by Peter David
Soleta was in the main transporter room, speaking with Watson and endeavoring to refine the search pattern for the captain when Burgoyne entered the transporter room and strode over to the platform. Soleta and Watson both watched hir step onto the platform, whirl to face Watson, and say, “Wherever you brought them up from—beam me down there.”
Watson and Soleta exchanged looks, and then with a shrug Watson reached for the controls.
“Belay that order, Ensign,” Soleta said quietly.
Burgoyne’s dark eyes narrowed and sized up Soleta like a hawk considering a rabbit. “Ensign,” s/he said, although s/he never took hir eyes off Soleta, “carry out my order. Energize.”
“Watson,” Soleta told her, “I believe it’s time for your break.”
“It is?” asked Polly Watson, and then when she saw Soleta’s expression, she quickly said, “You know, you’re right. What was I thinking?” and she vacated the transporter room as quickly as she could.
“Would you mind telling me what you think you’re doing?” Burgoyne said to Soleta, sounding very dangerous. “In case it’s slipped your notice, I outrank you. What you’ve just done is insubordination.”
“That’s one interpretation,” replied Soleta evenly. “On the other hand, Commander Shelby left me in authority. She trusted me to attend to the welfare of the entire crew complement, and that would include you.”
“Soleta, we don’t know each other all that well,” Burgoyne said with very forced patience. S/he descended from the transporter platform and continued, “When I take it into my head to do something, I do it. This has become a Gi’jan to me. A quest. Something of a personal nature.”
“Personal considerations have no place in deciding who is and is not to be sent into a hazardous situation,” Soleta replied evenly.
“Perhaps not to you,” Burgoyne shot back, “but it does to me. Now, Lieutenant”—and s/he moved briskly to the control board—“I am programming my destination. I am setting it to a timer so that I can simply walk over there, step onto the platform, and beam down. And last, I am personally encoding it, on my authority, to my own private password override, so that nothing you can say or do can prevent the beams from functioning. I believe that covers all the bases, Lieutenant, unless you intend, for some reason, to get in my way.”
“That,” replied Soleta, “would not be logical.”
“Very wise,” said Burgoyne, completing the last of the adjustments to the controls. S/he nodded in quick approval of hir work, and headed back toward the platform, walking past Soleta as s/he did so.
S/he never even felt the feather-light touch of Soleta’s fingers on hir shoulder. All s/he knew was that suddenly the world was going dark and the floor was approaching hir at a depressingly rapid speed.
When s/he came to some minutes later, Soleta was standing over hir, her arms folded. “In case you wish to keep a tally,” Soleta informed her, “that could be construed as assaulting a superior officer,”
“What did you do?” asked Burgoyne. S/he sat up, hir head spinning ever so slightly.
“The Vulcan nerve pinch. I momentarily stopped the flow of blood to your brain, causing unconsciousness.”
“Heh.” Burgoyne actually allowed a moment of self-mocking amusement, which was a fairly sporting attitude for hir to take, all things considered. “There are some people around here who would think that kicking me in the buttocks would accomplish that.”
“That would be an acceptable fall-back technique.” She cocked her head slightly. “You do not seem dismayed that I rendered you insensate.”
“You got me fair and square. I can appreciate that. I don’t have to be thrilled by it, mind you, but I can appreciate it.” S/he rubbed the base of hir neck regretfully. “Where did you grab me? Here and here?” S/he indicated two spots on hir neck.
“Yes,” Soleta said. “Although non-Vulcans generally do not master the technique. Some study for years and still fail.”
“Well, I can be a fast learner.” Then s/he paused and said, “Look, Soleta, when I said it was personal, that … that doesn’t even begin to cover it. Selar and I, we have some sort of … of bond.”
“Bond?” Soleta said skeptically.
“I don’t know how it happened. She came to in sickbay, and we, we … linked somehow. I can’t begin to describe it. I knew what she knew, what she experienced. I felt a part of her. I—” S/he hesitated, and then shrugged. “I also feel an overwhelming need to have sex with her. Understand, a high sex drive is certainly nothing new for me, but this … this is something I can’t even begin to describe.”
