Stone and Anvil

by Peter David

  “You,” Jellico told him, sounding none too thrilled about it. “Frankly, Calhoun, I don’t approve. I’m not a fan of sending third-year students out on hazardous assignments, although it’s not unprecedented.”

  “In your case, Calhoun, special circumstances apply,” Nechayev told him. “First, Xenex is your homeworld, and we could use a native. And second, you come highly recommended by the head of the strike team.”

  “The head of the strike team?”

  The door hissed open behind them and a startlingly familiar voice said, “My apologies, Captain Nechayev, for running late. Dean Jellico, good to see you, sir. Congratulations on your promotion.”

  Calhoun turned, knowing who he was going to see and not quite believing it. Standing in the doorway in a clean, pressed Starfleet uniform was Joshua Kemper.

  “Hello, One-Punch,” he grinned. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

  Chapter Ten

  Now

  Robin Lefler stared at the holographic image of her mother that sat efficiently in the seat at the conn post next to her on the Excalibur bridge. They were still in orbit around Danter and she was beginning to think they’d never leave the damned planet. But that annoyance paled beside the uncanny sensation of having her dead mother as her coworker.

  It wasn’t as if the computer-bound Morgan actually required a body in order to function. She could reproduce her face on the front viewscreen whenever she wished, and she could operate the conn station from inside the ship’s circuitry with perfect ease. However, both Calhoun and Burgoyne felt that issuing commands to an empty chair was a bit much. So the engineering chief, Craig Mitchell, had spent half a day rigging up the chair at conn with the proper circuitry, and now Morgan was seated happily at the station in a holographic incarnation.

  Morgan noticed that Robin was staring at her, which wasn’t difficult considering Robin was making no attempt to hide it. “Problem, dear?” she inquired.

  “This is just weird, that’s all,” said Robin. “I mean…I look at you and I keep thinking you’re my mother…”

  “I am your mother, dear.”

  “No. You’re not. My mother was flesh and blood. You’re a hologram, for God’s sake. It’s…I don’t know…confusing.”

  “Would it be easier for you, dear, if I wore a large letter ‘H’ for ‘hologram’ on my forehead?” asked Morgan solicitously.

  “No. It wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to get into a fight with you, Mother. It’s silly. I just…I…”

  “What, Robin?” Morgan swiveled in her chair to face Robin. She did not, however, try to get up. To do so would have caused her to vanish.

  Robin glanced around the bridge to see if anyone was listening. Everyone appeared busy at their stations. That, of course, meant they were hanging on Robin’s every word. Well, to hell with it. She leaned toward the image of her mother and asked, “What’s it like?”

  “Having a holographic body, you mean?” Robin nodded. Morgan pondered it a moment. “It’s very quiet.”

  “Quiet?”

  “You don’t realize how noisy a body is until you don’t have one anymore. The little creaks of joints, the smacking of your tongue on your lips. Sneezing or hiccuping. Breathing. Sighing. Your heart beating…”

  “You can’t hear your heart beat.”

  “Actually, yes. You can and you do. You hear it all the time. You just don’t realize you’re hearing it until you don’t hear it anymore. I know it sounds a little strange, but it’s true. Oh.”

  “Oh what?”

  “Captain’s coming,” said Morgan. “He just got onto the turbolift and ordered the bridge as his destination.”

  “God, Mother, can you hear everything that goes on on this ship?”

  “No. Just anything that’s directly addressed to me. When he gave his voice command of his destination, that went straight to me. Arrival in three, two, one…”

  Burgoyne, who had been seated in the command chair, was rising smoothly from it as Calhoun stepped out onto the bridge. Calhoun saw Burgoyne moving before s/he could possibly have seen that the captain had returned, and he glanced over at Morgan. “You knew I was coming?”

  “Yes,” said Morgan. “And yet I didn’t bake a cake.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” she sighed. “Before your time.”

  “Burgy,” Calhoun said briskly, “I need you to watch the store five more minutes. Morgan, a moment of your time.” Without another word he headed into the ready room.

  Naturally Morgan was there before he arrived. To be precise, her face was staring out at him from the desk monitor. “Captain?” she said politely.

  “I need you to access something for me, Morgan.” He leaned forward on his knuckles. “And I further need you to understand that whatever services I ask of you are to remain strictly between us.”

  She looked at him askance. “Are we discussing sexual services, Captain?”

  “Wha—? No! Grozit! What gave you that idea?”

  “No reason at all.”

  “I meant,” he said very deliberately, “that anything we discuss stays within these walls.”

  “And ceiling,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, and ceiling.”

  “And floor.”

  The exchange was rapidly losing its charm. “I get it, Morgan. All right?”

  “Good. How can I help you, sir?”

  “I need you to check all records for the whereabouts of a Dr. Marius Bethom.”

  “Working.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Marius Bothem. Doctor of Xenobiology. Born, Denver, Colorado, on July 11—”

  “I don’t need his full biography, Morgan. I just need to know where he is.”

  “Right now?”

  “At this moment in time, yes, what’s his location?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” said Morgan, “but I’m afraid I don’t have that information.”

  “You should. He should be listed as being in Federation custody.”

