by Peter David
“Ghost ships, they call them. Something like that?” Desma asked. Arex nodded. “But that doesn’t entirely make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Mueller. “At least we know the Romulans have cloaking devices. I hadn’t heard of them developing transwarp conduit technology, however.”
“Nor have I,” M’Ress said. “And considering the vast amounts of energy a transwarp conduit requires to be produced, I don’t believe they have any vessels either in their fleet, or even on the drawing board, that would be capable of it.”
“Do we?” asked Mueller.
M’Ress shook her head, her long mane waving around her. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Nor mine,” said Mueller, “and I have higher security clearance than you.”
“So when ya boil it down,” Hash observed, “we’re talking about a level of technological development that’s beyond anything that anyone in our little section of the galaxy currently has available to them. And maybe even beyond what the Borg have available.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” said Mueller. “It’s possible the Borg possess the capability for some sort of stealth technology. But stealth isn’t a huge priority for the Borg.”
“No, they want you to know they’re coming,” Gold said ruefully from conn.
“I wouldn’t say that,” countered Arex. “I’d say the Borg simply don’t care if you know they’re coming or not.”
“There’s another possibility,” M’Ress pointed out. “Maybe it’s a naturally occurring transwarp conduit.”
“Is there a record of such a thing?” asked Mueller.
“No, Captain. Then again, there was no record of a wormhole that developed through anything other than natural means…until it was discovered that the Bajoran wormhole was created by an alien intelligence. So there’s no reason to think that the reverse couldn’t be true: that we’ve discovered a naturally occurring space phenomenon that was previously thought to be only manufactured.”
Mueller stared at the screen for a long moment, and then said, “Wait a minute. We may be overlooking something that’s staring us right in the face. The planet.”
“Which one, Captain?” asked Desma.
“The one that’s in one piece, so we know the Borg didn’t plow through here. Whose is it? Is it anyone’s? Is it a race even remotely capable of creating a transwarp conduit?”
“Already brought up the specs, Captain,” said M’Ress.
Mueller had to admire the efficiency and thoroughly professional demeanor that M’Ress displayed. It had been only a few years ago that Mueller had been highly suspicious of M’Ress, brought aboard as a junior science officer after being time-displaced from her own environment…as Arex, her former shipmate, had been. Except M’Ress had seemed to have been handling the transition with far less equanimity, and had wound up having some spectacular head-to-head blowouts with Lieutenant Commander Gleau. Mueller had dismissed many of M’Ress’s complaints out of hand, pigeonholing her as an ungrateful whiner. But she had come to realize that she had badly misjudged M’Ress’s concerns, and after the business with Gleau went down, she’d sworn to herself she would never underestimate M’Ress again.
And M’Ress had thrived with the new opportunities and challenges presented to her. Her installation as science officer had put some noses seriously out of joint, as other officers who’d been around longer felt slighted. Mueller had gathered them all together and told them to get over it or get out. A couple had gotten out. Most had stayed, and M’Ress had remained as science officer.
“Planet’s name is Priatia,” M’Ress continued. “Class-M world, with a spacefaring population. The Priatians,” and she was reading off the write-up in the Federation data banks, “are the oldest race in Sector 221-G. Once the most dominant, but the combination of war and disease decimated their race.”
“Decimated,” Hash spoke up lazily, “means reduced by one-tenth. I suspect you mean they lost far more folks than that.”
M’Ress fired him an annoyed look, her eyes narrowing. Mueller could have sworn she heard a low growl, and smiled slightly at that. “All right. It nine-tenthed them,” said M’Ress. “The point is, the Priatians are not known to have anything approaching the level of technological sophistication that a transwarp conduit would require. If they had, they certainly could have fared far better in their struggles to survive.”
“Who were they struggling with?” asked Desma.
“The Thallonians. More accurately, the ancestors of the modern-day Thallonians who colonized this area of space and took it from the Priatians who were already residing here.”
