by Peter David
“We’ve been over this,” he retorted. “If people think I’m dead, it makes it that much easier for me to operate.”
“If people think you’re dead, it makes it that much easier for you never to have to confront the way you feel about them, or they about you.”
He said nothing for a moment and then, with a glower, demanded, “Are you going to kill me or are you just going to stand there?”
“Killing you would almost be doing you a favor,” she told him. “Better no life than a half-life.”
“Interesting. You were never so contemptuous of me all the times you’ve hired me to do your dirty work.”
“Actually,” Soleta corrected him, “I was. I just never let it show. I may not be quite as inscrutable as a Vulcan…but I’m no slouch, either.”
She stepped back, holstered her disruptor, and then said, “I suppose she’s moot anyway.”
“What are you talking about?” He slowly got to his feet but made no sudden moves toward Soleta, although he did rub the small of his back to ease out the pain he was feeling.
“She. Kalinda.”
He tried to comprehend what she was saying, and then a slow dread grew in the pit of his stomach. “She…she’s dying? Dead?”
“Just as good: She’s engaged. To the son of some high muck-a-muck in the Thallonian Empire…I’m sorry. The New Thallonian Protectorate.” She said the words with barely masked derision.
“Kalinda’s engaged.”
“That’s right. So you might as well enjoy yourself with your imaginary friend,” and she nodded toward Lyla, “because that’s the best you’re going to get.” She touched a finger to her forehead and tossed off an ironic salute. “A pleasure as always, Xyon. Enjoy the latinum. Don’t spend it all in one place. Subcommander,” she spoke into the link, “beam me aboard.”
She blurred out of existence, leaving Xyon alone in the cabin. Alone except for the holograph of Lyla, who was gazing at him with limpid eyes. She waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. Finally she asked, “Xyon? Is there something I can…?”
“Find another form,” he said brusquely.
“What other form would be pleasing to you, Xyon?”
He thought about it and then said, “It doesn’t matter. An Orion slave girl.”
“Like the one you killed while getting the disk?”
“She tried to kill me first, Lyla.”
“All right,” she said, her calm voice never wavering. A moment later she was a scantily clad, green-skinned female with blazing eyes and thick, lustrous hair. “How’s this?”
“Fine,” he assured her without looking as he watched the Romulan ship vanish from sight, and speculated about other things in the universe that could just disappear no matter how closely you kept an eye on them.
Space Station Bravo
Captain Kat Mueller strode into the office of Bravo’s chief administrator and snapped off a highly military salute. The chief administrator looked up at the blond, somewhat glacial Starfleet captain from behind the desk and shook her head, an amused smile on her lips. “What the hell are you doing? This isn’t the twenty-first-century army. Since when do we salute in Starfleet?”
“I’m actually mounting a one-woman campaign to restore it,” Kat informed her, her chin outthrust defiantly. “I think it displays an old-world sense of respect for the chain of command.”
“See, whereas I think that the term ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘Yes, ma’am’ pretty much accomplishes the same thing.” The administrator was standing now, and she came around her desk, her arms open wide. Kat hesitated only a moment, since she wasn’t really all that much for hugging, but then sighed and gave in to the inevitable. She accepted the embrace, and the two women patted each other’s backs for a moment. “It’s good to see you, Kat. Command agrees with you.”
Mueller stepped back and replied, “I didn’t actually think it would, Admiral. Your confidence in me was an inspiration.”
“Kat, it’s just the two of us here. You can call me ‘Elizabeth.’ ”
“If you say so, Admiral Shelby.”
Elizabeth Paula Shelby shook her head as she leaned back against her desk, half-sitting on the edge. She gestured for Mueller to take a seat, and Mueller did so. “How is the Trident crew?” she asked.
“The usual. Mutiny. Chaos. We’ve had to court-martial forty-seven officers and crewmen. It’s an all-time Starfleet high, so naturally we’re all very proud.”
