by Peter David
A substantial threat, though? That truly didn’t cross Sela’s mind. That was why she knew that she could execute Will Riker with impunity. The boldness, the viciousness of her act would be enough to completely paralyze the battle-unready crew. As his lifeless body tumbled, so would their resistance. She was absolutely positive of that.
Which was why it was all the more confusing to her when she heard the sound of tearing metal. She had no idea what the cause was. She didn’t have long to wait to find out.
As hard as it was to believe, she had not noticed the Brikar when she had arrived on the bridge. He had been crouched behind his tactical board. For a large individual, Zak Kebron had a surprising way of coming across as less substantial than he truly was. Now, however, he made no such effort. He emerged from behind his station, gripped the hand railing that ran across the upper section of the bridge…and pulled.
The railing tore out of its moorings. It took the Brikar no more than an instant to be clutching the massive piece of metal, and the instant the Romulans were turning to see what in the name of the Praetor had caused that ear-splitting racket, Kebron was already swinging the railing like a baseball bat.
Sela saw it coming and ducked. The Romulan standing directly behind her was far less fortunate. The railing struck him squarely in the head. The humanoid neck is actually one of the weakest links in the body, the flexibility of the neck coming at a high price. Romulans shared the same weakness as humans. Consequently the Romulan’s head was sent flying from his shoulders. Sela jumped back, emitting a most un-Romulan shriek, and even as the horrified Romulans tried to react, Kebron took a step forward and shoved the jagged-ended metal railing squarely forward into the chest of another Romulan. A third Romulan let out yelp that was actually higher-pitched than Sela’s as the impaled Romulan crashed into him.
It had all happened within seconds, and Sela had been so distracted that she had actually forgotten about Riker. But she had a forceful reminder as Riker lunged forward, grabbed her gun hand and shoved the phaser straight up.
He was strong, but she was no slouch either. Giving as good as she got, the two of them struggled hand-to-hand, and then with a grunt, Riker shoved Sela back. She tripped over one of the fallen bodies, sprawled…and that was when Riker spotted what appeared to be a small comm device on Sela’s wrist. He noticed that all of them were wearing similar equipment. “Get that thing off her!” shouted Riker.
At that moment, the fourth Romulan managed to open fire with his disruptor. He nailed Zak Kebron squarely in the chest. Kebron rocked back on his heels and then announced, “Ouch,” before getting the Romulan to drop the gun through the simple expedient of crushing his hand so that he couldn’t hold it ever again.
Shelby, meantime, moving with remarkable speed, literally hurled herself atop the fallen Sela. With a snarl, she got a grip on Sela’s arm and received a punch in the head for her trouble.
“Ha!” shouted Sela right in her face.
In response, Shelby slammed her fist down against Sela’s head. She heard a satisfying crunch of bone; it would have been far less satisfying had it actually been her own bone.
“Ha!” Shelby shouted right back, and tore the comm device from Sela’s wrist. “Zak!” she shouted as she tossed it in Kebron’s direction. It landed on the floor at his feet, and Zak simply stepped on it. The Romulan communications device…and her locator for beaming…crunched rather pleasingly beneath the massive foot of the Brikar.
The other Romulan who remained alive had already hit his comm device, and he was shouting, “Get me out!” As Kebron tried to grab at his comm link as well, the other two Romulans, along with the corpses, vanished in a haze of molecules. Sela, without her communicator link which would have enabled them to home in on her, didn’t go anywhere.
But she was hardly finished. From the folds of her tunic, she pulled a long-bladed knife and lunged straight at Riker. At that moment, a slim hand clamped down upon her shoulder. Sela’s head snapped around, her eyes rolled up into the top of her head, and she sank to the floor without a sound. Standing directly behind her, Soleta simply shook her head. “If you had simply allowed me to get close enough to apply the nerve pinch,” she said to Shelby and Riker with mild reproof, “we could have terminated this violence far more quickly.”
