Fire On High (Star Trek: The Next Generation)

by Peter David

  And the Excalibur suddenly pulled out of her dive before she fully entered the atmosphere, avoiding any further strain on the shields due to reentry.

  "Helm restored," called Morgan as the ship arced upward and away from the looming planet surface. The ship moved slowly back into orbit, having barely withstood the assault and not knowing if another was forthcoming.

  "Shield status!"

  Lefler was rubbing her forehead, trying to see straight. "Shields at eighty percent and holding, sir. Structural integrity is holding; most of what we experienced was purely impact."

  "Meaning that if we didn't have shields at all, we'd have been smashed to bits."

  "Yes sir. Captain, transporter room reports a call from the away team to be beamed aboard just before the attack."

  "We can't bring them up with our shields up, and we don't dare lower shields. Comm system?"

  "Just back on line, sir."

  "Calhoun to away team." He brushed some debris from his uniform as he helped McHenry to his feet. McHenry clearly looked confused and there were burn marks on his uniform shirt. Chances were that there were burns on his chest to match. For a long moment, Calhoun was convinced that he wasn't going to hear a word from the planet surface.

  But then Shelby's rattled voice came back. "Away team, Shelby here."

  "Commander! What's going on down there? Our readings didn't indicate any sort of massive weapons array, but somebody shot at us and damn near took us out!"

  "It's a woman, sir. A woman with a gun."

  Everyone on the bridge, sitting up bruised and battered and trying to staunch bleeding wherever they could, exchanged looks of utter incredulity. "Did you say a woman with a gun?"

  "That would be correct, sir."

  Robin Lefler had seen the captain in a variety of moods and reactions. But she couldn't recall having seen him looking quite as stunned as he did at that moment. "How could one woman with a gun almost knock us out of orbit?!"

  There was a pause and then, apparently, because she couldn't think of any other way to explain it, she said, "It's a really big gun, sir."

  Calhoun didn't know what to say to that aside from, "Oh." McHenry, for his part, was looking in puzzlement at Morgan, who was at his station. Morgan quickly rose and eased him into his seat.

  "Furthermore," Shelby said, "it appears to be in the possession of the woman whom Morgan described as her former associate."

  "Tarella?" Morgan called over the comm system.

  "That's right."

  "Captain," Morgan turned to him, "please let me go down there. I'm the only one who can possibly get through to her."

  Calhoun did not like the odds of the situation, but he didn't see a lot of choices. "All right. We're going to have to risk this. Mr. McHenry, bring us back to maximum transporter range. Let's try and put as much distance between ourselves and that… big gun… as possible. Morgan, get down to the transporter room. We'll drop our deflectors for just the length of time it takes to beam you down there, and then we'll bring the shields back on line. Shelby, what's your read on the situation? Shall we bring you back up when we send Morgan down?"

  "Negative," Shelby said after a moment's thought.

  "From our vantage point, it seems as if Tarella is just sitting there now. It's almost as if she's forgotten that we're here. She seems to fade in and out of reality."

  "I can relate to that," McHenry said.

  "Captain," Lefler suddenly said. She rose to her feet, slightly unsteady but determined. "I would like to accompany Ms. Primus to the planet… if that's all right."

  Despite the disarray on the bridge, Calhoun managed to force a smile. "Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say that," he said.

  XIV

  MORGAN ANDROBIN SHIMMERED into existence on the planet surface a few feet from the away team, which was still crouched behind the shelter as if it provided them with any protection at all. Shelby gestured for them to approach, which they did as quietly as they could. She immediately noticed the banged up condition of the newcomers, but there was no time to discuss it. "I was so worried she'd open fire on the ship while you were coming down," she whispered.

  "Do we have a plan, Commander?" asked Robin.

  "Yes. It's called 'not getting killed.'"

  "Good plan," said Si Cwan. "Is there anything beyond that?"

  Slowly Shelby turned in her crouch to face Morgan. An eternity of time seemed to pass between them. "You really think you can get through to her?" she asked.

