STAR TREK: NEW FRONTIER: THE QUIET PLACE

by Peter David

  That was when the alarms went off.

  The alarms seized the attention of the Overlord and his aides immediately. The Overlord did not appear particularly perturbed by the intrusion. Indeed, he seemed rather interested, even intrigued that someone would be so foolish as to launch an attack directly against the Redeemers. “It would appear we have visitors,” he said. “One almost has to admire their audacity.”

  “Overlord,” one of the Redeemers said, and he actually appeared a bit apprehensive. “This is not one of our primary battle vessels. It is designed primarily for short-range travel in friendly territory. We could be at a disadvantage.”

  “Are you questioning my choice of vehicles?” There was an amazing cool in the Overlord's voice, but also an unmistakeable warning.

  “No, Overlord,” the Redeemer said immediately.

  “Good. That is good.” The Overlord considered the matter a moment longer, and then said, “I shall attend to this present disruption. You remain here. Make certain that our guest is kept comfortable.”

  She wanted to laugh upon hearing that. She also wanted to cry. Comfortable? Bound hand and foot into a chair of torture, knowing that more suffering would be hers to experience very shortly. What sort of sick, sad world had grabbed hold of her? She should never have left her mother. She should never have fled her home, never allowed herself to fall in with these various bizarre beings who wanted her to provide answers, and then disbelieved her when she provided them. She had totally lost track of herself, no longer had any idea whom she could trust. The depressing truth was that she couldn't trust anyone.

  Well . . . maybe Xyon. He'd been willing to lay down his life for her.

  But he was dead, dead and gone.

  The Overlord swept out of the room, leaving the three Redeemers alone with Riella and Xyon's corpse. The Redeemers looked a bit disconcerted now that their leader had walked out, their purpose placed in abeyance for the time being.

  “We should get him out of here,” one of them said, indicating Xyon's unmoving form.

  “The Overlord did not tell us to.”

  “True. But he did not tell us to leave him here, either.”

  This was an indisputable rejoinder. It gave them something to ponder for a few moments, and finally the first Redeemer said, “There is another room in the back. We can throw him in there. That way if his body begins to smell, we do not have to concern ourselves with the stench.”

  The plan met with immediate approval, and the three Redeemers reached down to haul Xyon up and out. They dragged him up so that he was almost in a standing position, dangling there like a rag doll.

  That was when he abruptly planted his feet.

  Riella gasped, positive beyond all certainty that she had fallen asleep and was dreaming once more. Except this time, instead of dreaming about the Quiet Place, she was dreaming of a very unlikely rescue by an equally unlikely rescuer.

  Xyon's eyes were open and filled with fire. There was a Redeemer on either side of him, and arms that had been draped loosely around their shoulders suddenly tightened. The third Redeemer was standing directly in front of him. Xyon swung his feet up and slammed them against the Redeemer's chest, knocking him clear across the room. The Redeemer crashed into the far wall, his head making a peculiar and most satisfying crunching sound before he sagged to the floor. Before he had even hit, though, Xyon was already gripping the heads of the Redeemers next to him. He angled backwards and brought their heads slamming together. The noise their skulls made when smacking into one another was really rather hideous. One of the Redeemers went down immediately; the other was staggering, but still managing to stay on his feet. Xyon did not hesitate. He drew back a fist and slammed forward as hard as he could, catching the Redeemer squarely on the point of his chin. the Redeemer's head snapped around, and the rest of his body followed suit. Consequently, he looked a bit like a top as he spun in place and then toppled over.

  Xyon took a deep breath and a moment to steady himself before turning his attention to an incredulous Riella. He studied the bonds as she gaped at him. “Hold on ... I think I see how to open them,” he told her.

  “You're dead,” she told him.

  “You'd better hope not because if I am, then you're hallucinating all this, which means you've got bigger problems than you already think you do.”

  “You're dead,” she said again, lacking the tools at that moment to latch onto his sense of the ironic.

