by Peter David
“Bridge to Si Cwan,” Shelby said promptly.
“Yes,” came Si Cwan’s voice.
“Meet me in sickbay, please. We have some refugees there whom we’d like you to speak with.”
“On my way.”
Shelby turned to Calhoun. “I took the liberty of issuing him a comm badge. He’s not Starfleet, of course, but it seemed the simplest way to reach him.”
“Good thinking, Commander.”
She smiled. “I have my moments,” and headed to the turbolift.
The moment she was gone, though, Kebron stepped over to Calhoun and said, “Captain, shall I go as well?”
“You, Kebron? Why?”
“To keep an eye on Cwan.”
“What do you think he’s going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Kebron said darkly. He seemed to want to say something more, but he kept his mouth tightly closed.
“Lieutenant, if you’ve got something on your mind, out with it.”
“Very well. I feel that you have made a vast mistake allowing Si Cwan aboard this vessel. He could jeopardize our mission.”
“If I believed he could, I would never have allowed him to remain.”
“I’m aware of that, sir. Nevertheless, I feel it was an error.”
“I generally have a good instinct about people, Lieutenant. I’ve learned to trust it; it’s saved my life any number of times. If you wish to disagree with me, that is your prerogative.”
“Then I’m afraid that’s how it’s going to remain, Captain, until such time as I’m convinced otherwise.”
“And when do you think that will be?”
Zak Kebron considered the question. “In Earth years, or in Brikar years?”
“Earth years.”
“In Earth years?” He paused only a moment, and then responded, “Never.”
• • •
Shelby entered sickbay and looked around at the haggard faces of the patients in the medlab. Immediately her heart went out to them. They were a mixture of races, with such variations of skin colors between them that they looked like a rainbow. But there was unity in the fact that they were clearly frightened, dispossessed, with no clear idea of what lay ahead for them. Dr. Selar was going about her duties with efficiency and speed. Shelby noticed that Selar and her people already seemed to be working smoothly and in unison. She felt some relief at that; Calhoun had mentioned that there’d been some difficulty between Selar and one of her doctors, but Shelby wouldn’t have known from watching them in action.
“I’m looking for the commander of the vessel,” she said to the room at large.
One of the scruffier individuals stepped forward. “That would be me.” He stuck out a hand. “Name’s Hufmin.”
“Commander Shelby, second-in-command.”
“You people saved our butts.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” she told him, even as she thought, Did I just say that? I sound like something out of the Star fleet Cliché Handbook.
And then Shelby saw the attitude of the people in sickbay change instantly, as if electrified. A number who were on diagnostic tables immediately jumped off. One even pushed Dr. Selar aside so he could scramble to his feet. They were all looking past Shelby’s shoulder. She turned to see that, standing behind her, was Si Cwan.
There was dead silence for what seemed an infinity to her, and then a young woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties by Earth standards, seemed to fly across the room. She threw her arms around Si Cwan so tightly that it looked as if she’d snap him like a twig, even though she came up barely to his chest.
“You’re alive, thank the gods, you’re alive,” she whispered.
And now the others followed suit. Most of them did not possess the total lack of inhibition of the first woman. They approached him tentatively, reverently, with varying forms of intimidation or respect. Si Cwan, for his part, stroked the young woman’s thick blue hair as gently as a father cradling his newborn child. He looked to the others, stretching out his free hand as if summoning them. They seemed to draw strength from his mere presence, many of them genuflecting, a few had their heads bowed.
“Please. Please, that’s not necessary,” said Si Cwan. “Please . . . get up. Don’t bow. Don’t . . . please don’t,” and he gestured for them to rise. “Sometimes I feel that such ceremonies helped create the divide between us that led to . . . to our present state. Up . . . yes, you in the back, up.”
They followed his instructions out of long habit. “This ship is bringing you back to power, Lord Cwan?” asked one of the men. “They’ll use their weapons on your behalf?”