“Captain!” Lefler suddenly called from her station. To her credit, she had never budged from it even as chaos had unleashed itself on the bridge. “We’ve got shields back on line…and engines, too!”
Riker, who was envisioning the warbirds moving in on the still blind and weaponless starship, allowed a quick sigh of relief. “Bless you, Burgy!” he called to the engineer who obviously couldn’t hear him. “McHenry, take us out of here!”
“We can’t set coordinates,” McHenry replied. “That’s run through the computer. Of course, I could probably…”
The ship suddenly shuddered under a blast to her starboard, and then another to port. Obviously the warbirds were moving in, and it was impossible to fire back. Although shields were back on line, that was hardly going to save them for an extended period of time.
“McHenry, I know we’ll be flying blind, but at this point if we wind up in the middle of a supernova, we won’t really be much worse off than we are !” Riker told him.
“True enough,” admitted McHenry. “Hold on.”
He closed his eyes. Riker found that disconcerting for a moment, and then realized that it didn’t make all that much difference. Not only did they have no instrumentation, they didn’t even have the viewscreen.
The warp engines flared to life, and seconds later the wounded, but still active, Excalibur leaped into warp and was gone.
“We were set up! That’s got to be what happened!” Shelby said furiously.
Shelby, Riker, Soleta, Sela, Lefler and Kebron were in the conference room. Kebron was there mostly to keep Sela in line, and he did so through the simple expedient of keeping one hand firmly on her shoulder with his hand on her. The handbinders were simply a formality. This was more effective than one might have thought, because every time Sela tried to stand or shrug Zak’s hand away, she failed utterly. She had, by that point, given up, and was just sitting in place with a rather irritated expression.
“Set up,” Shelby continued, and she looked angrily at Lefler. “Si Cwan should have known.”
“We don’t know that we were ‘set up,’ Commander, and even if we were, there was no way that he could have known. He’s only as good as his information,” Lefler said defensively.
“Then his information should have been better,” Riker said, no happier about the situation than Shelby. “Mr. Kebron, where is Si Cwan?”
“Intraship communications are still down,” rumbled Kebron. “I’ve sent a security team to find him and bring him to this meeting, since you said you wanted to see—”
The door slid open. Lefler’s gasp could be heard immediately. The others contained themselves, but just barely.
Si Cwan was covered with blood, and since it was for the most part green, it obviously wasn’t his. Blood on his tunic, on his face, and on his hands. He had clearly been in a massive pitched battle with the Romulans. Seeing all the Romulan blood on him, Sela visibly paled.
Riker half rose from his chair. “Lord Cwan…are you all right?”
Si Cwan seemed puzzled that Riker would even have to ask. “Of course. Why?”
“Uhm…“Riker hesitated a moment, looked at the others in the room who nodded silent assent with what was clearly going through his mind. “Why don’t you head back to your quarters…get cleaned up, re-lax…you’ve…clearly had a rough time…”
“You said you wished to see me. You sent a security guard to escort me here for that purpose.”
“We’d heard that you’d been in a fight, that’s all,” Shelby said quickly.
“That is true. Is that all you wished to know?”
“Yes,” said Riker.
“Very well.” With that, he turned and l
eft the conference lounge.
Somewhat more sedate in her tone, but still with no less conviction, Shelby continued, “These Narobi natives…Si Cwan said they were machine beings. And our computers went down. That certainly suggests…”
“That it was not a coincidence,” Soleta agreed. “I have been doing further research since Si Cwan brought them to my attention. Their cybernetic makeup would appear to give them some sort of affinity for computers. That would put the odds of their involvement, and a possible alliance with the Romulans, at 83 percent.”
“I had heard that 92 percent of all statistics are made up,” Kebron observed.
This small attempt at levity actually drew smiles from several people in the conference room which, considering the circumstances, was quite the achievement. But then, turning serious once more, Riker turned to Sela and said, “It’s more than that, isn’t it, Sela. A lot more.”
