STAR TREK: NEW FRONTIER: THE QUIET PLACE

by Peter David

  “I mean,” she said, “that the smell entices you. Excites you. That is why you so enjoy attacking people face to face. It's not simply the destruction, or the acquisition of other people's property. You like the smell of fear when they see you approaching. The fear when they panic, the smell they produce when they beg for their lives or soil themselves in terror. That is something you simply cannot resist. You love it You live for it. Do you not?”

  Rier, Atik, and Krul looked askance at each other, and then back to her.

  “Yes,” Rier said slowly.

  She nodded. He might not even have been in the room for all the difference it seemed to make to her.

  “I will lead you to the Quiet Place,” she said after a short time. “You will go there without question. If it is not there, as I assure you now that it is, kill me. Don't kill me. I don't really care anymore. What you do to me is of absolutely no consequence anymore. I'm beginning to understand just how irrelevant this,” and she plucked at the reddening skin on her arm, “is.”

  “The Quiet Place,” Krul said eagerly, “will we find immortality there? Riches? There are so many things whispered about it.”

  “You will find all that and more,” she said. “You will find a place of joy. You will find riches beyond the dreams of avarice. It will be as close to heaven as you will know on this side of the great and final curtain. All this and more will be yours.”

  The Dogs looked at one another, Rier's nostrils flaring. He detected no sign of deceit from her. Either she was telling the absolute truth or she certainly believed she was telling the truth, which worked out to the same thing.

  “You,” he said, “are rather intriguing for a non-Dog. I like you,” he decided, his lips drawing back to reveal his fangs.

  “My,” she intoned. “What big teeth you have.”

  “The better to rend the flesh from my quivering prey.”

  “I am terrified,” she said flatly.

  She wasn't, of course. That much he could tell. He had never encountered anyone so serenely confident. In truth, he found it a bit annoying, perhaps even ever-so-slightly intimidating. Except he had no reason to be. She was entirely within his power, and he was Rier, leader of the Dogs of War. She posed no threat to him. He, Rier, was the master.

  “As well you should be,” he told her. He tried to maintain the stridency in his voice, but he wasn't quite able to do so. He cleared his throat and said, “Where, then, is the Quiet Place?”

  “Set your heading for the star designated 7734.”

  “What? There's nothing there!” Krul snarled. “Rier, this is a trick. She's wasting our time!” He turned back to her. “I don't know what you're playing at, but—”

  “Rier, get this thing out of my face,” Riella said flatly. “At this point in your life, you need me far more than you need this mangy creature.”

  “You'll have to excuse his belligerence,” Rier said. “His brother was killed recently, by your companion, actually. He cries out for blood. He cries out for revenge.”

  “He's not the only one,” Riella told him.

  Rier felt a distinct chill, and he had no idea why.

  “The fact is,” Riella continued, “I have no choice at this point. I have to get there. It's gone beyond my dreams. It's a compulsion that is threatening to consume me if I don't attend to it. If I resist it, or forestall it . . .” She sighed. “I will die. That is all there is to say, really. I will die. You think of yourself as my captors, but you're not. Not really. You are simply ... a means to an end.”

  Her words hung there for a moment, and then Rier turned to his associates and said, “Have our course set for Star 7734.”

  “There's. Nothing. There,” said Krul, very deliberately.

  “If there isn't, then you may have the honor of punishing her for her lack of forthrightness,” Rier said.

  Krul turned his malevolent gaze upon her. “I look forward to that,” he snarled.

  “As do I,” Riella suddenly said. She met his gaze, unintimidated, even slightly amused. “I hope we all get what is coming to us.”

  Rier and the others departed the room then, and Rier knew that he should have felt some measure of triumph since that had gone more smoothly than he could possibly have anticipated. Unfortunately, that gave him no explanation at all as to why he felt the fur on the back of his neck standing on end.

  XII.

  THE WORLD WAS STARTING TO FLOAT around Xyon. He was losing his sense of where he was. For a time, he was convinced that Riella was sitting right next to him. She was looking at him in an annoyingly accusatory fashion, and he said angrily, “What do you want from me? Hmm? I did my best. And I guess my best wasn't good enough for you, was it? Busting my ass to save you from all manner of insanity, and for what? Why should I? It's not as if you're that attractive. Your skin doesn't seem to know what color it is; hell, your whole body doesn't seem to know what race it is. And it's not as if you have a particularly pleasant personality, you know. You complain about things that aren't my fault. On the one hand, you whine that I should save you; on the other hand, you don't seem to appreciate it when I do. You're no prize, Riella! What do you think of that!”

  She didn't say anything. Just sat there.

  He made an impatient grunt and waved her off. She didn't go away. That was always her problem. She never went away.

  “Xyon.”

  “Shut up, Riella!”

  “Xyon,” came Lyla's voice, a bit more urgency in it this time. “Someone is responding to your distress signal.”

  It took a few moments for what she was saying to filter through his clouded mind. He forced himself back to full wakefulness and awareness. He wasn't sure how much of his semi-delusional state was due to the air becoming stale and how much was because of fatigue. “Someone is?”