Shelby began to state that that was uncategorically not the case, but with a voice filled with surprising gentleness, Si Cwan said, “This is a mission of peace, my friends. I am merely here to lend help wherever I can.” And then he glanced briefly at Shelby as if to say, A satisfactory answer? She nodded in silent affirmation.
Then Shelby turned back to the refugees and said, “What were you all fleeing from?”
A dozen different answers poured out, all at the same time. The specifics varied from one individual or one group to the next, but there were common themes to all. Governments in disarray, marauders from an assortment of races, wars breaking out all over for reasons ranging from newly disputed boundaries to attempted genocide. A world of order sliding into a world of chaos.
“We just want to be safe,” said the young woman who had so precipitously hugged Si Cwan. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Unfortunately,” sighed Si Cwan, “sometimes the answer to that is yes.”
“The rest of the royal family . . . are they . . . ?”
He nodded and there were a few choked sobs . . . and also, Shelby noted, a few sighs of relief.
“What’s going to happen to us now?” asked one of them.
“First, we’re going to repair Captain Hufmin’s vessel We have a team there right now,” Shelby told them. At this, Hufmin moaned softly and shook his head, which piqued Shelby’s curiosity. “Problem, Captain?”
“Well, don’t think I’m not grateful for the rescue and repair. I am. More than you can believe. But I have to ask . . . how much is the repair job going to cost? Because I’m not making the kind of money off this job that you’d probably think I am—”
“Captain Hufmin,” Shelby began.
“—and you’ve got your experts who, I’m sure, are the best that money can buy, but my credit level is so low that unless we set up some sort of payment schedule . . .”
“Captain, there’s no charge,” Shelby interrupted him.
This brought him up short. “No charge?”
“None.”
“Well then . . . what do you get out of this?”
“We get nothing more from it than the awareness that we’re fulfilling the mandates of Starfleet. That, and simply the knowledge of a job well done,” Shelby told him, and this time she thought, Dammit, I know I’ve mostly specialized in fighting the Borg, and have far more strategic bridge experience than I do with one-to-one diplomacy, but I have got to drop the homilies before someone beats me to death with a baseball bat.
“And then what?” asked another of the refugees.
“Then we’ll make sure that you get where you’re going. Where are you going, by the way?”
“Intended destination is Sigma Tau Ceti,” Hufmin told her. “Not the greatest planet on the rim, but it’s within range considering what they were able to pay. Although if you’ve got other suggestions, I’m sure they’d be happy to discuss it. . . .”
At that moment, Si Cwan’s comm badge beeped. He seemed slightly startled by it since he was, naturally, unused to wearing it. He tapped it tentatively and said, “Yes?”
“Si Cwan, this is Soleta,” came the Vulcan’s voice. “We’ve received a communique I think you should be aware of.”
“What is it?”
“It’s another vessel. They not only sent out a distress call, but they included a passen
ger roster. If I’m recalling correctly, didn’t you say your sister’s name was Kallinda?”
For a moment Si Cwan felt as if his heart had stopped. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Well, her name’s on it.”
“I’m on my way,” he said without hesitation. He paused and said to the refugees, “Trust these people. They will take care of you,” and then he was out the door, his long legs carrying him so rapidly that Shelby felt as if he’d vanished between eyeblinks.
Hufmin took a step forward and, clearing his throat, said, “Uhm, Commander . . . as long as your people are over there . . . you know, the phase converter’s never worked really up to what I’d like. Also I could use a replacement of the dilithium charger, and a full cleaning of the—”
“Hufmin . . .”
“Yes, Commander Shelby?”
She smiled wanly. “Don’t push it, okay?”
• • •
Inside the midship area of the Cambon. Burgoyne shook hish head in annoyance as s/he looked over the damage report. “Interior and exterior damage to the impulse rods, as well as the primary warp stabilizer. And look at the age of some of these parts; I hope we can match it. To say nothing of the fact that we’ll have to do EVA repairs.” S/he sighed. “This’ll take forever.”