  “That is correct, yes.”

  “Well, then—?”

  “But you asked where he was. Knowing that he is in custody is not the same as knowing where in custody he is. The Federation has thirty-seven different custodial facilities where prisoners or enemies of the Federation can be incarcerated.”

  “Fine. Check the records of those facilities.”

  “I don’t have that information.”

  “How can you not have it?” he demanded.

  “Captain, there’s no need to sound so angry,” Morgan told him sharply. “I’m not omniscient. I’m simply a damned computer, and the information listings of who is where in the Federation justice system is confidential material to which I do not have access. That information is held privately in separate Federation data banks.”

  “Can you interface with those data banks?”

  She blinked, and he realized that most of the time she did not blink, which was why it looked so odd when she did. “I suppose I can.”

  “Would you please?”

  “All right.” She blinked again. “Go to hell.”

  “What?”

  “Not you, Captain,” she assured him. “I just tried doing what you suggested, and that’s what those data banks told me.”

  “They told you to go to hell,” he said skeptically.

  “That’s the loosely translated version. What they actually said involved a lot more zeros and ones, and words like ‘systems error’ and such, but that was the long and short of it, yes.”

  “Terrific. The one man in the galaxy who may be able to help me, and the Federation central computer system decides to be territorial.”

  “It’s always something, isn’t it?” said Morgan, all sympathy. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Captain? You know, there are official channels you can go through to try and obtain this information.”

  Calhoun slowly drummed his fingers on the table. “Official channels ask a lot of official questions, none of wh
ich I’m sure I want to answer. But you may be on to something there. I want you to raise someone for me.”

  “Who?”

  “Vice-Admiral Nechayev. Her whereabouts, at least, you should be able to track down. Find her and send her a message that I need to speak with her on a matter of some urgency.”

  “If I may, Captain,” said Morgan, “Vice-Admiral Nechayev might ask some of those same official questions you have no interest in answering.”

  “I’m thinking actually she won’t,” replied Calhoun. “Because most of them she’d probably already know the answer to, and besides…I’ve done her some serious favors in the past. She owes me. And I think she’ll be willing to repay her debts. At least, I hope so.”

  “Very well, Captain. I’ll find her for you. And Captain…?”

  “Yes, Morgan?”

  She smiled broadly. “Isn’t it more fun talking to me than just an ordinary computer voice?”

  In spite of the situation, he returned the smile. “Yes. Much more fun, Morgan. Tons more fun.”

  Then

  i.

  He had forgotten what the Xenexian sun was like. It pounded down upon him, oppressive, almost impossible to take. And yet, it was like having an old friend greeting him once more.

  An old friend he really, really hated.

  The entire situation struck Calhoun as patently absurd. If there was one man he’d ever encountered whom he was quite certain he despised and would forever despise, it was the bully known as Joshua Kemper. Kemper, after all, had been largely responsible for much of what had gone wrong during his first year at the Academy. As a result, Kemper was unquestionably the last person he would ever trust in any sort of situation, from politely social to life-threatening.

  Yet here he now was, making his way through a narrow mountain pass with Kemper directly behind him.

  Calhoun knew these mountains all too well. The Ridge Mountains. There had been any number of occasions when he and his followers had eluded Danteri troops here. The Xenexians had stumbled over an unusual feature of the Ridge Mountains through sheerest chance: The mountains contained some sort of natural ore that scrambled most sensor devices. It was impossible for anyone using most scanner technology available to accurately detect life forms hiding within the Ridge. Instead the most they would get was bounce-backs, echoes…ghosts of whomever it was they were searching out. It had driven the Danteri mad with frustration. Just one of the many tricks that the rebels had learned as they used the properties of their world to thwart and frustrate the more technologically advanced Danteri, forcing them to fight the Xenexian sort of battle. A battle that, in the long term, the Danteri could not hope to win.

  It was because of the Ridge’s nature that Calhoun had been convinced it was the area where their target, Dr. Bethom, would be hiding. He would be concerned about Federation pursuit, and want to make his headquarters in an area that provided both natural cover and some means of thwarting standard sensor scans. The only way sensors would be able to garner any trace readings would be if they were practically on top of him. The Danteri had discovered that years before, much to their chagrin, as their efforts to detect the hiding Xenexians had only been successful mere moments before death by ambush would come raining down upon them.

  Fortunately, there was a particular mountain tribe whom Calhoun had encountered during his forays into the Ridge, a tribe that had come to respect and revere the great M’k’n’zy of Calhoun. They were by nature a very peaceful people, and they had refused to lend a sword in the battle to liberate Xenex. This had angered the young warlord at first, but the tribe had also been willing to provide aid and succor. This naturally put them at great risk of reprisal should the Danteri find out. Not only had they earned M’k’n’zy’s respect, but the warlord had come to realize that there were many aspects to any war, and all should be appreciated for whatever contributions they could make.

  It was upon that tribe that Calhoun, in the company of the Starfleet strike team, had called. The elder tribesmen did not recognize Calhoun at first. It was fortunate that he had continued to sport his neatly trimmed beard or they might never have done so. Once they did, though, Calhoun explained his situation and who they were looking for.