  Morgan weighed all the possibilities, all the unknowns, and finally admitted, "I don't know. Not for sure, I don't know. At least I can distract her."

  "Good. An honest answer. What did you do up there that caused the captain to trust you down here?"

  "I saved the ship," Morgan said evenly.

  Shelby turned and looked at Robin, who nodded confirmation. "All right, Morgan. Take it slow, take it careful… and take it over there," she said, pointing several feet to the right.

  As Shelby had indicated she should, she stepped several feet to the right. She took a deep breath that seemed, for a moment, to be a bit unsteady, and Robin realized that her mother was—at the very least—apprehensive. Looking back over her life, she came to the realization that she had never, ever, seen her mother in any way other than completely composed and confident.

  But why? If her mother was truly immortal, as she claimed, what was she so nervous about? Then Morgan cast a glance to her, gave her a quick "thumbs up," and Robin realized why she was reacting that way. Morgan was anxious about Robin's safety. She wasn't concerned about getting out of this herself. She was worried that Robin wouldn't make it.

  Robin returned the gesture, and then Morgan slowly pushed herself out into the open.

  * * *

  Very, very tentatively, Morgan approached the woman that she had known, in happier times, as Tarella. It was all she could do to suppress the shock of what she was seeing. Tarella was humming softly to herself in a very sing-song manner, an idle and aimless tune. "Tarella?" Morgan softly called her name.

  "What did you say, lover?" Tarella wasn't looking at her at all. Her thoughts seemed to be otherwise occupied, and considering the way she seemed to be moving her body up and down against the weapon that she was clutching to her bosom, it was not hard to guess exactly whom she was addressing.

  "Tarella, it's me. It's Morgan. Remember? I'm… I'm out. I'm back. I'm here to finish what we started." She waved her hand to try and get Tarella's attention. "Tarella, that is a … a very impressive piece of hardware you have there. Want to tell me where you got it?"

  Tarella seemed to focus on her, but her eyes were dark and fearsome things, and she held the weapon even tighter. "Morgan."

  "Yes. Morgan."

  "You're dead." She paused and seemed to be readjusting her position slightly. "My lover," she continued, "says we should kill you."

  "If I'm dead, then you can't kill me," Morgan pointed out. "Why waste your lover's bounty on a ghost?"

  It was a long shot at best, and not for one moment did Morgan expect her to go for it. To her surprise, though, Tarella seemed to be considering the notion very carefully. "I hadn't thought of that," she said, every other word going up in pitch, making her sound like a small child, or an adult cooing to one.

  All the while, Morgan was drawing closer and closer to Tarella, one very careful step at a time. "Tarella," she said as unflappably as if they were at a cocktail party together, "would you mind introducing me to your lover? Does he… it… have a name?"

  "No name. We don't need names, no we don't, do we?" and she stroked the weapon affectionately. And then in that same bizarre sing-song voice, she said with an undercurrent of danger, "You're going to try and take my lover away from me, aren't you? That's what my lover is telling me. My lover wants to kill you, right here, right now. But I'm holding it back. Me. I'm doing that. Because I miss talking to my old friend, Morgan, even if it's just a ghost of Morgan. That makes my lover jealous. But tha
t's okay, isn't it? It's okay to make your lover jealous every so often. Helps the relationship to stay fresh."

  "I've always thought so," Morgan agreed. She almost stepped on a place where the footing wasn't as sure, and she very delicately moved her foot around it so that she would be on more solid ground. She had no desire to slip and possibly startle Tarella out of whatever psychosis-induced stupor she had fallen into.

  It was difficult for her to believe that this was the same woman who had been her best friend and partner. An adventurer, a person full of joy and life. Virtually unrecognizable now, drained dry of life and love and spirit by a sick relationship with an engine of destruction that had aspirations to sentience.

  It took all that she had to keep the revulsion from her voice as she asked, "Where did you meet your lover? How did you two get together?"

  "The Prometheans were here," she said. "You remember them, right? They were here, just like we thought they'd be. It was as if… as if they were waiting for us. For me."

  "That sounds like them, all right," agreed Morgan.