“Scamper back to the Enterprise, Riker,” Sela said contemptuously. “Without Picard to show you how it’s done, you’re no threat…and certainly of no interest to me.”
Riker didn’t rise to the bait, keeping his cool. “You’re going to tell us, Sela. You’re going to tell us everything that’s going on. About the Romulan involvement, about the raid on Daystrom…everything.”
“Over my dead body, Riker.”
And there was something in Riker’s voice that caught Sela’s attention as he said very deliberately, and very menacingly, “If necessary, Sela. Only if absolutely necessary.”
XV.
THERE WERE FEW WORLDS in the galaxy that were more of an assault on the senses than Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet. Actually, Calhoun really couldn’t think of any, now that he put his mind to it.
They walked through streets that were in perpetual celebration. Lights garishly flickered on and off all day and all night, loud music blared from buildings all around them. Calhoun couldn’t help but wonder when the natives slept, and came to the conclusion that the likely answer was “never.”
Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet was entirely a manufactured world, bought and paid for by one Horatio Wrigley several centuries ago and run by his family after his death…a passing, it was rumored, that resulted from an extended stay upon his own world. Supposedly he went with a smile on his face. There were certainly, Calhoun reasoned, worse ways to go.
Ostensibly, Wrigley had taken the hedonistic lifestyle that he had found on such worlds as Argelius and Risa and decided to heighten it, jack the level up to an unprecedented degree. Wrigley’s was the only world where you could see spotlights shining while in orbit.
Calhoun and Lodec were not exactly allowing themselves to be swept up in the perpetual celebratory mood. Calhoun observed the gaiety around him as if he were watching from outside himself. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with him or with his life. What underscored that the most for him was that he was walking down the street with a living reminder of the oppression his people had suffered under. A Danteri, right there, right next to him, and he himself had freed him. He would just as soon let him rot, and yet he had risked himself to set the man free.
It was all…a very long time ago. And I suppose none of it matters anymore.
Those had been Lodec’s words, and the thing was, Calhoun couldn’t help but wonder if Lodec was correct. Two decades. Could it have been that long? Two decades since he had spear-headed the liberation of Xenex. He hadn’t really dwelt on what that passage of time meant, not really. Twenty years. There were Xenexians who were adults now who had absolutely no recollection of a time when Xenex had been anything other than free. For whom the name M’k’n’zy of Calhoun was simply a name in a history book (plus a name attached to several statues which dotted the Xenexian landscape, none of which he thought looked a damned thing like him). Indeed, there were Xenexians to whom the Danteri meant nothing in any threatening sense.
The fact was that the leadership which had come in after Calhoun had itself made many inroads and wound up working quite closely with the Danteri—a leadership that had been spearheaded by Calhoun’s own brother. That alliance, that willingness to work with their former oppressor, had driven a wedge between Mac and his brother that continued in force more or less to the present day.
Do you think…that we wanted to be there? Most of us didn’t give a damn about Xenex. We did what we were told. We followed orders.
…And I suppose none of it matters anymore…
That wasn’t how he wanted to think of the Danteri. It didn’t fit into his view of the universe at all. The Danteri were uniformly oppressive monsters who wanted nothing but to reestablish their chokehold on Xenex and hated all things connected with that world. They were heartless bastards who would just as soon kill Calhoun and his kind as look at them. They wer-en’t allowed to come across as simply…mortal. Fallible mortals, tired of fighting, or perhaps grateful to a Xenexian, or even friendly…it simply wasn’t allowed.
None of it matters…
Should it? Should it matter? Was there a statute of limitations on hatred? Was Calhoun being unreasonable, intransigent? Truthfully, Lodec seemed a decent enough sort. Once he’d gotten rested, cleaned up, he actually came across as a man of quick wit and ready tongue, a man who took a slightly skewed view of the universe.