Burgoyne didn’t notice the change in Soleta’s expression. Clearly somehow Selar had established a rapport with Burgoyne, had zeroed in on hir as a mate. She might very well not have been in her right mind when she did it, lying on a med table in sickbay and reaching out for the first sympathetic mind that was in proximity. Or there might be something deeper there; Soleta had no way to be sure. Either way, Burgoyne’s personal stake in the matter had definitely increased.
“I want to go down there, Soleta,” Burgoyne said. “I need to. It’s a Gi’jan, as I told you. I need to find the captain, and find whoever it was that hurt Selar. They must pay. There must be justice for the crime.” S/he shrugged. “If nothing else, think of it as a means of utilizing all the energy I’ve got running through me right now. Soleta, I’m going to get down there. With or without your help, I’m going to do it. We both know it, unless you intend to try and stick the chief engineer in the brig.”
“I’d rather not,” Soleta admitted.
“So it would be simpler for all concerned if you would just cooperate.”
“A valid point. However, Burgoyne, you must admit that it is a daunting task you are setting up for yourself. An entire, experienced away team is damaged, dead, or missing.”
“So you see what happens when you send a large number of people in. Send in one person who can take care of hirself, however—a smaller target, as it were—and we might stand a better chance. Besides, I have an advantage,” s/he said. “I have a link, a sense of what they faced. I’ll be ready for it.”
“Was it the Borg?” asked Soleta.
Burgoyne shook hir head. “Not that I saw. Although from what I glimpsed—and I can’t even begin to describe it—it may very well have been worse.”
“This is not encouraging my cooperation.”
“Soleta …” Burgoyne tried to find the words, and then simply said, “I’ve got to do this. Do you understand? I have got to do this. Give me twenty-four hours—”
“Twelve,” Soleta counter-offered. “And you will have to bring someone with you. I will not have you down there alone.”
“Let me guess: You.”
Burgoyne was quite surprised when Soleta shook her head. “I am needed here,” she replied, “to endeavor to coordinate the sensor search for Captain Calhoun. Besides, what you need is someone from the security force.”
“I’m going to be moving pretty quickly,” said Burgoyne. “You have to understand, Soleta, there are various aspects to me that you never see in day-to-day life here on the Excalibur.”
“That may very well be, but as my ability to render you unconscious indicates, you are in need of someone to watch your back. Furthermore, I am quite aware of your more … feral attributes,” Soleta informed hir. “I have someone in mind who I believe would be capable of accompanying you on this quixotic quest of yours. Someone who will be able to ’keep up with you.’”
“Who?” And then Burgoyne realized even before Soleta said it. “You can’t mean—”
“Ensign Janos.”
“Soleta, be reasonable,” Burgoyne started to say.
“I am being most reasonable. Janos is ideally suited.”
“Janos makes me nervous,” protested Burgoyne. “He makes everybody nervous!”
“So do you,” shot back Soleta.
“That’s not exactly fair,” Burgoyne said, although s/he did allow a small smile. �
��Janos works the graveyard shift by popular demand. He prefers it that way and so does most of the crew.”
“Granted,” agreed Soleta. “But the bottom line is that he’s a formidable security guard, incredibly strong, remarkably intelligent. If you want someone to be watching out for you, Janos is your—”
“I hope you weren’t going to say ’man.’”
“You, of all people, Chief Engineer, should not find amusement when a crewmember eludes easy categorization.”
“All right, all right, point taken.”
“Good. Then we have an agreement. Twelve hours, with Ensign Janos as your back-up.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Lieutenant,” Burgoyne told her.
Soleta tapped her commbadge. “Transporter room to Ensign Janos.” They waited, and when no response was forthcoming, Soleta tried again. Still no answer. “I was afraid of this,” Soleta admitted. “He’s off shift, so he’s likely asleep. He is sometimes difficult to awaken.”