  "Master chess players, master manipulators. It was probably like a Möbius strip. They knew we were searching for them, and arranged for us to find them. Our quest created the quarry."

  "That's very clever, Morgan. You always were ohso-very clever. But not clever enough to get off Momidium, were you?"

  "No. No, I wasn't."

  "I waited for you. Do you have any idea how long I waited for you?" Her voice was starting to rise, her hands trembling, and Morgan was becoming increasingly concerned that she was about to fire. "Do you have any idea how long?! I've been here for three hundred years!!"

  Morgan stared at her, shaking her head. "Tarella, it's only been five. Five years. Not three hundred. Five."

  And this announcement seemed to surprise Tarella greatly. She ran her fingers through her stringy hair and said in quiet wonderment, "Only five? Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "My God… it… it seemed so much longer."

  Her thoughts were starting to drift, and Morgan knew it was important to control the direction in which they went. "Tarella, your lover. You didn't tell me … how did—"

  "The Prometheans gave my lover to me," she said. She laughed at the recollection. "They thought it was just a weapon. Silly Prometheans. A weapon that responds instantly to the thoughts of its lover. Whatever I want, it wants. And whatever it wants, I want. We are one. We are together. We are…" For just a moment, her mind seemed to flutter, and as if pulling straws from the past, she said, "The Prometheans said they wanted the Ahmistans to have it. So they could better defend themselves against possible enemies. They gave it to me…to give to the Ahmistans. But I realized that it was a mistake. That the Ahmistans couldn't possibly handle it. They weren't ready for this kind of technology. They weren't right for it. And they didn't love it. That's the most important thing." Tears were starting to roll down her face, her voice choking. "I knew that I was the only one who could take care of it, who should take care of it. The Ahmistans, they came for it. They wanted my lover. They wanted to take my lover away. I couldn't let them do it. I had to stop them. You see that, don't you, Morgan?"

  "Of course," Morgan said firmly, even as her soul recoiled at what she was hearing. "If I were in your position, I'd have done the exact same thing. It had to be that way. You did the right thing."

  She was close now to Tarella, so close that she felt as if she could reach out and touch her.

  "And my lover wanted to stay with me as well. I was protecting it. I didn't want anyone getting near it. My lover didn't want it either. But you… you can stay, Morgan. It upsets my lover, but you can stay. Because you're my friend."

  "Yes. Yes, I am. We closed out bars together, and made plans together. Did everything together. You're Tarella Lee; you know that, don't you? Your favorite color is blue, your favorite season on Earth is winter." She was speaking faster and faster, trying to find the woman within this husk of a being. "You like white wine, but not red. You dress mostly in black. When you laugh, it's not a dainty laugh, but a big horsey bellow from your diaphragm. You remember all that, don't you?"

  "I remember Tarella Lee," she said with what sounded like wonderment. "Amazing. I haven't thought of her in so long…"

  "You look so tired, Tarella. You do."

  "I am." Her body sagged against the weapon. It seemed as if it was everything she could do to stay conscious. As if all the strain that she had been through, for who knew how long, was catching up with her all at once. "I am so tired."

  "Tell you what: That looks so heavy. Let me hold it while you take a rest—"

  The moment she said it, Morgan wished she could call the words back to her. For the merest mention of it pulled Tarella forcefully and fiercely out of her distracted state. She clutched the weapon with redoubled fury and howled, "You want to take it away! You're just like all the others!"

  Knowing that she couldn't clear the distance between herself and Tarella before Tarella fired, Morgan backed up, trying to recapture the moment of trust. "No, Tarella, see? You're wrong. I'm way over here now, and I'm not at all trying to—"

  But Tarella wasn't buying it as she howled, "You're trying to take it away!" It was a fearsome howl as if torn from her soul, and she started to bring the weapon around.

  And suddenly Robin was out from behind the rocks, shouting, waving her arms and calling out, "No! Don't do it!" Morgan couldn't believe it as Robin interposed herself between Tarella and Morgan, continuing to cry out, "Don't do it!"