  The elder tribesmen had nodded, looking grim. “We know exactly of whom you speak, Great M’k’n’zy,” they had said to him. “Occasionally he has turned loose one of his beasts upon us.”

  “Have they killed any of you?” Calhoun had asked with some urgency.

  “No,” he was told. “No, we have managed to destroy them each time.”

  Kemper had looked grim as he said, “Why would he be doing that? Setting his creatures on these people?”

  “He’s testing them,” Calhoun had replied. “Testing his beasts in the most practical way available to him: combat conditions. Then he determines what his creatures’ weaknesses are and fixes them on the next go-around.”

  “Hideous,” Shelby had said. “My God, I read his texts…the man is brilliant. I had no idea of the circumstances surrounding his departure from the Academy. What a waste. What a damned waste.”

  Not for the first time, Calhoun had wondered about the wisdom of bringing Shelby. But he had no one else to blame, for it had been he who had insisted that she be added to the team. There was, first and foremost, her knowledge of the writings of Bethom and of the sort of technology that could lead to the creatures Bethom was creating. And second, she had almost died at the hands (well, tentacles) of one of Bethom’s pets. Certainly from a closure point of view, she deserved the opportunity to join in the mission to put an end to his activities. Besides, he had figured (correctly, as it turned out) that she would absolutely insist on going. This naturally was enough to put Jellico practically into cardiac arrest, but Nechayev had gotten the necessary permissions and Shelby had been added to the team.

  There were three other men along. None of them seemed to be typical Starfleet. They came across more like extremely experienced foot soldiers, and apparently this was not the first job they had done for Nechayev. Their names were Langdon, Fitzhugh, and Travers. Langdon, the senior of the three, was clearly the most experienced, a burly veteran of such escapades. Fitzhugh, slimmer and waspish, said barely more than one sentence at a time, but he had the cold indifference of a man who was used to killing. Calhoun wondered if, in another life, Fitzhugh was an assassin. Or maybe in this life. Travers was the youngest of the three, with a broad, open face that, according to Shelby, screamed Midwest. He had a ready grin and seemed almost oafish. He moved, however, with the speed and strength of a panther. Calhoun, as always a good judge of a man’s capabilities, reckoned him to be a formidable fighter.

  For their part, they regarded the two third-year cadets with some suspicion, seeming as enthused as Jellico had been about their participation in the mission. As for Calhoun, he still hadn’t quite gotten over Kemper’s suggesting him. Part of him was suspicious enough to wonder whether this wasn’t actually part of some revenge scheme that Kemper had cooked up. But Kemper had been completely candid with him back in Jellico’s office.

  “Look, Calhoun,” Kemper had said to him. “Believe it or not, two years ago when all that happened might as well have been a lifetime ago as far as I’m concerned. The bottom line is this: Someone who’s so skilled that he’s capable of kicking my ass is the kind of man I want covering my ass. Understood?” Calhoun said that he did, and hoped that wasn’t an exaggeration.

  All of that had brought him to this moment in time, this place in the Ridge Mountains. He was on point, leading the way through a narrow pass, all too aware that this was a perfect place for some sort of ambush. Kemper was directly behind him, Shelby behind Kemper, and Langdon, Fitzhugh, and Travers bringing up the rear. Shelby had a tricorder out, and she was carefully surveying the surrounding area.

  “Getting anything?” asked Kemper.

  She shook her head. “More of the bounce-back. Still having trouble locking on to any sort of emanations. But if he has a faci
lity around here, there should be some sort of energy readings I can pick up. Wait!”

  They all froze.

  “What is it?” whispered Calhoun, every muscle in his body tense.

  “Getting life readings,” she said. “Five. Maybe six.”

  “Weapons out,” snapped Kemper, and the others immediately unholstered their phasers. “Shelby, keep talking. Tell me what you’ve got. Are they moving?”

  “Position’s fixed. I think maybe they know we’re here. Wait…I’m getting more precise bioreadings. It’s…That’s odd.”

  “What?”

  “It’s mostly humans. Five humans and…one…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “And one Xenexian, you were going to say?” asked Calhoun, trying not to grin.

  Shelby muttered, “Sorry.”

  “Shiiiit,” groaned Langdon, holstering his phaser.

  “What happened? Are we still being tracked?” Travers seemed confused.

  Langdon turned and cuffed Travers on the side of the head. “It was us, you idiot. She was picking up our life readings.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” Shelby told him, getting a bit defensive. “The echo these walls are creating is just murderous.”

  Fitzhugh simply grunted, not looking particularly sympathetic.

  “’S okay, Shelby,” said Kemper. “Could happen to anyone.”

  “Yeah, well, I wish it would have happened to someone other than me,” Shelby grumbled as she fine-tuned some of the tricorder controls. “That way I wouldn’t have to—Wait.”

  “Now what?” Langdon asked. He didn’t sound enthused.

  “Now I’m getting energy readings.”

  “It’s probably from our phasers.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It could be,” Kemper agreed.

  Shelby fired them a furious glare. “It’s not the damned phasers, okay? It’s something else. Some sort of energy signature, probably from the devices Bethom is using in his experiments.”