“All right. I’ll do it.” S/he shook hir head as s/he walked out of the transporter room.
The door slid shut behind hir, and Soleta said calmly, “I’ll be certain to change my door lock code.”
* * *
Burgoyne stood outside Ensign Janos’ quarters and rang the chime once more. There was no reply from within. Not wanting to waste any more time, Burgoyne tapped in the security override code that was known only to hirself and a handful of other ranking officers. The door beeped in acknowledgment and slid open.
Burgoyne stepped into darkness, hir eyes adjusting with preternatural speed. She was able to pick out a bulky body hanging upside down in a corner of the room. “Janos,” s/he hissed. “Ensign Janos…”
Suddenly the bulk was gone. S/he tried to refocus and then, right in hir face, something large and bulky roared at hir with deafening volume. The breath was not especially pleasant either. Even with hir excellent night vision, s/he sensed rather than saw the behemoth raging in front of her.
“Ensign, it’s Chief Engineer Burgoyne! Burgoyne one-seventy-two!” s/he said loudly. “You weren’t answering the comm! You’re needed for a special assignment!”
The mass in front of hir paused, and s/he heard the deep rasping slowly fade, to be replaced by normal, if heavy, breathing. “Special assignment?” came the thick-voiced reply.
“That’s right. The captain’s disappeared, the away team was slaughtered, Lieutenant Kebron is missing, and you and I are going down alone.”
“Why?”
“Why? To show everyone else how it’s done, that’s why.”
There was a pause. “Lights to half,” said Ensign Janos. The lights in the cabin obediently came to half illumination.
Burgoyne immediately saw that Janos was unclothed, which was not particularly unusual for him. He preferred a state of undress, considering it more natural, although of course he did follow Starfleet constraints and wear a uniform when he was on-duty. Even so, no one would have found it particularly disconcerting since Ensign Janos was covered, head to toe, with thick white fur.
Janos, as did others of his species, also had a general ape-like appearance, and was likely the only other individual on the ship, aside from Burgoyne, to sport fangs. However, that was where his resemblance to others of his kind ended, something that became immediately clear the moment he opened his mouth.
“Sounds brilliant,” Janos said. “A real rip-snorter of an escapade. I appreciate your thinking of me for it.”
Wasn’t my idea, thought Burgoyne, but rather than admit that, s/he said, “Not a problem.”
“Hope I didn’t startle you overmuch. I have that sort of killer-instinct thing on when I’m slumbering. Anyone who startles me, well, you get the idea.”
“Oh, definitely. How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Half a mo’. Just need to pull on a clean pair of woollies and then we’re off to the races!” Ensign Janos, the mugato security guard, didn’t grin. His face wasn’t built in a manner that allowed him to. But he did seem exceedingly chipper about it. “You can wait here if you wish, Chief. Not as if I have anything to hide, and besides, I hear you’re somewhat the frisky one when it comes to matters of sexual orientation, eh? Watching a fellow like me get dressed shouldn’t be too much of a shocker for you, I’d surmise.”
Burgoyne considered it for a moment, and then said, “I think I’ll wait outside, if it’s all the same to you.”
“As you wish. Pass up the thrill of a lifetime, if that’s your pleasure.”
Burgoyne stepped into the hallway, waited until the door shut behind hir, and then muttered, “Soleta, I’ll get you for this. I’m not certain how or where, but I will get you for this. And Captain, if you’re alive, I certainly hope you appreciate this.”
XV
ACROSS THE BELEAGUERED WORLD of Zondar, arguments spilled over into feuds. Skirmishes became outright battles. Accusations ricocheted, counteraccusations flew. Mourning took hold of the entire populace as they came to feel that a golden age of growth, a time of peace and prosperity, had been snatched away from them. It seemed to many that night and day became filled with nothing but ululations of grief, cries that could be heard from one side of Zondar to the other.
Mackenzie Calhoun was deaf to all of them.
