Martyr

by Peter David

  But Si Cwan stepped in quickly before Prime One could continue. “Your information, I must tell you, is faulty,” he assured Prime One. “I will grant you, the people of Zondar seem to have elevated Captain Calhoun to some sort of god-like status. But that was the decision of their world, and one that was not supported by Captain Calhoun himself.”

  “From our understanding, he presented himself as the Savior of Zondar.”

  “He was endeavoring to save a race from destroying itself,” Si Cwan pointed out. “Further, he presented himself as nothing. They believed him to be their Savior. What matters what a race believes when one is trying to save it? You know of the civil war that grips the Zondarians.”

  “Yes, we were aware,” said Prime One. “It was, and is, a tragic situation that brother should slay brother.”

  “You see, we are in agreement then.”

  “About the situation, yes. But we had every intention of attending to Zondar in our own way.”

  That comment, and the implied threat, were unmistakable. “Are you saying that you intended to…redeem Zondar?”

  “It was a planet ripe for redemption. And with the demise of the Thallonian Empire, all agreements between ourselves and your family are, obviously, in abeyance.”

  “Even so,” Si Cwan said, “you cannot feel that Mackenzie Calhoun has undercut the divine Xant simply because he was doing his job. He is here to help. To aid a belligerent people in setting aside their differences. What matter the method?”

  “It matters to us,” Prime One told him flatly. “What Calhoun has done is nothing less than pose a threat to the entire structure of the Redeemers. At least you Thallonians did not trespass into the realm of the theological. Yours was a straightforward environment of warfare and business. You conquered and controlled, not out of a sense of divine right, but out of a belief in your own intrinsic strength. We believed it to be shortsighted and limited, but it was a mind-set with which we could co-exist. Calhoun, on the other hand, is being perceived as some sort of Savior.”

  “Mackenzie Calhoun cannot control how he is perceived by others.”

  “Granted,” said Prime One. “We, however, can.”

  McHenry turned to Lefler and in a very low voice, said, “I do not like the sound of that.”

  Nor did Si Cwan. “May I ask,” he said slowly, “how you would propose to exercise that control?”

  “By destroying both Calhoun and his vessel,” said Prime One matter-of-factly.

  And now Lefler murmured to McHenry, in an equally low voice, “Yup. That would do it.”

  Soleta now took a step forward before Si Cwan could reply. “I must warn you, sir, if you fire upon this vessel, we will take retaliatory action. Furthermore, bear in mind that this is a Federation starship. To fire unprovoked upon us is to risk direct confrontation with the Federation itself.”

  “Unprovoked?” Prime One retorted. “We have endeavored to save the souls of the races in this sector before your Federation had even assembled its meager membership. You come in here, on your supposed mission of mercy, when in fact the Redeemers consider it nothing less than trespass. And then to foist one of your own off as a major religious figure…”

  “We have been over that, Prime One,” Si Cwan said. “The primary mandate of this vessel is to save lives, and Captain Calhoun—”

  “And our primary mandate is to save souls!” shot back Prime One. “And how is that to be accomplished if Xant is to return, only to discover that he has been forsaken in the name of some upstart Starfleet captain?! A world already lies in ruins because of him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Alpha Carinae, Lord Cwan. The people there came to believe in the influence of Mackenzie Calhoun. In so doing, they attacked and killed the High Priest of that world. You know the consequences of such an act.”

  For a moment, Si Cwan felt the strength draining from his legs. He reached back and gripped the upper rail behind him. Soleta looked to him questioningly, standing with her back to the screen so that they had a fraction of privacy despite the height difference between them.

  “High Priests are equipped with a sort of fail-safe device,” Si Cwan said, after he’d taken a moment to steady himself. “A particularly virulent strain of virus. It’s contained within their bodies, in a device that is keyed to the heartbeat of the priest. If the priest is critically injured or killed—in short, if they die of anything save natural causes—the virus is released. Within seventy-two hours, no one is left alive on the world.”

  Soleta’s eyes went wide.

  Si Cwan then looked to the screen, his face hardening. “And you would blame this…this tragedy on Calhoun?”

  “On whom else, Lord Cwan?” demanded the Prime One.