  Morgan tried furiously to shove her out of the way, but Robin wouldn't go. She clung tightly to her mother as she repeatedly shouted, "Don't do it! You don't want to! Leave her alone! Leave her!"

  The shouting and commotion seemed to distract Tarella for a moment as the tormented woman blinked in confusion, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. And there was something… something in her eyes, in her face, and for a moment—just a moment—Morgan saw a hint of the woman that she had once known peering at her from within those haunted and sunken eyes.

  "Morgan, help me." she whispered.

  And it was at that moment that Si Cwan leaped in from the other side. Tarella's attention seemed torn, and by the time she was focused on the assault from the Thallonian, it was too late. He slammed into her from behind, and even though she had been wrapped around the weapon, there was no real strength in her arms or legs. The jolt was enough to send the weapon clattering from her grasp. She started screaming frantically, completely out of control, and she lunged for the weapon, which had fallen to the ground. But Si Cwan scooped her up with one arm, and he couldn't believe how light she was. It was literally as if he were lifting nothing at all.

  "Let me go!" she howled. "Let me go! Let me go to my lover, it needs me, it's terrified, can't you feel it? Can't you feel it!?"

  Shelby, Kebron, and Soleta were emerging from behind their refuge, and Shelby said briskly, "Kebron, get her secured. Cwan, good work. Morgan, you too."

  "Don't touch it! It doesn't want you! It wants me! We are one! We … we …"

  And then, slowly… ever so slowly… something started to fade from her eyes. Something that she hadn't quite realized was there until it began to dissipate. It was as if a cloud were lifting from her, and in a low and confused voice, she said, "Mor… gan… ?"

  "I'm here, Tarella. I'm right here." Morgan took Tarella's face in her arms, and couldn't believe it. Once Tarella had had the softest skin, but now it felt papery, dehydrated. What in God's name had the thing done to her? "Everything's going to be all right now."

  "All the people…" Her memories seemed to be flooding back to her. "The people… there were people here… millions… ashes… ashes to ashes… my God… Morgan…" She began to quiver. Whether it was from fright, or horror, or self-loathing, Morgan couldn't even begin to tell. "Morgan, what… what did I do?"

  "You didn't do anything."

  Kebron had lifted the weapon carefully, wary of any mind games it m
ight start to play with him. "It seems almost hollow," he said in rare wonderment. "How is that possible?"

  Tarella wasn't listening. Not to Kebron, nor to Morgan. Instead she heard something else, something only she could detect. "Do you hear them, Morgan? Do you?"

  "I don't hear anything," Morgan said.

  "The people… the people are screaming…. I can hear their voices," and she started to become completely unraveled, the last throes of a slow descent into what would likely be complete and utter insanity. "Hear their voices calling me, begging me to stop, but it won't let me…. I don't want it to, good God in heaven, what have I done, all those people, bodies are ashes, floating on the wind, get it off of me…"

  Shelby tapped her commbadge. "Excalibur, this is Shelby. Prepare to beam us directly to sickbay, we have—"

  And in a voice filled with more pain than she had ever thought she could feel—filled with more pain than Morgan had ever heard in all her lifetime— Tarella Lee howled with all her heart and soul, with ever fiber of her being: "I WISH I WERE DEAD! I WANT TO DIE!"

  The weapon in Kebron's arms responded, one final time, to the impassioned wish of its lover. It almost leaped out of his grip as it belched out a ball of energy plasma that had, only moments before, leveled a mountain range. This ball was smaller, much smaller, but no less devastating. It streaked across the clearing before anyone could make a move… not that it would have done any good.

  Tarella saw it coming, knew what was about to happen, and she spread wide her arms, threw her head back, and sobbed with the joy of release. "No!" screamed Morgan, but it was too late, as the ball struck home and blew Tarella to ashes. There was a burst of heat that left them feeling almost crispened and then, seconds later, the last remains of Tarella were lifted up onto the winds of Ahmista and carried away to join the final remains of all her victims.

  Kebron immediately upended the gun and shoved the muzzle down straight into the ground. He sank it in a couple of feet and then nodded approvingly.