by Peter David
“It makes sense,” Burgoyne said. S/he was smiling approvingly at Selar, and Calhoun couldn’t blame hir. It was the first time in ages that Selar had spoken without a tinge of anger or bitterness in her voice. Granted, there was no trace of any emotion at all, but that wasn’t all that startling for a Vulcan. Actually, she sounded less emotional than ever, almost as if she were speaking robotically. But Calhoun didn’t give it any further thought, reasoning that at least she was putting forward worthwhile suggestions rather than stewing over her son’s situation.
“It does make sense,” said Calhoun. “You could stay there for as long as you needed to in order to get your footing. And if an opportunity presented itself—a job on a colony world, or someplace else where you could effectively blend in, disappear—you could depart Bravo station with no fuss. There are passenger vessels going in and out all the time.”
“Yes. Sure. All right,” said Robin. “It would be great to see the admiral again. I haven’t seen her since…” Her voice trailed off.
“Si Cwan’s death,” said Kebron helpfully. When he realized that everyone was glaring at him, he said, “Don’t give me that look. Refusing to talk about a difficult subject doesn’t lessen the pain.”
“Zak’s right,” Robin said, and she reached over and patted the top of Kebron’s huge hand. “I haven’t seen her since Si Cwan’s death. So visiting her with a bundle of life seems exactly the best way to reintroduce myself.”
“All right,” said Calhoun with a smile. “Morgan, set course for Bravo station. Kebron, raise Admiral Shelby on subspace so I can tell her we’re on the way. Everyone else, to your stations. Doctor,” he said as everyone began to rise, “good thinking.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Oh, and while we’re there, we can drop off Rulan 12. From my understanding, you’ve done everything you can for hir. Shelby can arrange for hir transport to a Starfleet medical facility.” He paused and then said, “That is acceptable to you, I hope.”
There was no hesitation as she said, “Of course, Captain. It is the only logical way in which to proceed.”
There was something in her voice that abruptly twanged a chord of concern in Calhoun’s mind, but he wasn’t exactly sure what was prompting it. Since he had nothing concrete upon which to base his worries, he decided it would be preferable if, for the moment, he said nothing. He did, however, remain in the conference lounge until after everyone had left, at which point he called out, “Morgan!’
The ops officer promptly reappeared. “Yes, Captain? Are you checking to make sure we’re on course for Bravo station? Because I can assure you—”
“Shut up.”
Morgan looked surprised, even taken aback, but she did nothing except close her mouth with an audible click.
Calhoun got up from his chair and came around the table toward her. His voice was low and flat, a sure indicator that he was extremely angry. Calhoun was someone who became quieter in proportion to the ire he was feeling. In this instance he was speaking barely above a whisper. “Did you think I was stupid? That I wouldn’t figure it out?”
“Captain, I have no idea what—”
“You went to the admiral. You went to the admiral behind my back and had a little conversation. Make some threats too, did you?”
“Captain, I don’t know what Jellico told you…”
“I didn’t say Jellico,” Calhoun immediately pounced. “I just said ‘the admiral.’ Is Jellico the one you went to?”
“He’s not who I went to.”
“So you did go to someone.”
“No, I—”
Then she scowled, her face becoming darker, like a storm rolling in across a roiling sea. “It’s moments such as this,” she said with visible annoyance, “that I regret having any human components left to me. I can think a million times faster than you. There is simply no way that you should be able to outthink me in these matters, and yet…”
“And yet,” he said with no trace of amusement.
“How did you know?”
“Because it’s my job to know. See the patterns that other people miss. You’re the reason that I lost the signal to the admiral. That took me no time at all to figure out. Especially when, once we re-established contact, he had changed his mind. Something happened during that interval, and my guess was that that something was you. Did you threaten him?”
“Not in so many words.”
“How many, then?”
“Seventy. I emphasize again, though, there was nothing overt. Simply implied.”
“You cannot do that, Morgan. It is inexcusable.”
“I’m not looking for it to be excused. I had to protect my daughter.”
“And she’s my friend. Don’t you think I would protect her as well?”
“Not the way I can.”
His eyes glittered with barely controlled fury. “I will not have you circumventing my authority, Morgan. You are never to do something like this again.”
“Or what?”
There was dead silence then, their gazes locked upon each other, and then Morgan looked down. “I apologize, Captain. Not for what I did. I will do anything I need to in order to protect Robin. But I regret the manner in which I did it. I should not have undermined your authority. There will be no recurrence.” She paused. “May I leave now?”
“Dismissed,” he said curtly.