  “On whom else? And on whom did you place the blame when there was revolt on Oxon Three, eh? And your little plague-retaliation lay waste to that race? Or what about the brutal beating of a High Priest on Lesikor, eh? That time, you intervened quickly enough so that merely half the population of the planet was destroyed. And where was Calhoun then, eh? No, no, Prime One. Look elsewhere for your precious blame. Look to yourselves. Your converts balk against your restrictions and your oppression. They rebel against you. You try to redeem them when the only thing they need saving from is you yourselves! So if the people of Alpha Carinae latched onto the legend building around Calhoun, what of it? Sooner or later they would have seized upon someone or something else. They were not turning toward another. They were turning away from you, and that’s the truth of it! Rather than seek out Calhoun to punish him for your own shortcomings and oppression, look on this as an object lesson in the danger of domination!”

  Very quietly, Prime One replied, “I hardly think that you, of all people, are qualified to spout lessons on the danger of domination, oh fallen Lord Cwan.”

  Si Cwan’s face darkened slightly, and he said, “Actually, I beg to differ. I think I am eminently qualified. After all, who knows better of the hazards of dictatorship than a fallen dictator?”

  Through the distance of space, the two of them stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Calhoun is no threat to you,” Si Cwan said at last.

  “Perhaps you are right,” Prime One said.

  Several members of the bridge crew let out sighs of relief.

  “But then again, perhaps you are wrong,” continued Prime One. “We cannot take that chance.”

  Boyajian looked up from his sensors. “Lieutenant, they’re going weapons hot!”

  “Red alert, sound battle stations,” Soleta said, icy calm descending upon her. She was now faced with a worst-case scenario, and she had absolutely no choice but to try and see it through. In a way, it was almost a relief. Now she knew what she had to face. “Prime One,” she said as she took one more try at the screen, “I must warn you once more: We will defend ourselves if fired upon.”

  “I would hope so,” replied Prime One.

  “Calhoun is not aboard this ship!” Si Cwan called above the klaxon of the red alert. “You’re accomplishing nothing!”

  “The ship is doomed anyway, for we would hardly want the vessel of a martyred captain cruising the spaceways, spreading word of his great deeds,” reasoned Prime One. “If you are lying and the captain is on the vessel, then we have accomplished our mission. If not, and he is on the planet surface, then we will either redeem the planet or—if it is irredeemable—obliterate the populace as well. The infection of Calhoun worship will end, here and now. May Xant light your way to the next life.” And the screen blinked out.

  “At least he gave us his blessing,” McHenry commented.

  “Incoming!” called Boyajian. “High energy concentration plasma torpedoes! Locked on and tracking us!”

  “Evasive maneuvers!” called Soleta.

  And McHenry promptly slammed the Excalibur into reverse.

  At high speed, increasing with every moment, the Excalibur hurtled backward on full reverse thrust, the torpedoes in hot pursuit.
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  “Thirty thousand kilometers and closing!” called McHenry.

  “Locking on counters!” Boyajian said. “Keep us steady, McHenry! Just need another few seconds!”

  “Maintaining course and speed!”

  “Counter torpedoes locked on! Firing!”

  Photon torpedoes leaped out from underneath the ship, hitting the plasma torpedoes squarely. The explosion rippled outward, but the Excalibur gracefully sailed around it.

  “Redeemer vessel in pursuit,” called Boyajian. “Orders, Lieutenant?”

  Soleta hesitated, unsure of exactly how to proceed.

  And at that moment, she heard the hissing of the turbolift door and a strong, if struggling voice, say, “I’ll take this one, Lieutenant.”

  Everyone on the bridge turned and reacted with similar astonishment, except for Soleta, who was well-trained enough to mask not only her surprise, but a vague sense of relief.

  Shelby was standing in the doorway. She was still clearly injured, and she was laboring to keep herself standing. Skin grafts had been attached to replace the areas where her face and body had been lacerated, but the healing process had only just begun. Nonetheless, Shelby forced her legs to carry her forward.

  “Commander?” gasped out Lefler.