“All right,” Mueller said, after considering the matter. “All right…M’Ress. Take as detailed readings as you can from this. I want a complete report, A to Z, soup to nuts, got it? Once you’re done, I want…”
“A course laid in for Space Station Bravo? Already in, Captain,” Gold said in that annoyingly anticipatory way he had.
“Well, good,” said Mueller. “Considering it’s where we just came from, it’s comforting to know we can find our way back.”
“Why not just report back to Admiral Shelby using subspace radio, Captain?” asked Desma.
“Because, Commander,” Mueller told her, “I’m still not sure what it is we’re dealing with, and whether or not someone whom we can see, hear, or detect is involved with it. That means I don’t know who’s listening in. Until I do, I’m going to try and keep things as quiet as possible.”
Even as she spoke, she watched the world of Priatia with vague suspicion. She could simply have mounted an away team to go check out the world, but that was beyond the mandate of her orders. Not that that would have stopped her if she had a concrete reason presented to her to go down there. There was no proof, however, of anything. Not even a reason for suspicion beyond the proximity of the world to the transwarp conduit, and that alone wasn’t enough for Mueller to risk any sort of incident. Besides, small though it was, it was still an entire world, and when one didn’t have the faintest idea of what one was looking for or where to look for it, even the smallest world could seem very big indeed.
“They’re watching us.”
Keesala, in his observation bay, observed the Federation starship hanging there, not far away at all. The fact that it was there made his legs shake, and he leaned against a console to make certain his knees didn’t buckle. “They’re watching us,” he said again. “They know. They know.”
“They know nothing,” said the creature standing next to him. It reached over and laid a tentacle upon his shoulder. It was oddly comforting. “They know nothing, suspect nothing and…most importantly…can do nothing. You understand that, do you not?”
“Yes,” said Keesala.
“We have not come back after all these millennia simply to be deterred by such as they.” Another tentacle flicked disdainfully in the direction of the viewscreen.
“Of course you have not.”
“Then ignore them, as I have,” said the creature. It turned and slithered away from him, bumping its head several times on the ceiling as it went and muttering to itself about the annoying small confines of the world the Priatians had constructed for themselves.
And Keesala watched the Trident, uncertain whether to be nervous about the ship’s presence…or hopeful that the ship might indeed notice something untoward and come to Priatia to investigate. Nor did his uncertainty ease as he watched the ship eventually turn away from Priatia and head back the way it had come.
New Thallon
i.
“You’ve been thinking about him, haven’t you.”
Kalinda moaned, very, very loudly.
She was seated in front of a mirror, making some last-minute adjustments to the crown of flowers she was supposed to wear around her head. Personally she hated the thing; she thought it made her look like shrubbery. But it was traditionally worn by all females of the royal house, which meant that Si Cwan had insisted upon it, and she just didn’t fee
l strongly enough about it to fight with him over it. Still, she tried to do something decorative with it. She tilted it back, and then to the side, giving her an almost jaunty air. Then she sighed, gave up, and just put it squarely on top of her head. It wasn’t remotely fashionable, but at least it was symmetrical.
In focusing on that mundane activity, she pretty much ignored Tiraud, who was seated across the room from her. The room was her private chamber, and she knew that if Si Cwan was aware that Tiraud was there, he’d have a fit. Her brother had many admirable traits, but full cognizance of what century they were living in and what a young woman had the right to do in that century were not, unfortunately, among them. Fortunately enough, Si Cwan—along with Tiraud’s father, assorted family members, and the Avower, whose job it was to administer wedding vows—were all out at the summit where the wedding rehearsal was to be held. It wasn’t far off, but if Tiraud was going to be going on and on about the same subject, it would seem like miles.
“Tiraud,” Kalinda said with greatly pained patience. “You can’t keep obsessing like this. Especially when you consider that it’s been more than a week since Xyon showed up here…”
“Aha!” said Tiraud, jumping to his feet and coming toward her shaking a finger. “You mentioned his name.”