  “No. I' m not.”

  “I saw him . . . saw what he did to you. Something mental. Something—”

  “I'm not without mental resources myself,” Xyon told her. “Unfortunately, I've never had any real training with them. They're a bit catch-as-catch-can. But he got me angry enough that I was reasonably sure I could erect barriers when he went after me. I was right. Lucky me,” he added with no trace of sarcasm. “Okay. Got it.”

  Seconds later, the bonds lifted clear of the chair. Riella still didn't move. She was too busy staring at Xyon. “I . . . I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

  “Yes, that was more or less the idea,” he told her. “Get up. Come on, get up,” he said again, showing no signs of patience.

  “I . . . can't move my legs.” Her arms were clear, but she was shaking her legs and not getting much response from them.

  “Circulation problems. Come on.” He hauled her to her feet and she immediately sagged against him. He held her up effortlessly. He felt so strong to her. She bumped up against his chest, and it seemed rock solid. She traced the feel of his muscles beneath the sleeves of his tunic. They were not overlarge, but what was there was taut, cablelike. Why hadn't she noticed it before?

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  It was clear from his expression that he considered it a rather odd question. “You have this endless need to find a slot to tuck me into,” he said. “Hero or thief or noble martyr or whatever handy label you want to slap on me. I'm Xyon. That's all. Accept that or don't, as you see fit. Now let's get out of here.”

  Without further conversation, he went to the door, which slid open obediently. No reason it shouldn't have; the Overlord didn't lock it when he exited. Xyon glanced right and left, up and down the hallway, and then held out a hand to her. “Come on,” he said urgently.

  “Coming,” she said, gripping his hand firmly. Everything seemed to be happening too quickly for her to get a true handle on it all, but she knew two things beyond a doubt: first, sticking with Xyon would probably be the wisest course of action; second, anyplace had to be better than where she was right then.

  They started racing down the hallways, Xyon pulling Riella so firmly that he almost hauled her off her feet. She had enough presence of mind to call, “Do you know where you're going?”

  “Not a clue,” he shot back. “I know I want to get to the ship and get out of here. I haven't worked out much beyond that. I . . .” Then he paused and suddenly flattened against the wall of the corridor. Riella needed no encouragement to follow suit.

  An instant later, a Redeemer charged around the corridor. Xyon halted him through the simple expedient of sticking out his foot. The Redeemer took a header over it and hit the floor hard. Immediately, Xyon was on his back, pinning the back of the Redeemer's skull so that he didn't wiggle beneath his grasp. Then he frowned, his face a mask of concentration, and the Redeemer stiffened beneath him. The Redeemer's mouth moved, but no words emerged from it. Then he sagged, Xyon breaking contact with him. It took Xyon a moment to compose himself, and during that time the Redeemer was suddenly on his feet, turning towards Xyon and yanking out a rather fearsome-looking cudgel. Riella sensed that it was more for decoration than actual combat, but nevertheless it could be quite nasty if it came into contact with, say, the side of Xyon's skull. Xyon made sure, however, that such an opportunity never arose, for he blocked the downward thrust of the cudgel with a deft defensive move and then swung a quick right that dropped the Redeemer cold.

  “Down,” he said, sounding vaguely d
istracted.

  “Down?”

  “This hallway. This corridor. Down this way, and there's a lift at the end that we take. That'll bring us to the landing where the ship is.”

  “How do you? . . .” But a glance from him silenced her. She was rapidly learning not to ask.

  They bolted down the corridor and, sure enough, there was a lift at the far end. In the distance, they could hear the sound of running feet. There were weapons being discharged, the sounds of scuffling . . .

  . . . and snarling.

  Riella immediately recognized the sound. “Gods . . . that's those creatures, isn't it. From back on Montos.”

  Xyon listened carefully, and then nodded. “Yes. I think so. The Dogs of War.”

  “What are they doing here?!”

  “I couldn't care less what they're doing here as long as we manage to get ourselves somewhere else. And with any luck, we'll be long gone before they even knew we were here.”