Shelby gazed at Mueller’s impassive face. “Is your sense of humor characteristic to your elevated rank, or to you in specific?”
“Me in specific. I am wholly original.”
“You are wholly strange.”
“And yet I make it work.”
“That’s still open to debate,” Shelby informed her, shaking her head with an exaggerated air of tolerance. “I mean, how many Starfleet officers insist on walking around with a Heidelberg fencing scar on their face?”
Mueller reflexively touched the mark on her cheek and smiled grimly. “Anyone who acquired one would. That’s another trend I’m hoping to spark.”
“Kat,” Shelby said, “let me assure you that, all things being equal, I could sit around all day and listen to you explain how your trend-setting is going to revolutionize the look and conduct of Starfleet for generations to come.”
“And yet…?”
“And yet, as always, all things aren’t equal. I have things to do and, tragically, so do you.” Dropping all trace of banter, she said—all business—“How badly banged up is the Trident? Will the facilities here at Bravo be sufficient for repairs?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Because I could order you back to drydock for a full refit…”
Mueller firmly shook her head. “Absolutely not necessary, Admiral. We took some hits, yes. But the Selelvian renegade took far worse.”
“Your report said you destroyed her.”
“Yes, that would fall under the category of ‘far worse,’ ” Mueller deadpanned. “My people assure me that the damage we sustained is under control. In fact, they told me we could likely have handled it completely on our own. It was my decision to put in here at Bravo to make it easier on them, and to avail ourselves of your diagnostic facilities on the off chance there was something we missed that could become a danger later.”
“Take care of the big problems when they’re small problems.” Shelby nodded in approval. “You made the right decision, Kat. Whatever you need in terms of station personnel, it’s yours.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Shelby sighed and she rapped her knuckles on the desk as she stood up and walked around it. She didn’t sit but instead continued to pace. “It’s like the Selelvians don’t realize the war is over and they lost.”
“There’s only scattered resistance, Admiral,” Mueller assured her. “Being offered by independent, terrorist cells who refuse to acknowledge their government’s surrender. It’s nothing that Starfleet can’t handle.”
“I know. Still…I mean, we had a Selelvian officer on our ship, Kat. Lieutenant Commander Gleau.” Her voice was tinged with regret. It was hardly the first time she’d pondered the lost opportunities, doubted herself insofar as how she’d handled the entire ugly business with Gleau. “If we had realized the threat his people represented…if somehow he could have wound up serving as a go-between representing Federation interests, instead of…”
“Instead of being murdered?” Mueller shrugged. “Second-guessing is pointless, Admiral, especially when it comes to matters over which you had no control.”
“You’re right, of course. Still…” Shelby seemed about to pursue the train of thought, but then she let it drop. Instead she tapped her computer screen and said, “Since you’re here, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”
“All right.” Mueller, seated with her back stiff, crossed her legs in a careful, precise manner and waited.
Shelby studied the computer screen for a long moment, clear
ly wanting to make sure what she said was accurate. Finally she turned back to Mueller.
“Sector 221-G,” she began.
Mueller promptly laughed. It was an unusual sound, almost startling since she did it so rarely. Sort of a smug grunting noise more than anything else. “Don’t you mean the Thallonian Protectorate?”
“I suppose I do, yes.”
“Somehow,” said Mueller, as if reexperiencing a tale of woe that she reflected upon with great regret, “it always comes back to Sector 221-G. So what’s happening there now? Has Si Cwan’s great experiment finally collapsed upon itself?”
“Kat,” Shelby said scoldingly, “I have no patience with that sort of negative attitude.”
“Admiral, there’s a pool going as to the exact stardate the entire Protectorate will come unraveled.”
“Yes, I know, but…”
“A pool, I might add, that was your idea.”
“To be fair,” Shelby said, raising a finger, “there were mitigating circumstances as I may have been…quite inebriated at the time….”
“And you’re still running the pool.”
“These things take on a life of their own….”
“And you’re holding all the credits in a secure account.”
“All right!”