  “Yes.”

  Immediately he was on his feet. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to stand; he wasn't speaking to anyone yet, and even if he was, this was hardly what anyone would term a formal occasion. “Do you know who it is? Dogs or Redeemers or maybe someone who might not actually want to kill me.”

  “The third category, I think. They're identifying themselves as being from Starfleet.”

  Xyon moaned when he heard that.

  “Is there a problem with Starfleet, Xyon?”

  “No,” he said in annoyance, leaning against the starboard bulkhead.

  “Why do you say things that way, Xyon?”

  “What things, what way?”

  “For instance, although your voice says that nothing is wrong, your tonality indicates that, in fact, the situation is bothersome to you. You do not say what you mean.”

  “People oftentimes don't say what they mean. That's how we manage not to kill each other,” Xyon told her.

  “Oh. So honesty leads to homicide?”

  He gave that one some thought. “More often than you'd think, actually,” he admitted. “This Starfleet vessel . . . where are they? Is it a starship?”

  “No, Xyon. They're identifying themselves as a runabout on their way to rendezvous with a starship. They're offering their assistance.”

  “I don't see that we've got a great deal of choice,” Xyon said. He rubbed the fatigue from his eyes. “Lyla . . . there's a likelihood we may have to leave you here.”

  “Why, Xyon?”

  “Because . . .” He looked at the empty chair which, in his imaginings, had been occupied by Riella a short time earlier, “. . . we may have to go after Riella, and I doubt the runabout has the towing capabilities necessary to bring you along. And time might very well be the most important factor. Will you be all right out here?”

  “I am a ship, Xyon. Space is my natural environment.”

  “You're more than a ship, Lyla.” He affectionately patted the control console. “We both know that. Sometimes I think you're the only thing that keeps me sane.”

  “Xyon . . . you are preparing to leave me behind in order to go aboard a runabout with strangers from an organiza
tion for which you apparently harbor some antipathy, all for the purpose of saving a young female whom you would seem not to particularly like.”

  “What's your point?”

  “The point is, how do you know I managed to keep you sane?”

  Xyon considered that a moment ... and then started to laugh.

  “Is that funny, Xyon?”

  “You know what, Lyla?” he said, endeavoring to calm himself. “Believe it or not, I think it is funny, yes.”

  “Xyon?”

  “Yes, Lyla.”

  “Don't leave me.”

  He had been sitting at the console, and something in Lyla's voice prompted him to sit up straight, tilting his head curiously as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. “What?”

  “Don't leave me.” As an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

  “You mean in space?”

  “Yes. If it is indeed a starfleet runabout, very likely they may have the parts on hand I need to effect repairs. Then I can follow you. It will take additional time. Perhaps you can take me in tow just during that time. It will slow you, I know, but—”

  “Lyla—”

  “Please.” This time the word was more than an afterthought. She sounded ...

  Frightened? Was it possible for Lyla to feel that range of concern? She was organic at heart, he knew, but she had never ...

  “All right,” he said slowly. “All right, Lyla. I won't leave you.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise you.”

  He actually heard a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Xyon.”

  “You're welcome.”

  * * *

  Zak Kebron had not known what to expect when he beamed over to the stranded ship. Part of him had wondered whether this might be some sort of elaborate ruse or trap. But he took one look at the disheveled young man and knew immediately that this was no more and no less than what was advertised: A space traveler in trouble. Kebron could also tell that the young man had never seen a Brikar before. He could always discern that because of the astounded looks people gave him upon first encountering him. Sometimes he wished he could take himself out of his body just to see himself the way others saw him . . . and be properly impressed.

  “Lieutenant Zak Kebron, of the Starship Excalibur. You are?”

  “Xyon. Captain . . . and crew, pretty much . . . of the good ship Lyla.”

  Kebron glanced around with a critical eye. “Our instruments indicate that your engines are not fully functional. Your impulse engines are on line, but you have no warp drive capacity.”

  “That's about right.”

  “Well, we can take you aboard our ship and bring you back to the Excalibur. At that point—”

  “I'd rather not leave my ship, if that's okay.”

  “I appreciate your not wanting to jeopardize your property by leaving it as derelict, but towing your vessel will slow us down considerably.”

  “If you have some additional hands that could pitch in, some key elements, we could probably get her up and running,” Xyon said with some urgency.

  “You may be correct. But if we do not rendezvous with our starship on schedule—”

  “That's the other thing—”

  Kebron looked at him warily. “Other thing?”

  “There's a girl who's been kidnapped by the Dogs of War. Have you heard of them?”

  “I have some passing familiarity with them,” Kebron said dryly.

  “Well, she needs our help ... my help ... although you can help if you want. Considering the circumstances, I could really use—”

  “Hold on. I appreciate the concern you're showing for your girlfriend—”

  “She's not my girlfriend. She's someone who needs help, that's all.”

  “Altruism in deep space. A rare attribute. Would that I had it.”

  “But they may kill her!”

  “Xyon,” Kebron said with rapidly waning patience, “we have a runabout. That is all. That is hardly sufficient firepower to travel to the home planet of the Dogs of War and—”

  “They're not going there! They're heading for somewhere called the Quiet Place.”