“Can we bring this ship into the shuttlebay and work on it there?” asked Yates.
Burgoyne shook hish head. “Too big. If we were in a Galaxy-class ship, yes, it’d fit. But in the Ambassador-class size? Not near enough room. Although I suppose if we could bring it close enough in to the Excalibur, we could raise shields and encompass it within the shield sphere. Then all we’d need is some floaters to move around it, rather than have to put up with clunky EVA suits. You’d think after four centuries of a space program, we’d have come up with better EVA suits than what we’ve got.” Burgoyne tapped hish comm badge. “Burgoyne to bridge.”
“Bridge, Kebron here.”
“Zak? Tell the captain we’re talking at least a nine-hour repair job here.”
“Nine hours?” Kebron sounded skeptical. “You could disassemble the Excalibur’s engines and put them back together in nine hours.”
“If you think you can do better, Kebron, you’re welcome to try. Burgoyne out.”
• • •
Si Cwan studied the passenger roster with a rapidly growing sense of urgency. “What’s the ship’s name again?” he asked.
“The Kayven Ryin,” Soleta said, coming around from the science station. Si Cwan was at the tactical station, looking over the incoming transmission. Kebron had at first stood firm, but ultimately backed off a few feet and simply glowered with arms folded. “It’s not a Federation ship, but it’s in the registry nonetheless. It’s a freelance science and exploration vessel.”
“Why would a science vessel be carrying any passengers at all, much less Si Cwan’s sister?” asked Kebron.
“It makes sense,” Si Cwan said with more excitement than Soleta had ever heard in his voice. “You’re absolutely right, Kebron, it’s not the type of vessel that would be used for transport. Secondly, unless I’m mistaken, it’s big.”
“Quite big,” affirmed Soleta. “Such vessels usually are. Science and exploration vessels generally tend to be prepared for anything. It can easily accommodate a scientific team of up to one hundred people, transporting sufficient life-support equipment to sustain them for—”
“We get the idea, Lieutenant,” Calhoun said, rising from his chair and standing on the lower level of the bridge in front of the tactical station. “But according to the manifest, how many passengers in this instance on the Kayven Ryin?”
“Only nine, actually.”
“I see. How long ago was the message sent?”
“It’s still being sent, Captain,” Kebron said. “It’s on live feed, a steady pulse.”
“Try to raise them.”
Kebron made that slight bow that passed for a nod and stepped up to tactical. He took a small amount of pleasure in hip-checking Si Cwan out of the way as he sent an autohail back through subspace. While he waited for a response, he watched Si Cwan’s reactions carefully. And he could see that Si Cwan was . . .
. . . afraid.
This struck Kebron as unusual, to say the least. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Si Cwan, but fear hadn’t quite been it. Kebron immediately started to become annoyed with himself as he realized he was feeling something for Si Cwan that he didn’t want to feel: sympathy. He pushed such annoying thoughts as far away as he could as he reported briskly, “No response.”
“How far away are they?”
“Approximately two hours at warp two.”
“Captain, we have to go get her,” Si Cwan said urgently. “She can’t be that close and we don’t do anything.”
“We’re already working on one rescue effort, Ambassador,” replied Calhoun. “We finish one before we move on to the next. We can’t go running helter-skelter throughout the sector.”
“Captain, please,” began Si Cwan.
But Calhoun cut him off emphatically. “We have four dozen frightened and shaken-up people on this vessel. I’m not about to start dragging them on side trips.”
“A side trip? Captain, there are lives involved.”
“My decision is final, Ambassador. I’m sorry.” He hesitated. “Unless . . .”
“Unless?” demanded Si Cwan with obvious urgency.
Calhoun turned to Lefler and said, “Refresh my memory, Lefler. We have a runabout down in the hangar bay?”
