by Peter David
“I’ll help you.”
Calhoun was clearly surprised. “You will? That’s…you don’t have to.”
“Oh! Typical,” she said, needling him. “First you complain when no one helps you, and then you complain when someone volunteers to. Make up your mind. Do you want help or no?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So…I’ll help. On one condition.”
“That being?”
“You stop saying that other people helped me because I’m a woman.”
“All right.”
“Good.”
And he looked her full in the face and said, “They helped you because you are the most beautiful creature walking this planet.”
Her mouth moved and no words emerged at first. Then finally she nodded and said, “I can accept that.”
Chapter Five
Now
Janos couldn’t even look Kebron in the eye. Kebron understood why.
He stood there in the brig, a foot away from the white-furred security officer, his massive arms folded. “You refused to submit to the bioscan because you didn’t want me to find out about M’Ress. Correct?”
Slowly Janos nodded.
“You were concerned that if I knew about that connection, it would provide motive for you to have killed Gleau.”
Janos looked up in surprise and blinked rapidly. “Oh. I…suppose it does.”
“You ‘suppose it does.’ Are you telling me it didn’t occur to you?” Kebron was getting a dizzying sinking feeling. That he had, as the old Earth saying went, backed the wrong horse.
And yet when Janos spoke, it was with such utter sincerity that Kebron found it difficult not to be swayed by him. “That’s absolutely correct, Lieutenant. And I suppose the reason it didn’t was because I know that I did not do this thing. Therefore dwelling upon considerations that might make me ‘look’ guilty or not guilty simply didn’t factor into my thinking.”
“Before we go any further,” said Kebron, “would you object if—now that your involvement with M’Ress is public knowledge—I activated the bioscan?”
Janos shrugged. It looked odd, that human gesture on a being so utterly inhuman. “Not at all. Be my guest.”
“Computer,” Kebron said immediately. “Voice activate and identify, file Kebron nine zero six.”
“Activating,” the computer’s voice replied. “Bioscan online.”
He nodded and then said, “Janos…did you kill Gleau?”
“No.”
“Did you arrange to have him killed?”
“No.”
“Do you have any knowledge of his murder?”
“Yes.”
Kebron was taken aback, and then braced himself. “What knowledge do you have of Lieutenant Commander Gleau’s murder?”
“It resulted in his death.”
“Besides that,” said Kebron in annoyance.
“Besides that? No.”
The computer did not offer any negative assessment.
“You’re a riot, Janos,” Kebron said sourly.
“You used to have a sense of humor, Kebron. A dour one, to be sure, but it was there nevertheless. Whatever happened to it?”
“I lost it right around the same time that one of my best men got himself accused of murder.”
“Yes, I can see how that would be a mood killer.”
Kebron let the remark pass. Instead he said, “So…all right. You didn’t want to submit to the bioscan because of your involvement with M’Ress.”
“Yes.”
“But you gave no consideration to the concept of this information incriminating you.”
“None at all.”
Still there was no reaction from the computer. Getting suspicious, Kebron said, “Janos…lie to me.”
“I love your new, chatty personality,” said Janos.
Immediately the computer said, “Subject displaying physiological changes consistent with false statement.”
Janos smiled wanly. Considering that his face was not built for smiling, that was no mean trick.
“And the hilarity that is Janos just keeps on coming,” said Kebron. “All right. Very well. But what, then, was your reason for initially refusing a bioscan?”
“Why, Kebron, I’m surprised I have to spell it out for you: A gentleman never tells.”
“What?” He couldn’t quite believe he was hearing him properly.
And yet Janos seemed appalled by the entire notion. “M’Ress, believe it or not, is a private person. As am I. I had no desire to broadcast our relationship because I was concerned the fact of it would be enough to cause her some embarrassment. Plus, naturally, the endless array of jokes about ‘the fur flying’ and such. She did not need that and neither, I must admit, did I. So we resolved to take all effort to keep it between ourselves. Submitting to a bioscan is hardly ‘all effort.’ ”
“But refusing to submit to it is hardly the best way to go about clearing yourself of murder.”
“I should not have to clear myself of something that I did not do.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you,” said a grim-faced Kebron. “All right…computer. For the moment, end bioscan.”
“Bioscan terminated,” the computer replied readily.
It was an odd situation for Kebron. He’d never realized that computers on all ships had a voice that was evocative of Morgan Lefler’s. And considering that Morgan was now in the computer of the Excalibur, it had become that much more difficult to grow accustomed to the sensation. Fortunately enough, this was the Trident, not the Excal. At least he didn’t have to worry that she was actually residing within the computer.
“So am I free to go?” asked Janos, his face a question mark.
“I wish it was that simple.”
“You have my statement, verified by bioscan, that I didn’t do it. Why precisely isn’t it that simple?”
“Because,” said Kebron in annoyance, “there’s still the matter of your DNA all over Gleau’s corpse. We’re going to have to figure this out.”