He lay inside the cave, unable to move, barely even able to think. Slowly he felt his strength starting to return, but when he tried to move his arms and legs, nothing seemed interested in functioning. It took a massive amount of effort just to be able to open his eyes, and when he did, the entirety of his reward was darkness. Slowly he started to be able to make out things, except all he was making out was cave walls. There was no chill in the cave, however; instead he felt a distant warmth, leading him to believe that he was in a fairly arrid area.
He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry and raspy, his throat not much better. He cleared his throat, took another stab at it, and this time managed to get out, “Hello?”
He didn’t get an immediate response, and he wasn’t entirely certain if that was a good thing or not. He felt the bonds at his wrists and ankles, tested his strength against them, and found that they were more than capable of standing up to his best efforts. That didn’t stop him from trying to pull his wrists clear, but after several minutes that only resulted in severe abrasions, he stopped to reconsider the matter.
He tried to remember how he had arrived at his present situation, but his memory was hazy at best. He recalled the banquet, and the vague sense of danger. He remembered retiring to his room. Beyond that—nothing. He looked down at his chest and noticed that his communicator was gone. Well, whoever had made off with him was thorough, he would certainly give him that.
Slowly he surveyed his surroundings. Definitely a simple cave, fairly unremarkable. Now if he could just figure out what in hell he was doing there. Who could possibly have done this to him, and for what possible reason?
Then something flickered over near the wall. He looked up at it, squinting, trying to make it out.
It was some sort of light emission, that much he could see. And it appeared to be taking some sort of form, coalescing into …
A Zondarian.
But it was not one that Calhoun had seen before. He was hairless, with the same glistening leathery skin that the rest of the people shared, but he seemed older somehow.
Calhoun sat up, propping himself up on one elbow, and said to the image, “Who are you?”
He wasn’t entirely certain if he expected an answer, but was rather startled to receive one, although it wasn’t much of one: “I know who you are,” replied the image. It had only partly materialized; Calhoun could still clearly see the cave wall behind him.
“Oh?” was all Calhoun replied. It wasn’t the most useful of responses; after all, Calhoun knew perfectly well who he himself was.
“I watched you,” said the new arrival. “I watched you arrive. I watched you hailed as the Savior. That is what I do, much of the time. I watch. Watch and r
ecord.”
“Would you be kind enough to tell someone where I am?”
“They will know,” replied the image cryptically. “I have already seen that. That is what I do, you see. I notice certain moments, and then track them to see how they develop. I have already seen what will happen to you. Now, for curiosity’s sake, I am studying to see how you got to that point.”
“I’m flattered I’m of such interest to you.” He felt his arm becoming numb and shifted his position. “Since you seem to be so cognizant of what’s to come, would you mind telling me if I get out of here?”
“You will be saved by neither man nor woman,” replied the image, and then slowly it began to fade out.
“I appreciate the encouraging words!” Calhoun called out. “Get back here!”
But the image was gone.
Insanely, Calhoun sensed that the floor was warm directly beneath where the image had been, as if it had been generating body heat. But that was impossible. It had been nothing more than a hologram …
For, for all Calhoun knew, it had been a complete delusion. Perhaps he was simply losing his mind. Now there was a cheery thought. The image had vanished and he’d been left with more questions than answers.
And then it appeared that his questions were going to be answered in very short order, because he heard a soft footfall approaching him. Rather than immediately tip off the fact that he was conscious, Calhoun laid his head down and narrowed his eyes to slits so that he could still see. He slowed his breathing down as best he could to try and simulate an unconscious state.
He saw someone approaching him, and this, in contrast to his previous visitor, was very much a flesh-and-blood Zondarian. His captor stopped several feet away from him and said, “Feigning unconsciousness is rather pointless. I heard you talking to yourself before, so I know you are awake.”
Slowly Calhoun lifted his head. “Ramed, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I am honored that you remember me, oh Great One,” Ramed said with a slight inclination of his head. “You have, after all, met a great many of us. It is flattering to know you can keep track of who is who.”