  “I heard a red alert. We’re in trouble. If you think I’m going to lie around in sickbay, you can forget it.” She staggered, gripped the command chair, and eased herself in.

  “Commander, are you sure—” asked Soleta.

  “No,” Shelby told her. “No, I’m not sure. But I’m here, much to the chagrin of Doctor Maxwell, who’s still on the verge of apoplexy that I walked out. So … status report.”

  “We are under assault by a warship belonging to a race known as the Redeemers. They are heavily armed and shielded, and have a stated intention of destroying us and, after that, Captain Calhoun. Orders, sir?”

  Shelby leaned forward. “Prepare to kick ‘em to hell, Lieutenant.”

  And Soleta came as close to smiling as she ever did. “All prepared, Commander.”

  XVIII

  WITH A SNARL, Burgoyne ripped a chunk out of Ensign Janos.

  Janos roared in fury as his thick white fur quickly became blood-stained around his ribs. Burgoyne sank hir canines squarely into Janos’s upper shoulder and, bracing hir feet against his upper chest, did everything s/he could to rip Janos’s arm out of its socket.

  Furious, Janos grabbed Burgoyne by the back of hir uniform and pulled hir off him, losing some more fur in the process. He hurled Burgoyne across the rocky terrain, and Burgoyne slammed into an outcropping, momentarily stunned. Without hesitation, Janos lowered his head and charged, driving his horn straight at Burgoyne’s chest. Burgoyne had been momentarily stunned, and hir vision cleared just in time to see the horn bearing down straight at hir. Just before Janos made contact, Burgoyne took a quick step forward and leaped high, somersaulting through the air and over Janos’s head. Janos, unable to halt his charge in time, crashed into the rocky wall, chipping off some of the rock and some fur off his head as well.

  Janos spun, baring his fangs and howling his fury at Burgoyne. He charged after hir, the ground shaking under him. Burgoyne, had s/he been in hir right mind, would have run. Instead s/he maintained her ground to meet the charge. It was nothing short of suicidal, for the fangs of the enraged ensign were poisoned, and the slightest scratch from those frightening weapons would kill anyone: even a Hermat chief engineer.

  Janos lunged, sweeping his right claw through the air. Burgoyne ducked under it, not even moving hir feet. S/he snarled derisively, and the move further enraged Janos. He swung a left, another right, just trying to get a grip on Burgoyne, but the Hermat was too quick. S/he maneuvered as if Janos were moving in slow motion. Quickly becoming fed up, Janos charged forward with his entire body. Burgoyne darted between his legs, taking a moment to sweep with hir talons across the upper portion of Janos’s thigh. The ensign went down, howling, clutching at his leg. He didn’t know how lucky he was. Burgoyne had been moving quickly, and if s/he hadn’t had to hurry hir thrust and had, in fact, hit where s/he was aiming, Janos’s scream would have been considerably higher-pitched.

  Burgoyne started to scramble to hir feet, and suddenly Janos hurled himself backward. He did so blindly, but he had a general sense of where Burgoyne was, and the move caught hir by surprise. All four hundred and fifty pounds of ensign landed squarely on top of hir, knocking the wind out of hir and pinning hir.

  Janos tried to reach around, find a part of hir that he could grab, get to his mouth, and chomp down on. The moment he accomplished that, the battle would effectively be over.

  Moving quickly, fired by desperation, Burgoyne swung hir talons around and raked the side of Janos’s face. Janos let out a yelp and Burgoyne quickly squirmed out from under the massive fury body, pulling hir legs clear and rolling frantically away.

  They faced each other, both crouched, their respective teeth bared, and they circled warily. Burgoyne’s talons were poised, ready to strike again, and Janos was maneuvering around to try and find a suitable terrain so that he could charge again with his horn.

  And then something sounded within Burgoyne’s mind. A voice … of someone who wasn’t there.

  In sickbay, Selar’s eyes snapped open. She moaned, trying to sit up.

  Maxwell saw it out of the corner of his eye and immediately summoned medtechs over. Selar was babbling incoherently, and Maxwell tried to make out what she was saying. Something about Burgoyne, something about monsters, and she spoke as if someone were standing right there next to her whom only she could see.