“And in the meantime…I remain incarcerated here. Made to feel like…” He looked from side to side mournfully. “…like a freak. A caged animal on display. For two credits people can stroll by and point and be terrified of the wild beast, caged up the way he should always have been. They could make a reasonably impressive petting-zoo specimen of me if they weren’t concerned I’d rip people’s arms off.”
“Janos!” Kebron admonished. “I’d never have thought of you as someone who wallows in self-pity.”
“My self-confidence and self-respect have been taken from me,” Janos said quietly. “So kindly leave me one of the few self-reflective pleasures I have left, if it’s all the same to you.” Then he leaned forward on the small bench and hung his head between his legs.
Kebron tried to think of something else to say, but he couldn’t. Janos was his friend, his coworker, and he was suffering in the depths of despair with no way out. At least, none that Kebron could readily provide.
With a sigh that sounded like a shift in tectonic plates, Kebron turned and said, “Lower the shield.” The forcefield that barred the doorway to the brig went out and Kebron headed for it. As he did so, his mind was spinning with possibilities. He was now more convinced than ever of Janos’s innocence. Certainly the facility with which he’d passed the bioscan had been sufficient to sway any reasonable person. But, as he’d just told Janos, the DNA remained a problem. His initial research into the matter indicated that it was simply impossible to cover up one’s own DNA traces while substituting genetic evidence pointing to someone else. That meant very little, though. Centuries ago, any reasonable person would have told you that traveling faster than light was a scientific impossibility. The fact that Kebron had no idea how such a DNA switch could be made was of no relevance to him. What he needed to learn was just who was capable of making the switch.
There was one other thing of which he was certain. Something that all his reading of hard-boiled detective
novels had convinced him. The person who was responsible for this murder was going to be the last person he suspected of committing it.
The moment Kebron stepped through the door of the brig, Janos let out an ear-rattling roar and leaped.
The roar accomplished exactly what it was supposed to do. It froze Kebron for a split instant right in the doorframe. While he was there, the field couldn’t be reactivated.
Janos, claws bared, face twisted in animal fury, sailed through the air, propelled by incredibly strong legs, and landed on Zak Kebron’s back. There were few people on the ship—indeed, few people in existence—who would have been capable of knocking the towering Brikar off his feet, but Janos was one of them. His arms pinwheeling, unable to maintain his balance, Kebron toppled forward like a great stone pillar. He was on his chest and Janos swept down with his claws. They skidded off Kebron’s tough hide, inflicting damage upon nothing except Kebron’s pride.
There were security guards on either side. They went for their phasers, but Janos was snake-fast. He was upon the guard to his right in a heartbeat, knocking the phaser from his hand before it could be brought to bear. The guard tried to back up and Janos grabbed him by the uniform front, hoisting him into the air and roaring into his face. His teeth bared, he looked prepared to bite the guard’s face right off his head.
The other guard had his phaser out and was circling, trying to get a clear shot. “Just shoot him!” howled the guard who was having his life threatened.
The circling guard thumbed his phaser from the lethal “disruption” down to “stun,” praying it would be enough, and he fired. At the instant that he did so, however, Janos swung around the guard he was holding so that the man’s body served as a shield that intercepted the blast. He let out a truncated yelp and then slumped in Janos’s grasp. Janos, with a triumphant howl, threw the guard like a shot put. He collided with the guard who was still standing and they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
It had all happened so quickly that Kebron still hadn’t quite gotten back onto his feet. Kebron was built for many things, but bouncing quickly from prone to standing wasn’t one of them. Nevertheless he did finally clamber to standing. By that point, however, Janos was gone. Immediately Kebron thundered after him, hitting his combadge as he did so. “Kebron to Arex!” he shouted, and without waiting for Arex to respond, continued, “Security breach! Janos is loose on deck five, corridor thirteen-A! Am in pursuit!”
“On our way!” came Arex’s reedy voice.
Kebron charged down the corridor, the floor trembling beneath his feet. Following Janos’s trail was no great challenge. He simply looked for the fallen crewmen along the way. Janos hadn’t killed any of them, thank God, but they were scattered to one side or the other, having been unceremoniously shoved out of the way. He heard a distant roaring and picked up speed. He hoped no one got in his way, because he didn’t think he’d be able to stop in time, and he hated the notion of winding up with Trident crewmen on his boots.
He rounded a bend in the corridor and almost collided with Arex and five security men heading in the opposite direction. They skidded to a halt, Arex with greater skill than any of them thanks to his tripod structure. “Where is he?” demanded Kebron.
“I thought you had him!”
“If I had him, you’d know by the fact that he’d be in my hands!” Kebron said angrily.
“Well, he didn’t get past us!”
“Then where—”
Suddenly they heard a distant, triumphant howling. They turned and saw the Jefferies tube in the wall.
Kebron was there first, looking into the depths of the equipment-access tube. It angled upward, out of sight. Unlike some other such tubes that were short runs, this particular Jefferies tube accessed far deeper. An uncontrolled, totally berserk Janos was gallivanting around the inner depths of the Trident.