  “That may be, but ...”

  That was when Kebron stopped dead, and stared incredulously at Xyon. His gaze was so intense that Xyon actually took a step back. “What is it?”

  “The Quiet Place.”

  “Yes. That's right. What? Has everyone heard of it?”

  “The girl. What is her name?”

  “Riella. Why, does that name mean anything?”

  Kebron slowly shook his head, which, of course, required that his entire upper torso sway from side to side. “Tell me, Xyon, do you believe that there is a great purpose in the universe that brings people together in unexpected but predestined ways?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Neither do I. We'll chalk this one off to weird coincidence. Beam back with me to the runabout and tell my associates precisely what you've just told me. And when you do, watch the face of the red-skinned one in particular. It should be interesting.”

  Si Cwan became aware that his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Xyon.

  Xyon looked at the three individuals grouped around him and said flatly, “Yes, of course I'm sure. I knew the girl's name, I know where she said she wanted to go. God knows that enough people have been bandying about the name of the place. Considering it was someplace I never even heard of before, a sizable number of folks seem rather interested in it. Can any of you tell me the truth behind this place?”

  Si Cwan was quite aware of the eyes of Kebron and Soleta upon him. He did not, however, allow it to outwardly disconcert him. Instead, he circled the interior of the runabout slowly, thoughtfully.

  “Is this pause for dramatic effect?” inquired Kebron. “Or are you trying to manufacture a story that will sound plausible?”

  “I resent the implication, Kebron,” Cwan shot back. “I may be many tilings, but a liar is not one of them. The fact is that the Quiet Place is a somewhat personal aspect of Thallonian tradition.”

  “The Redeemers, the Dogs of War, and some woman on Montos all know about it,” Xyon pointed out. “How intensely personal can it be?”

  “The fact that so many are aware of it is simply another example of the losses suffered by the Thallonians. Our loss of homeworld ... of our privacy ... of our dignity ...”

  “Get to the point,” said Kebron.

  Si Cwan shot him a disdainful look.

  “The truth is—”

  “Finally.”

  He ignored Kebron's comment. “The truth is that even the truth about the Quiet Place may sound a bit ... preposterous. The Quiet Place is heaven. Or Hell. Or a bit of both. At least, that's what a number of races in the former Thallonian empire believe. It is a mysterious place, the whereabout of which is not generally known. Some actually claim to have been there, although there's never has been a way to confirm it. But those who say that they have been there, whether by intent or accident, claim to have been transformed in some way, although for good or ill is not always easy to discern at first. Some return claiming to have seen the dead, or are able to read the future, or possess arcane knowledge that they'd never had before. Some claim ...” He hesitated, as if knowing that he was pushing the limits of credulity. But by that point he was more or less in deep, so he continued, “Some claim to have looked upon the face of their God or Gods. Others come back as pale and wretched things, shadows of their former selves who can barely string two sentences together. There are also rumors of a race of beings who actually reside beneath the surface of the Quiet Place, although it would seem somewhat unlikely.”

  “Considering how far over the edge the things you've been telling us so far are, that would actually be believable,” said Kebron.

  “Where is this place?” asked Soleta. “I've not read of it in any scientific text.”

  “Nor will you. There is no scientific proof of its existence. The Q
uiet Place cannot be found. You have to receive the Summons.”

  “As with all beliefs that depend solely on faith,” Kebron said skeptically. “When even the slightest suggestion of proof is put forward, the tale descends into vagueness.”

  “Have you no faith in anything, Kebron?” Cwan inquired. He sounded almost a little sad.

  “In myself. That's all I've ever needed.”

  Soleta was unable to keep the doubt from her voice. “And who receives this . . . Summons.”

  “I cannot speak for others,” Si Cwan said, “but in the ruling family of Thallon, every third or fourth generation a princess of the line, upon reaching a certain age, receives the Summons. There is never advance warning. She simply disappears one night, sometimes to return, sometimes never to be seen again. If the princess returns, she never speaks of what she has witnessed, except in the vaguest of terms. But at this point, the tradition and knowledge of its occurrences is enough for us to determine what's going on.”

  “How utterly convenient,” Kebron said. “So, if the princess in question just desires to go off for a weekend with her beau, she can come back wide-eyed and confused, and you will assume it's this Quiet Place.”

  “Kebron,” Cwan said slowly, “If you had any beliefs, I would show respect for them. Kindly pay me the same courtesy. In point of fact, the Summons and its advent is one of the reasons, the many reasons, that I was so desperate to find my sister, Kalinda. She was just reaching the appropriate age when the Thallonian Empire fell. She may well have received the Summons—”

  Xyon suddenly stiffened, as if jolted. “She would have red skin? Like yours?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “Patch me through to your comm system. I need to communicate with my ship.”

  They didn't understand the urgency in his tone, but there was no reason to deny his request. Within moments, he was saying, “Lyla. Access the shipboard visual log. I keep a visual log of everything that goes on on in my ship,” he said to them in an offhand way.