“You brought him up!”
“Yes, but I didn’t mention him by name. You knew who I was referring to without my having to say it, thus proving my point.”
“If your point is to prove that you’re going insane, then consider it proven.” She made one final adjustment to the crown, then rose and smoothed her full green dress. “Tiraud, can’t you get it through your head? You won.”
“Won?”
“Me. My affections. Xyon came here, made his appeal, and I sent him away. What more could you possibly want from a rival—or at least the man you perceive as a rival,” she said quickly, anticipating what he was going to say and cutting him off before he could say it—“than for him to depart?”
“Except I don’t feel he’s departed. I feel his presence here.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
She headed for the door, but he came up behind her, took her by the shoulders, and turned her around to face him. She let out a little sharp breath of exasperation.
“Am I being ridiculous?” he demanded. “I don’t think so. You’ve seemed distant for the past days, Kalinda. As if your thoughts are a million light-years away. As if they’re upon him, wherever he is. I see you look to the sky, and I know you’re wondering, ‘Where is he? Is he out there? Will he come back for me?’ ”
She pushed his hands away from her shoulders. “Tiraud, how many times am I going to have to tell you you’re wrong before you finally, finally get the message? Do I have to break off the engagement with you? Is that what will be required? Is that where we’re going with this? That you’ve become so obsessed with Xyon that you’ll actually create a self-fulfilling prophecy by causing our relationship to crack?”
“It would be Xyon who—”
“No! No, it would be you, Tiraud,” and she thumped him hard on the chest. “Only you. Not Xyon, not me, not Si Cwan or your father or anyone else. Just you, so consumed with jealousy that it caused you to throw away our chance for happiness together. Right here and now, at this moment in time, Xyon lost and you won. You’re on the verge of completely reversing that. Is that what you want? Well? Is it?”
“No,” he said. He spoke very softly, and actually sounded contrite.
“Then stop acting like an idiot!”
“You’re right.”
“And stop disagreeing with everything I…” She paused. “ ‘You’re right’? I mean, I’m right? You said I’m right?”
“Yes, I said you’re right,” he admitted. “I’m being a fool about this. You made your choice, and Xyon—who was the loser, and whom I hold in such low regard—was able to accept it. Not gracefully, mind you, but he accepted it nonetheless. And here am I, the ‘winner,’ squawking and making a fuss. It’s absurd.”
“Well…good,” she said cautiously, but clearly relieved. “I mean, you know…it’s about time you came around.”
“We’re going to our wedding rehearsal. We shouldn’t be fighting. We should be rejoicing.”
“Yes, exactly.”
He eyed her bed and then her. “Do you think we would keep them waiting too long if we were to—”
“Yes, they’d be waiting too long,” she said firmly but with clear amusement. “We can do the full rejoicing later. Let’s attend to our priorities.”
“I was trying to, but you want to go to the rehearsal,” he teased her. She swatted at him affectionately, and just like that, all the hostility was gone.
He extended an arm to her, and she brought her own arm through it, linking them at the elbows. They emerged from her room and walked through the great halls of the residence wherein she and Si Cwan dwelt. Various politicians, lords, and servants acknowledged them or bowed to them. Once upon a time, Kalinda was bothered by such deference. Now she’d gotten used to it. Part of her wondered whether that was unfortunate or not, but she didn’t dwell on it.
They passed through the gardens outside, a dazzling array of well-tended, beautifully sculpted bushes, and they were laughing and teasing each other and having a great old time, all of which came crashing to a halt the instant an all-too-familiar voice sounded from behind them.
“I hate to interrupt you,” Xyon called, “but I have something to say. Tragically, Tiraud, I don’t think you’re going to be thrilled to hear it.”
There was nothing nearby Xyon, no covering of any sort. Tiraud and Kalinda gaped at him. “Where the hell did he come from?” demanded Tiraud.
