "Gods," whispered Yoz. Then he drew himself up, his leadership qualities and conviction coming to the fore. "All right. Gas them first. Don't even enter. Just gas them from outside. Knock them unconscious and haul Si Cwan out while the two of them are downed."
"Uhm . . . we," and his voice sounded very faint. "We tried that, too."
"And . . . ?" prompted Yoz.
The door had flown open and the guards hesitated, waiting for the thick clouds ofgas to clear. They wore masks so that they could breathe. Now they peered carefully through the gas, trying to see where the insensate bodies of Kebron and Si Cwan might be.
They were able to make out, over in the corner, a fallen lump that seemed to have the general proportions of Cwan. But at first they couldn't see Kebron at all.
Then they did.
He had stepped forward from the mist, his mouth shut tightly. They didn't see hisfist, obscured as it was by the mist.
Kebron's fist went straight into the lead guard, striking a fatal blow. Then he raised the still-twitching corpse over his head and hurled it into the crowd of guards, knocking several of them back. He ripped the masks off two of them, and then slammed the door once again. The guards, Herz in the lead, bolted down the corridor, not even waiting to hear the clang of the door as it slammed closed once more.