  “Sedate her!” called Maxwell.

  “No!” Selar said with what sounded startlingly like a growl. “No! Leave me alone! S/he needs me!”

  Burgoyne felt her. Felt her in hir mind, in hir heart. Felt her connection to hir.

  For just a moment, Burgoyne’s mind cleared. The Excalibur evaporated, the assailants vanished, the laughing stopped …

  And there was Ensign Janos, charging toward hir with an undiluted roar of fury.

  “Oh, hell!” Burgoyne cried out, and s/he back-pedaled rapidly as Janos came at hir. Realizing that Janos was going to catch up if s/he continued to run backward, Burgoyne whirled and dashed at breakneck speed, arms pumping furiously.

  Dead ahead of hir was a solid wall of rock.

  Right behind hir was the infuriated mugato.

  Burgoyne picked up speed, ran as fast as s/he possibly could. Janos was right behind hir, propelling himself forward even faster with the aid of his knuckles.

  And the second that Burgoyne reached the rock wall, s/he ran right up the wall, hurling hirself up and over. As s/he cleared the top of Janos’s head, s/he grabbed the horn. The mugato reached around, trying to get at hir, as Burgoyne landed, allowed hir momentum to carry her, and twisted forward and down with all hir strength. Janos was hauled back and over in a flip, slammed down to the ground.

  For just a moment, Janos was immobilized. With the blood lust upon hir, Burgoyne would have taken the opportunity to try and tear out Janos’s jugular vein. But hir head was clear, and Burgoyne’s hand stretched out, clamping onto the mugato’s shoulder. Hir long fingers moved in perfect imitation of the way that Soleta had dropped hir with the nerve pinch.

  Janos let out a startled yelp. His body trembled for a moment, and then pitched forward. Burgoyne stepped back, still cautious, in case Janos was pulling some sort of trick. But s/he quickly realized that that wasn’t the case; Janos wasn’t budging.

  S/he felt heat beginning to build beneath hir feet, as if some sort of massive machinery was functioning beneath the ground. For a moment s/he considered picking up Janos and trying to lug him along, but quickly dismissed the notion as unworkable.

  “Good thing you were here to watch my back,” s/he said, before allowing him to slump to the ground.

  Then s/he felt it again: that same sensation that caused the hair on the back of hir neck to stand up. S/he spun …
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  And saw it coming toward her.

  It was massive, hundreds of feet tall, and all s/he could make out was its outline. It seemed to shimmer and coalesce in the darkness, and it appeared to fill not only the air all around, but the area within Burgoyne as well. It seemed to have some sort of massive mouth, and a hundred eyes, every one boring its way into hir soul. S/he began to feel the same fears, trepidations …

  “Get that way from me!” shouted Selar, all thought of Vulcan control tossed aside. She was sitting up in bed, struggling to shove aside the stasis field.

  Maxwell came at her with a sedative, but he never had the opportunity to inject it into her. Her hand whipped around and she smacked the hypodermic out of his grasp, sending it clattering to the floor.

  “Burgoyne!” she cried out, reaching into thin air. “Come back to me! Come back!”

  And then s/he shook it off. The creature raged above hir, and at first Burgoyne backed up, intimidated, afraid. But s/he felt something else within hir mind, something that was helping hir to brace hirself against the beast …

  And s/he realized what it was doing.

  “I am not alone,” whispered Burgoyne. “I am not alone, and you have no power over me.”

  Selar did not understand what was going through her mind. She was operating purely on instinct. She shoved aside the stasis field, and stumbled off the medtable, hitting the ground heavily. She wasn’t remotely aware of her surroundings. All she knew was the instinct that was pounding through her, the need for her mate. The need to feel completion. The need to share herself.

  She could feel hir. She had no clear idea of how s/he had gotten into her mind, but she was beyond caring. Medtechs approached her, tried to haul her back to the medtable. They made the mistake of doing so by hauling her arms up onto their shoulders. Her instinct in overdrive, she knocked the two of them cold with deftly placed nerve pinches. They slid to the floor and she went down with them, her legs skewed, her eyes staring into nothing and something all at the same time.

  “Burgoyne,” she whispered.