  The doors to the lift slid open.

  Two dogs were in there. One was monstrously huge. The other Riella knew all too well . . . the one with the swords strapped to his back. Their eyes widened. Their nostrils flared.

  “So much for luck,” muttered Xyon.

  Atik couldn't believe it when the doors slid open. The creature was there, right there, next to the very quarry they had come for.

  “Get the female, Vacu! Leave the male to me!” shouted Atik, and even as he spoke, he had both his long fangs out. He wasn't taking any chances this time. He would bisect the creature before it had the slightest chance to get away.

  He swung one of the swords . . . and the blade struck some sort of cudgel that the creature was wielding. The creature deflected the strike, quickly, cleanly, almost effortlessly. Atik came in with the other sword, and then the club was blocking that one, too.

  It wasn't possible, nor was Atik willing to believe it. He pressed the attack, both swords flashing, taking turns one for the other. All the creature had for his defense was some sort of club that couldn't have been more than three-feet long. He kept backing up, backing up.

  But blocking. Blocking the entire time. The creature's face was a mask of concentration, a fine bead of perspiration appearing on it, but otherwise giving no indication that his brilliant series of parries was anything of a strain. High, low, left, right, up, down, the swords flashed this way and that, and every single time, the damned creature blocked it. Atik was moving the blades so quickly that even he couldn't keep track of them. Just on the basis of the odds alone, he should have at least drawn blood, but still the creature frustrated him by keeping the swords at bay with nothing more than a fancy stick.

  Atik howled in frustration, crisscrossed the swords, tried to come in even faster. The creature, astoundingly, stepped between the swords, which missed him clean on either side, and then he struck Atik on the side of the head with the cudgel. Atik's head spun and the Dog went down. The creature hit him again and Atik tumbled back, unable to believe the shocking turnaround that events had taken.

  Then the creature shouted, “Riella!” and Atik heard the door to the lift slide shut. Vacu, bless his thick hide, had done exactly what he was supposed to do. With a frustrated cry, the creature ran to the doors and pulled at them. They wouldn't budge. He shouted “Riella” again as if the repetition would somehow cause her to materialize back there in the corridor.

  Atik took a chance. He drew back an arm and hurled one of the swords. It spun through the air perfectly, whirring 360 degrees like a vicious wheel of death. The creature saw it corning at the last second, but there was no room for him to dodge it completely. He tried to knock it aside with the cudgel, but he was only partly successful as the whirring sword sliced across his upper arm before clattering to the floor a short distance away from him. Atik was pleased to see that it was a fairly nasty gash, blood flowing freely, and he had every intention of taking advantage of it.

  The creature, seeing Atik coming, snagged the fallen sword by sliding his toe under the blade, and then he kicked it upward into the air. With a deft move he snagged it in midair, but he was trying to do too much at once, and he barely got the sword up in time before Atik clashed against him, hilt to hilt.

  “We just keep getting in each other's way,” Atik snarled.

  “I was thinking the exact same thing,” shot back the creature. But it was more bravado speaking than anything else. Atik knew that the wound was nasty, and that the creature's strength was leaking away along with its blood. Another minute, maybe even seconds, and Atik would finally be able to dispose of this smooth-skinned irritant.

  Suddenly, from the far end of the corridor, there was the sound of weapons' fire discharging. Atik was a weapons master. He knew the sound that each and every one of the Dog's weapons were likely to make, and that noise wasn't one of them.

  The door to the lift slid open. There was no sign of Vacu. He had obviously managed to get away with the girl, and that left the Dogs to get clear of the ship and complete their mission. From the far end of the corridor, a squad of Redeemers emerged, their weapons blasting. Neither Atik nor the creature had the slightest choice. They hurled themselves into the open lift door, and it slid shut, closing the Redeemers out . . .

  . . . closing them in.

  The car started down.

  Each of them was holding a sword. There was barely more than a foot between them.