She vanished once more. Yet long after she was gone, Calhoun stood there, as motionless as a statue. There was no question in his mind that he had a major situation on his hands, and he had to believe that—to some degree—he had brought it upon himself. Having Morgan as part of the ship’s computer had been a tremendous advantage until now, combining the instincts of a human mind with the processing power of a computer. But, thanks to the trauma she had suffered from the incident months earlier, she had changed…and not for the better. The potential for abuse, for her to become something dangerous, had always been there. But he had turned a blind eye to it for as long as he was benefiting from her status. Now that blind eye had put them into an untenable position, and he had no answers for it.
That wasn’t quite true. He had one answer for it.
He was going to have to find some way to eliminate Morgan.
She had lost her mortal existence once, and a bizarre series of events had granted her a second life.
Now he was going to have to undo that, exorcise the ghost from the machine.
He just didn’t have the faintest idea of how.
The Spectre
Soleta, the commander of the Romulan spy ship Spectre, had drifted to sleep, her hand resting on the chest of her lover and partner, Lucius. Typically at such times, after expending energy in carnal pursuits, Lucius would fall asleep as well.
This time, he did not.
He had no idea why that was, why he was just lying there staring at the ceiling. And he found it disturbing that he had no idea. Lucius prided himself on knowing his own mind at all times. He felt it was his responsibility, considering that Soleta so often appeared not to know hers. Initially he had found that disconcerting. If anything, he would have thought that Soleta would be far more logical and rational than the typical Romulan, thanks to her Vulcan blood and generally Vulcan upbringing. Then again, perhaps her unpredictability was related to that volatile mix. She had been raised a Vulcan, discovered her Romulan heritage, been rejected from Starfleet to which she had devoted her life, and then had watched the Romulan Empire crumble around her. All things considered, it was remarkable that she had held herself together as well as she had. Perhaps, Lucius thought, he should contemplate her shortcomings less, and should instead wonder why he remained so rock steady. Maybe she was the one who was more realistic in her outlook on things.
Lucius eased his feet out of the bed and stepped barefoot onto the floor, which felt unusually cold. He tossed on a robe. It was just he and Soleta on the ship, so what was the point in putting on his uniform? Nor did they have a rendezvous set up anytime soo
n; they were between assignments.
As he walked through the ship, he pondered the odd direction his life had taken. Never in a million years would he have expected that he and Soleta would become lovers, considering that he thought very little of her when she was given command of the Spectre, and even less of her when he had led a mutiny against her. On the other hand, because of that mutiny, the notion that they would wind up together must have seemed even stranger to Soleta than it was to him.
Lucius had never been a big believer in any sort of divine plan. Yet he found himself wondering about the unlikelihood of Soleta and him winding up together. Perhaps there was something to be said for an unseen hand manipulating them, drawing unlikely elements together. Certainly there seemed no rational explanation for it otherwise.
You would be amazed.
He jumped so high that he nearly struck his head on the low ceiling. The fleeting thought had not been his own, and it seemed so unreal that at first he thought he might in fact be asleep and still dreaming. When he landed he did so badly, thudding down on his right heel, sending a shiver of pain up his leg. It would cause no lasting damage, but it was enough to confirm for him that, yes indeed, he was in fact awake.
He looked around, trying to tell himself that it hadn’t been in his head but instead someone speaking to him from close by. Who they were and how they could possibly have gained entrance into the ship were questions he would get to in short order. For now he just needed to determine what was happening.
You will not find us by looking out, but rather by looking inward, my child.
Lucius was in no mood to be patronized by a voice in his own head. He briefly considered waking Soleta but discarded the notion. Awaken her and tell her what? That he was hearing voices?
He stopped at a wall panel and touched it with his thumb. It snapped open and there was a disruptor inside. He withdrew it, thumbed it to its highest setting, and kept going.
Within moments, he found himself on the bridge. That was the first thing he needed to secure. If there was indeed some sort of invader on the vessel, then he had to make sure the nerve center of the ship remained untouched. There was no one there, however. The ship’s computer hummed along, calmly keeping the ship floating in space, with the cloaking device concealing them from passers-by. The auto-nav was on standby so that, in the extremely unlikely event that another ship showed up out of nowhere and was on a collision course, the computer would guide the Spectre out of its way.
“Where are you?” demanded Lucius.
Right here.
Lucius jumped back as a glowing blue image of a translucent being appeared on the viewscreen. And then, as Lucius watched in slack-jawed astonishment, the being appeared to step right out of the screen and onto the bridge. Its arms were folded in a relaxed manner, and it smiled beatifically.
There is no need for you to be startled.
“With all deference to whoever you are or whatever you are supposed to be, I believe there is every need for me to be startled,” he said. “People sending messages into my head or stepping off the viewscreen is hardly an everyday occurrence around here.”
You will not need that. The being gestured toward the disruptor that Lucius held tightly.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be the judge of that.”
The being appeared to shrug. It was an oddly normal gesture for something so abnormal to make. As you wish.
“Who are you?”
Our name is unimportant.
“If that were the case, then you’d think nothing of telling it to me.”