And his crime against the Andorians? If he was to be believed…and he had, at that point, no reason to lie…it had nothing to do with crimes of violence, or spying, or anything that one would normally have expected in such a situation. No, Lodec had made the hideous mistake of having an affair with the wife of an Andorian high government official. He had not taken kindly to being cuckolded, and when he’d learned of the involvement, had Lodec brought up on charges of high crimes against the state. Lodec would have been more than happy to tell his side of the story, had he not had an electronic gag slapped across his mouth during the trial. And so a casual tryst by Lodec, who had just been passing through the homeworld of the Andorians, had turned out to be the beginning of a fifteen-year prison sentence. Granted, absconding with the affections of someone’s wife was hardly an act that warranted having a medal pinned on you, but losing one’s freedom for fifteen years because of it seemed a bit excessive. Even Calhoun had to admit that. But part of him wanted to feel that anything bad which happened to any Danteri was deserved and not to be mourned. That any ill fortune which befell any Danteri was something he had coming to him…
Except…that didn’t hold up, either. After all, if there were Xenexian adults who had never been the slaves of Danteri, then it was also an inevitable conclusion that there were Danteri who not only had never been party to the oppression of Xenex, but had no inherent interest in Calhoun’s world in the first place. Hell, if one could believe Lodec, he never “gave a damn” about Xenex to begin with. Of course, he didn’t know for sure just how much he could believe Lodec, for the Danteri had been deliberately vague about what he himself had done during the war. He had basically admitted to being involved on a military level, but he had not gone into specifics. As near as Calhoun was able to determine, militarily Lodec was not much above a grunt.
None of which explained why in the world he was of such interest to General Thul.
Then Calhoun suddenly became aware of the fact that several Thallonians were following them.
Mentally he chided himself. That had been unforgivably sloppy. He had no idea how long they had been behind him. Had they just shown up? Were they there for several blocks? No way to tell. And he had been too wrapped up in his own musings to pay attention.
His first instinct was to confront the Thallonians following him. If nothing else, the notion pleased his ego. The thought of anything believing that they could tail Mackenzie Calhoun without his knowledge was galling to him.
But then he reconsidered. The fact was that they weren’t making any aggressive moves against him. Furthermore, Thul had given Calhoun an address to which he was supposed to bring Lodec. It was possible that the Thallonians were there
simply to observe, and report any questionable behavior back to Thul.
If one were to follow that reasoning, one would also assume that anything construed as being on Thul’s side would likewise be reported.
With that notion in mind, Calhoun abruptly draped an arm around Lodec’s shoulders. Lodec was clearly startled, and looked at Calhoun in surprise. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“You’re right. It was a long time ago,” Calhoun said. “There’s no need to hold grudges.”
Lodec let out an obvious sigh of relief. “You can’t believe how glad I am to hear you say that,” he told Calhoun. “You’ve seemed to be wrapped up in your own thoughts since we got here…I have to admit, I was getting worried. I felt as if you were trying to figure out the best way to kill me or some such.”
“No, no,” and Calhoun laughed heartily. If one had looked closely, one would have seen that there was no touch of humor reflected in his eyes, but Lodec didn’t look closely at all. “No, that’s just my way. I’ve just been considering the situation, and concluded that there’s nothing to be gained by obsessing about the past. We should only be concerned about the future, correct? That is, after all, where we all intend to live.”
“I know I do,” said Lodec, and he laughed. The noise was almost painful to Calhoun’s ears, but he maintained his outward appearance of good humor, anyway. He took pains not to glance back at the Thallonians who were pacing them, since he didn’t want to take any chance of giving away to them that he knew they were there.
They arrived at the prescribed address, and were promptly escorted upstairs to a private suite. There, in somewhat the same environment as he’d seen him on earth, was Thul. He was dressed far more festively than he had been on earth, much more in keeping with the general atmosphere of Wrigley’s.