Mueller lapsed into amused silence while Shelby impatiently blew air between her teeth. “The point is that the business in 221-G has nothing to do with anything that Si Cwan is up to.”
“Oh.” Kat sounded faintly disappointed.
Shelby indicated the computer screen and Mueller leaned forward to see what she was pointing at. “We picked up something during a routine unmanned scientific probe a week ago.”
“ ‘Unmanned scientific probe’?” Mueller said, one tapered eyebrow arching ever so slightly. “Once upon a time, that was a euphemism for ‘spy probe.’ ”
“That may very well be, Kat, but nowadays it’s a euphemism for nothing and an accurate label for a routine unmanned scientific probe.”
“Really. And tell me, Admiral…were that not the case, would you tell me?”
Shelby stared at her levelly for a long moment, and then said in a voice devoid of tone, “If you’ll permit me to continue, Captain.”
Mueller, who knew an unspoken answer when she didn’t hear one, nodded and kept her gaze fixed on the monitor screen.
“Now then…the probe picked up some rather disturbing emissions emanating from within the sector. We weren’t able to localize them or determine the point of origin since they were free-floating. However, given the drift time and amount of decay, and after running some estimates, we were able to nail it down to a general area spanning subsectors 18-J through 27-L.”
“Quite a bit of area to cover.”
“Yes,” agreed Shelby, “but it’s the best our people could do, given the circumstances.”
“And just exactly what are these emissions that have our scientific-probe folks so worried?”
“Funny you should ask,” Shelby said in a manner that indicated it wasn’t actually funny at all. “They are emissions strikingly similar to those generated by a transwarp conduit…the means of transportation generally favored by the Borg.”
“How strikingly similar?”
“A ninety-eight-percent match.”
Mueller leaned back in the chair, her fingers interlaced. “Hunh” was all she muttered at first, and then she continued after a few moments, “And that two percent could be chalked up to either scientific error, or an improvement or change in the technology by the Borg themselves.”
“Or,” Shelby pointed out, “it could also indicate that we’re dealing with some other race entirely. Something that’s popping into and out of 221-G without wanting to be noticed.”
“Which could mean a potential threat.”
Shelby looked a bit saddened. “I loathe thinking of it that way. The mission of Starfleet is exploration. To seek out new life and new civilizations. Not to be paranoid that the aforementioned new civilizations are going to make attacking us their top priority.”
“An open hand can disguise a dangerous mind,” Mueller said. “My father always said that. Very little that I’ve encountered in my life has done anything to make me think he was even the slightest bit incorrect.”
“Be that as it may,” Shelby said firmly, “if nothing else, we should be working to cover Si Cwan’s back. If someone is sneaking into the Thallonian Protectorate for the purpose of an attack…”
“Or as a potential ally for Si Cwan so he could attack us.”
Shelby looked at her askance. “I don’t see him doing that.”
“What better reason to do something besides it being something that others don’t see coming.”
“I’m sorry, no. After everything we went through, after all the Federation has done for him, I don’t see him conspiring to attack us simply because we’re not expecting him to.”
Mueller shrugged. “Expect nothing. Anticipate everything.”
Shelby blinked a moment and then smiled. “So you quote Mac too, do you?”
“Did Mackenzie Calhoun say that?” Mueller frowned a moment, trying to remember, and then nodded. “Oh. Yes, he did. Funny. I thought I’d always believed that on my own, but you’re right. I got it from him.”
“That’ll happen,” said Shelby, and there was a wistfulness in her voice that she couldn’t quite hide. Then quickly, loudly, she cleared her throat and told Mueller, “Starfleet wants you to take the Trident into 221-G, see if you can discover the exact nature and origin of the emissions, and determine the precise nature of what it is we can look forward to.”
“And once we’ve determined it?”
“Report back to me. Oh…also, keep Robin Lefler in the loop. She’s still connected to Starfleet, however tangentially, and 221-G is her backyard. If there’s something going on there that she should know about…”
“You think she can be trusted?” asked Mueller.