“Aye, sir. The Marquand.”
“Can it make warp two?”
“That and a bit more in a pinch.”
He nodded and looked back to Si Cwan. “Ambassador . . . we’re remaining on station until such time that repairs are completed and we can send our passengers on their way. But if you want to grab a runabout and rendezvous with the Kayven Ryin, I’ll authorize it.”
“That is more than generous, Captain,” Si Cwan said. “I’ll prepare to leave immediately. . . .”
“Captain!” exclaimed an alarmed Zak Kebron.
“Problem, Mr. Kebron?”
“Sir, as head of security, I must register a formal protest.”
“Formal. And me without my dress uniform.”
“Sending a non-Starfleet individual out in a runabout . . .” Kebron couldn’t find the words.
“On second thought, Mr. Kebron, you’re absolutely right.”
Zak let out a sigh of relief. “I’m pleased that you—”
“You’ll be accompanying him.”
“Captain! No, you can’t—”
And Calhoun stepped in close to Kebron, and when he spoke his voice was low and angry, and his scar seemed to be standing out against his skin. “I can, and I am. I ask nothing of my crew members but the best they have to offer, and if the best you can offer is insubordination, then I’m going to get a new crew member and you can damn well walk home. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kebron tightly.
“Good.” Calhoun stepped back and then his gaze transfixed Si Cwan. “Do you have any problems with Mr. Kebron accompanying you?”
Si Cwan seemed ready to make one response, and clearly thought better of it, and said instead, “None whatsoever.”
“Just what I wanted to hear: nothing. Lefler, have the shuttlebay prepare the Marquand for departure. Gentlemen . . . have a pleasant flight. And stay in touch. You know how I worry.”
XII.
SHELBY STARED INCREDULOUSLY at Calhoun. “You must be out of your mind.”
Calhoun looked up from his desk. “I assume you’re referring to the errand on which I sent Mr. Kebron and Ambassador Cwan.”
“Of course I am! Kebron’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t like Si Cwan. How could you stick the two of them in a runabout together and send them out on a jaunt? We could have broken off from our repairs on the Cambon. If we’d left it sitting in space for a few hours while we checked out this other distress signal .
. .”
“Nothing would have happened, y&s, I know. That wasn’t the point.”
“Then what was?”
“You’ve checked out Mr. Kebron’s psych profile, I take it?”
“I read over his career highlights, yes. A solid officer . . . no pun intended. Diligent. Thorough.”
“Yes, but sometimes he has difficulty . . . oh, what’s the old phrase . . . working and playing well with others. Particularly when it comes to races with whom he has little to no familiarity.”
“The fact that he’s extremely suspicious makes him well suited to being head of Security. You don’t want someone who trusts everyone.”
“Granted. But you don’t want someone who is so distrustful that it impedes his ability to function . . . particularly when it comes to interaction with other crewmen.”
“Point taken,” said Shelby reluctantly. “Do you have any reason to believe such would be the case with Kebron?”
“There was an incident—a series of incidents, really—during his first year at Starfleet Academy. He apparently wasn’t at the Academy for more than five minutes before he got into a brawl with another cadet, who happened to be the first Klingon at the Academy . . .”
“Worf?” asked Shelby in surprise.
“You know him?”
“I’ve worked with him. He’s a . . . unique individual.”
“Most individuals are,” he observed. “In any event, it appears that Mr. Kebron’s tendency to be judgmental and suspicious proved a hindrance, and friction continued between him and Worf. In order to alleviate the problem, the Academy heads forced Mr. Kebron and Mr. Worf to be roommates. The close proximity prompted an airing out of difficulties and, eventually, a smoothly operating relationship.”
“I see. And you decided that pushing Kebron and Si Cwan together for a period of time might smooth out the hostilities in this instance.”
“That is my plan, yes. What do you think?”
“Risky and unnecessary. Simply order Kebron to cooperate with Si Cwan and let it go at that.”