You make a valid enough point, but nothing will be gained by arguing it at present. Listen carefully, Lucius, because there is not much time. Soleta is stirring.
“You keep away from her…”
She is not relevant to the matter at hand, my child. You are. Your cooperation is required.
“For what? What are you talking about?”
You must take the Spectre to Bravo station.
“Bravo station?” Lucius slowly circled the translucent being, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the creature’s innermost workings. “The Federation space station, you mean? Why would I need to go there?”
You are going to pick up passengers. A woman and a child.
“Oh, am I now.”
The decision is up to you, but it would be advisable that you comply, for they are a very special woman and child.
“Special in what sense?”
Special in terms of what they represent to you.
“I don’t understand.”
The creature’s mouth was not moving: It continued to smile. Words are so cumbersome. It will be simpler to show you.
“Show me? What do you mean—?”
and images explode in his head, so many that at first it is impossible for him to sort them out. One overlays the next and he is convinced that his skull is going to explode, his brain is going to melt into liquid streams and come pouring out his ears and then suddenly the images begin to sort themselves out, become coherent and comprehensible, but they still fly past him, and there are people he does not recognize; he senses that they are important somehow but cannot discern their specific importance in the grand scheme, although one does stand out for him: a Vulcan woman, and she is holding a child with a curious skin tone; she is looking right at him, and then she is gone as the world continues to spin around him, and then he sees what he realizes he is meant to see…
It is he. He sits upon a throne with decorations that he recognizes immediately, the throne of the praetor of the Romulans. He is leaning on one elbow and smiling in a smug, satisfied manner that is so very typical for him.
He is the praetor. He has ascended to the throne, and he has taken the future of the Romulans in his hands and secured it; he does not know how he can be certain of it from only that quick image flashing through his consciousness, but he is…
Yes. What you see is what will happen if you bring the Spectre to Bravo station.
“You mean this is some sort of offer you’re holding out? Am I supposed to believe—?”
Not an offer. Not any sort of reward. This is a vision of truth. Circumstances will be set into motion by your actions that will lead to this inevitable conclusion. Most men wish that they had some control of their destiny. In this case, you do. You will be able to steer your fate toward an enviable conclusion.
“How do I know—?”
You do know. Look into yourself. You know that what I have shown you is the truth.
And he does. He does not know how he knows it, but he does, but part of his mind is shouting at him that he is allowing himself to be duped, that even his innermost beliefs are being influenced and controlled, but he does not care because he wants so much for it to be true that to think otherwise is simply not an option…
You believe.
“Yes. Yes, I believe.”
Then do something about it.
He is trembling, out of control and…
“Lucius!”
He sat up abruptly and was astounded to discover that he was in bed next to Soleta. It was she who had spoken. She had one hand on his shoulder and had been shaking him, obviously concerned. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You were trembling in your sleep. You never tremble.”
“In my sleep?” He was utterly bewildered. “I was on the bridge.”
“The bridge? No.”
“It was not a dream, Soleta.” He turned to look at her and, out of habit, brushed stray strands of hair from her face. “I had a vision.”
“A vision?” Clearly she had no idea what to make of that. “Lucius, you have no history of psychic ability that I’m aware of. So it’s asking quite a bit to accept that you’re suddenly clairvoyant…”
“I am not claiming clairvoyance. I am saying that I had some sort of encounter.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lucius, this is ridiculous…”
He gripped her by bo
th arms and said intently, “Soleta. You were a scientist. Surely you have to admit that anything is possible. And if an unknown intelligence chose to make contact with me in this manner, is that so impossible?”
“I do not, in fact, admit anything is possible. There are any number of things that are precluded by the laws of physics, for example.”
“Don’t pick apart my statements, Soleta.”
Despite Lucius’s best efforts, her hair had once again fallen in her face. She blew some of it out of the way. “I’m not trying to pick apart anything. I’m just trying to make sense out of it. Very well, if you cannot tell me who appeared to you in this so-called vision, can you provide me any details at all?”
“Yes. We need to go to Bravo station.”
“Bravo station? Why?”
Because I will become praetor if we do.
“I do not know.”
“Lucius! Of all the—”
“Soleta,” he said with quiet urgency, “this is important. I cannot tell you how I know that it is. But it is. If you have any faith in me, any trust in me—”
“Don’t frame it that way,” she said, annoyance in her voice. She scratched the side of her nose. “Don’t put me in that position.” She leaned back and stared at him. “This is insane, what you’re asking, you realize. I’m supposed to believe that a vivid dream was an alien encounter and, because of that, head to Bravo station for no particular reason.”
“Not quite. There is a particular reason. The particular reason is that I am asking you to.”
“All right. Fine.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” she affirmed. “Let me get dressed and we’ll get up to the bridge.”
“I think,” and he brought his arm across her chest, brushing against her, “that acting on my vision can wait a little while longer.”