Shelby’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying her marriage to Si Cwan renders her untrustworthy somehow?”
“I’m saying if it turns out that Si Cwan is indeed up to something or allying himself with someone who presents a danger, Robin Lefler could find herself with a severe case of divided loyalties. And I couldn’t say for sure exactly on which side she’ll fall. Then again,” she shrugged once more, “you know her better than I.”
“Robin Lefler,” Shelby assured her, “is a Starfleet officer.”
“So was Soleta.”
A pall fell upon the office at that moment. Kat Mueller had always been someone who was very confident in her opinions and never doubted the inherent rightness of what she had to say. Yet for the first time in a very long time, she wished she could have taken back what she had just said.
“My apologies, Admiral,” Mueller began.
But, surprisingly, Shelby waved it off. “No. No, you’re right. You should never apologize for being right. I walked right into that one. Caught me fair and square.”
“I wasn’t trying to ‘catch’ you at anything, Admiral.”
“I know that, Kat. I really do. Soleta was…” She tried to find the words and only partly succeeded. “Soleta was…an accident waiting to happen, I suppose. And then it happened, and there was nothing any of us could do but pick up the pieces. She made her decisions, we made ours, and that’s how it goes. Still…Soleta notwithstanding…I don’t think we need to worry about Robin Lefler abandoning us or turning against us unexpectedly. Robin is a bit more…stable than that. Besides,” and she almost laughed at the notion, “if Robin went at all off track, you just know her mother would be all over her about it.”
“Her mother’s a holograph.”
“Her mother’s a machine identity,” Shelby reminded her. “At this point, she can link up with just about any AI in the entirety of the Federation. Thank God she’s benign, since I keep having the uneasy feeling that—if she were so inclined—she could find a way to blow all of us up just by thinking rea
lly hard.”
“Yes, well…that’s another situation that I continue to ‘anticipate,’ ” admitted Mueller.
“You’re hopeless, Kat.”
“Yes, but it’s a constructive sort of hopelessness. Am I dismissed, Admiral?”
“Absolutely.”
Kat got up to go, headed for the door, and then stopped at the doorframe. She turned to see Shelby sitting there, staring and grinning, her hand propping up her chin. “May I inquire as to what might be so amusing?” Mueller demanded.
“You always do this,” said Shelby, gesturing toward the door. “You’re always about to walk out and then, at the last moment, stand in the doorway and make some pithy observation that seems ridiculous on the face of it, but often turns out to be true. Sometimes I think you haven’t made up your mind between being a Starfleet captain or a drama queen.”
“Truthfully,” said Mueller, “I think the dividing line has been narrowing for decades now, if not centuries.”
“All right, then, out with it. What’s on your perpetually suspicious mind now?”
“I’m not being suspicious about anything. I was just wondering if…”
“If what?”
“How you’re doing. Without him, I mean.”
“Him?” She looked blank for a moment, and then sheepish that she’d had to wonder even for an instant what it was that Mueller was talking about. “Oh. Him. Mac.”
“Yes, of course him.”
“Are you insinuating, Kat,” she asked with a hint of challenge, “that I’m somehow incapable of surviving without him? That I can’t manage?”
“Not at all,” Mueller assured her. “But on the one hand, the two of you are married, and on the other hand, you see each other…what? Once a month? Less?”
“I haven’t been keeping track,” said Shelby, “because I really have better things to do with my time than count the number of days until I see my husband. And…”
Her voice trailed off and her shoulders slumped a bit. “And…if I focus on the time apart…that just makes it harder. So I…don’t. Focus on that.” Then, in a surprisingly informal move, she laid her hands flat on her desk and settled her chin on them, like a child peering up from a grade-school desk. “Besides…I’m never without him. Not really. We stay in touch via subspace radio, and even when that’s not possible, he’s never far from my thoughts. At least two, three times a day, I find myself wondering what Mac would do in a particular set of circumstances. And then I use that knowledge to guide myself through…”