“Xenex,” Xyon replied, sounding quite cheerful about it. “A lovely place, you should swing by and see it sometime. Now…to business,” and he pointed at Tiraud with a magisterial air. “By the laws and traditions of Xenex,” he called out, “I challenge you for the woman.”
Tiraud just stared at him. Kalinda moaned softly. “This isn’t happening,” she murmured. “This is just some sort of insanely twisted joke that Si Cwan is playing.”
“You challenge me?” demanded Tiraud. “You challenge me? Where the hell do you think you are, coming here and throwing down such a disrespectful provocation?”
“I have no need to respect you,” Xyon informed him. “Because I intend to defeat you and claim the woman.”
“ ‘Claim the woman’?” Kalinda felt as if she were living through some sort of waking dream. “Xyon, I’m not a piece of stray luggage!”
“This has nothing to do with you, Kalinda, and everything to do with him,” Xyon said, and pointed once more at Tiraud. “I have issued a challenge. A challenge in keeping with the laws and traditions of my people. What say you, coward?”
“Oh, that’s it,” Tiraud snapped, and just like that, his dagger was in his hand.
Kalinda’s eyes went wide when she saw it. She’d gotten so used to him wearing the ceremonial object in its jewel-encrusted scabbard that she’d stopped thinking about the thing as being an actual weapon. But now she saw him holding it, whipping it through the air with what was clearly practiced expertise.
Xyon’s hands remained at his sides. A grim smile played across his lips. She had seen it before…on the face of his father, when confronted with situations of life and death. In such instances, Mackenzie Calhoun had never lost.
Despite Tiraud’s training in self-defense, despite his claims of physical ability and his undeniable athleticism, Kalinda was suddenly afraid for him.
“Tiraud, stop!” she cried out. “Xyon, this is insane! You can’t just—”
“Save it, Lind,” snapped Tiraud, approaching Xyon on the balls of his feet, flipping the knife from one hand to the other so that Xyon wouldn’t know from which direction the attack would come. “I’ll endure his insults and attitude no longer!”
“Where did this ‘Lind’ come from?” Xyon asked, sounding very casual. He
was standing exactly in the same place, making not the slightest move. It was as if Tiraud’s attack was of no interest to him…or, at the very least, represented no threat. “Her name’s ‘Kalinda.’ Or ‘Kally’ to some. But ‘Lind’?”
“Xyon, this isn’t a joke!” Kalinda ran forward, grabbing at Tiraud’s shoulder. “He’s going to kill you!”
“That’s his right. I challenged him.”
“No! You don’t have the right to challenge him! The two of you don’t get to decide my fate!”
Tiraud, not ten feet away from Xyon, whirled and faced Kalinda. “Dammit, Kalinda!” he practically shouted at her. “I have restrained myself because of you! I have bitten back the response I would have given this villain from the beginning because of you!”
“Spoken like someone who’s never had to deal with a true villain,” said Xyon.
Ignoring him, Tiraud continued, “I have done this out of my love for you! Out of my desire to be with you! And if you have any love for me, you will not ask me to ignore this challenge! You will not ask me to unman myself in that way!”
“I’m asking you to show restraint and not give someone taunting you the satisfaction of obtaining what they want.”
He stared at her for a long moment and then said sharply, “You could not possibly understand.”
And with that, he pulled abruptly away from her and charged straight at Xyon.
Xyon remained where he was, but his feet were now spread wide and his hands were in front of him in a defensive position. He still held no weapon. If Tiraud was at all concerned with the dubious morality of carving up an unarmed opponent, he wasn’t letting it show or slow him down.
He flipped the knife back and forward twice more and then gripped it with his right hand and drove it straight at Xyon’s chest.
At the last possible instant, Xyon pivoted, allowing the knife hand to sail past him.
Tiraud’s right hand vanished. So did his arm up to the elbow.