  Neither of them moved. It was almost as if they were each daring the other to attempt the first strike. They could have been carved from ice.

  “This is not an ideal combat situation,” Atik said.

  “Not much room for style,” agreed the creature.

  “We are great enemies, we two.”

  “We certainly have a knack for running afoul of each other.”

  Neither of the swords wavered. Neither of the potential combatants moved.

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Again?” said the creature. “Why does that interest you?”

  “One should know the name of one's nemesis.”

  “I'm honored,” the creature said tightly. He paused a moment more, and then said, “I will tell you . . . if you tell me why you want the girl.”

  “She knows the secret of the Quiet Place. Of how to get there, where immortality and untold riches await,” Atik said immediately.

  “And you intend to have her lead you there.”

  “Yes.”

  The creature considered that a moment. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Xyon. My name is Xyon.”

  “Zzzyyy—ohnnn.” Atik rolled the unusual syllables across his lips. “Xyon . . . Atik of the Dogs of War salutes you. We have wounded each other in respective encounters. We will face each other again in a situation that will allow us more style. We deserve that.”

  “You have interesting priorities,” Xyon said. “I want the girl back.”

  “Get her if you can.”

  The door slid open and Atik immediately backed into the hallway to have more room. Xyon emerged quickly, keeping the sword up and in front of him . . .

  . . . and found himself facing a half a dozen Dogs of War. They were growling in unison. Unlike previous encounters, they were heavily armed and armored. They did not look like they were in a mood to bargain, discuss, or—most important of all—attack with style.

  Xyon backpedaled rapidly, practically throwing himself into the car as the doors slammed shut.

  “Leave him!” shouted Atik. “We have what we came for! Let's get out of here!”

  “But your long fang!” Omon called out, standing there as part of the pack. “He has one of your long fangs!”

  “Let him keep it. I'll have the opportunity to get it back. If I'm sure of one thing, it's that,” said Atik confidently.

  As part of its automatic cycle, the lift started back up again. This was not something that particularly enthused Xyon, for he knew that there were very likely Redeemers clustered at the top, waiting for his unwilling return. And he strongly
suspected that he was not going to stumble too soon upon the unique set of circumstances that had resulted in his current (and possibly short-lived) freedom.

  He glanced upward and saw a standard-issue emergency trapdoor in the ceiling of the car. Quickly, he tested the tensile strength of the newly acquired sword, flexing it in his hands. It seemed fairly strong, ideally strong enough to accomplish what he needed it to do without breaking. He jammed the sword into the narrow space between the lift doors and pried with all his strength. He was fully prepared for the sword to snap; instead, a bit to his surprise, it remained intact and he actually managed to force open the door.

  “Detecting passenger emergency,” the lift's onboard computer spoke, and the lift car immediately came to a halt.

  Once he had managed to get the door open, it was not a particularly difficult matter to keep it that way. He simply shoved his hand against it, and that kept the lift securely in place while he reached up with the sword and pushed open the trapdoor overhead. “Detecting emergency escape hatch open,” the computer told him, just in case he had been unaware of his own actions. Xyon paid it no mind. He took two quick steps and vaulted through the open door. Moments later he was scrambling around in the shaft; he had come upon an emergency ladder that seemed to run the length of the shaft. It was exactly what he was looking for, and seizing the opportunity, he started clambering down.

  He was, of course, taking a chance. There was a possibility that the Dogs had clustered at the bottom and were waiting for him to return. He did not, however, think that was going to be the case. They had managed to get their hands on what they wanted, namely Riella. Now it was just a matter of their getting clear of the ship . . .

  . . . the ship.

  How in the world had the Dogs managed to get on board the Redeemer ship? What sort of resources did they have at their disposal, anyway? There were a goodly number of Dogs, true, but it wasn't their method of operation to attack a foe so much more powerful than themselves—and the Redeemers certainly fell into that category. They must have wanted Riella quite desperately to deviate in that way from their standard tactics.