And it was at that moment Kebron realized that Ensign Janos was—despite the DNA evidence—the last person Kebron had suspected of being the murderer.
“Shit,” muttered Kebron.
Then
“Should I be jealous of you two?”
In Shelby’s quarters, Wexler was lying in her bed, naked under the cover, his head propped up with one hand. Shelby was busy getting dressed, and she glanced over at him in confusion. “Pardon?” she asked. “Me too?”
“You two. You and Calhoun.”
She stared at him as if he’d grown a third eye as she adjusted her uniform top. “Me and Calhoun? What about me and Calhoun?”
“Well, you’ve been spending so much time together. I was beginning to wonder.”
She could scarcely believe it. “Oh my God,” she laughed. “I mean…oh my God. After this? After what we…God, Wex! Was I so lousy that this didn’t even qualify as quality time?”
“It’s not that at all. You were great.”
“I know.”
“It’s just…” He flopped back onto the mattress. “Forget it. The more I think about it, the more petulant I feel and the more absurd it becomes.”
“Well, good. So we won’t discuss this any further?”
“Not a word,” Wexler assured her.
“Excellent.” Shelby pulled on one boot, reached for the other, then stopped and turned back to him. “Me and Calhoun?”
“So much for not discussing it further,” he sighed.
“It’s just…that’s so ridiculous…” Then she shook her head briskly and yanked on the other boot. She stood, limping slightly because she’d pulled it on wrong and had to worm her foot down into it so it would fit properly. As she did so by walking in a small circle, she muttered, “Calhoun! And me! Just because I’ve been helping him…and you…that is the most idiotic…small-minded…” She flexed her foot, satisfied, then turned back to Wexler and said, “Forget this. It’s just too stupid, and besides, I’m going to be late for xenobio. So we’ll discuss this later.”
“Or…not at all,” Wexler offered.
“Not at all. Yes. Good plan. You can let yourself out.” She grabbed up her padd and headed out the door, which shut behind her.
Wexler lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his arms splayed to either side. “And three…two…one,” he counted down softly.
Shelby barreled back into the room right on cue, still clutching her padd and waving it around. “You’re something else, you know that, Wex?”
“That’s coming to my attention, yes,” he sighed. “You know, Betty, right now there’s not a more regretful person on this planet—possibly this quadrant—than I. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“Well, you should be.”
“So can we drop it?”
“No, because you brought it up!”
He moaned and pulled the pillow over his head with the vague hope that he might be able to smother himself.
“Here I am,” she continued, “trying to offer aid to a fellow Starfleet cadet…trying to help him succeed against greater odds than you and I and anyone else have had to face…and you start getting jealous just because I’m tutoring him in reading comprehension.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You just said!”
“I asked if I should be jealous. It’s a totally different thing.”
“Don’t start getting semantical on me, Wex.”
“‘Semantical’? Is that even a word?”
“You want a word? Here’s three. Go fu—”
“All right, now, that’s enough,” said Wexler. He got out of the bed, the sheet wrapped around himself, giving him a passing resemblance to a Roman orator. “Here’s a wild and wacky notion: Let’s completely over-react to a casual question.”
“There was nothing casual about it,” and she thumped a finger against his bare chest. “You don’t trust me.”
“It has nothing to do with that. It’s just—”
“Just what?”
“Well,” and he looked uncomfortable, but soldiered forward. “It’s just, in my opinion, Calhoun was managing j
ust fine before you started ‘tutoring’ him. And I think he agreed to it because he was anxious to spend as much time with you as possible.”
“That’s…” She shook her head skeptically. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“It is,” she said firmly. “I’ve been helping him for weeks now, and he hasn’t said or done the slightest thing to indicate that he thinks of me as anything but a friend.”
“Well, he wouldn’t. He’d wait for the right time. He wouldn’t rush into it.”
“And wouldn’t that make him a master strategist.”
“He is a master strategist, Betty! Haven’t you been paying attention to his history? He’s a bleeding warlord who masterminded his race’s freedom before he was old enough to shave! He thinks long-term.”
“At least he is thinking. I don’t believe you’re giving any thought at all to what you’re saying. The words are just…just falling out of your mouth.” She put up her hands. “This is ridiculous. I’m now officially late for class.” With that, Shelby pivoted and went out the door.
He stared after her and then said very calmly, “Three…two…one.”
The door remained closed.
“Three…two…one,” Wex repeated.
Again, no sign of her.
“Hunh,” he said. “Well…so much for th—”
Whereupon Shelby bounded back in, slamming down her padd.
“One of us is losing his or her touch,” said Wexler.
Not appearing to have heard what he said, Shelby demanded, “You want to know what I think?”
“There are no words to encapsulate just how much I do not wish to—”
“I’ll tell you what I think.”
“Yes,” sighed Wexler, “I rather thought you might.” He sagged onto the bed, looking a bit forlorn.
“What I think is that you don’t understand about helping people.”
He stared at her with raised eyebrows. “Beg pardon?”