Missing in Action

by Peter David

  Robin Lefler looked toward Mueller as she took her seat. Mueller glanced her way and Robin mouthed the words Thank you. Mueller’s glacial expression didn’t thaw in the slightest. Instead she simply stared at her for a moment, and then looked back at the viewscreen as the Trident headed for her new destination.

  Shelby, for her part, walked off the bridge without saying a word. She knew from personal experience that one could never count out Mackenzie Calhoun. After all, he’d been believed dead and had returned from the grave. So a mysterious disappearance was as nothing to him. Why, he probably didn’t even need Shelby’s help to escape whatever fate had overtaken him.

  Which was fortunate, because she realized bleakly that the chances of her extending that help had just dwindled significantly indeed.

  U.S.S. Excalibur

  Hours had passed, and Termic of Bolgar and Pontalimus of Teuthis were still storming about in outrage. Calhoun, seated comfortably on the floor, watched them with an amazing degree of passivity, considering his usual action-oriented state of mind.

  “I demand the return of my guards immediately!” Termic was busy shouting at Calhoun. He had good reason to be shouting. His guards had vanished in a haze of transporter beams, sucked away by intraship beaming some time earlier. He had been expressing his displeasure about it the entire time.

  “Your guards are perfectly safe,” Calhoun assured him. “They’re in isolation in sickbay.”

  “I don’t care about the safety of my guards! They’re supposed to be concerned about providing safety for me!”

  “That’s very touching,” said Calhoun. “Look at the bright side. At least you won’t have to watch them deteriorate and die. You and your greatest enemy,” and he gestured in a languid manner toward Pontalimus, “can provide that degree of entertainment for each other.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Pontalimus said, not for the first time. “He would not dare to destroy us, and he certainly wouldn’t destroy himself.”

  “You haven’t known me for a very long time, Pontalimus. You’re not really in a position to predict what I would or would not do about anything. The only thing you’re in a position to do right now is save your own lives, and quite possibly the lives of the rest of your race.”

  “I will not be blackmailed,” said Pontalimus.

  “And I will not be bullied,” added Termic.

  “Then you will both be dead,” replied Calhoun. “Oh…and here’s an interesting thing, just so you know: There’s every likelihood that, of the three of us, I will die first. Should that happen, my crew is under orders to let the two of you remain here until the disease finishes with the both of you. The window of opportunity for your safe passage, and your cure, slams shut the moment I draw my last breath. Then it’s just a matter of time, and you’ll get to spend it dying in each other’s company.”

  “Do your worst, Calhoun,” Termic said confidently.

  “I already have. The worst is yet to come.”

  New Thallon

  He is chained to the wall, hand and foot. He has tested his bonds repeatedly and has not yet managed to pull himself loose. Given sufficient time, however, he believes that he can manage it. And then, and then, oh, what a reckoning there will be…

  In an abstract way, he finds it fascinating how these things seem to come full circle. His first encounter with any of those who would play such a huge part in his life was with Soleta during her own stay in the dungeons of Thallon…the original Thallon, long gone to space dust. And now Soleta is long gone, an outcast, and he himself is in the dungeons. He does not, however, think it terribly likely that someone will show up unexpectedly to be his savior, as he was Soleta’s during her escape.

  That is all right. He has always preferred relying on himself.

  He continues to pull, ignoring the aches and pains that resulted from the pounding he took. It is as nothing to him. Those who put him into this situation are as nothing to him.

  He is Si Cwan—Lord Si Cwan of New Thallon—and he will triumph over this.

  Once again he starts pulling on his bonds, testing them, applying all his strength against them.

  He has lost track of how long he’s been down in this hole. Slowly he enters an almost trancelike state where he is pulling, constantly and unrelentingly, upon his bonds. In some deep, dark corner of his awareness, he starts to realize that he is succeeding. The bonds are beginning to give way. Just a little while longer. That is all he needs. All he needs.

  The door to his cell abruptly bursts open. Fhermus is standing there, grim-faced and determined. He pulls his ceremonial sword from its sheath, part of a matched set that accompanies the jeweled dagger which resides in its own sheath on his other hip.

  “It was always meant to end this way, Cwan,” Fhermus informs him.

  There are no words back and forth, no bandying about of repartee. The reason for this is obvious: At heart, Fhermus remains a coward to the end. Even though he has Si Cwan imprisoned, manacled, in bonds…still he fears him. Fhermus knows all too well his own limitations, but is unable to guess—or perhaps even comprehend—that which Si Cwan is capable of. So he dares take no chances. What is that line from the Earth play about the slaying of monarchs? “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.”

  But not quickly enough. Oh no…not quickly enough.

  Fhermus approaches with rapid steps, bringing his sword back, and it is at that moment that Si Cwan lunges forward with a roar. The manacles holding his hands snap. The chain holding his left foot likewise breaks free of the wall, and Fhermus lets out a shriek of alarm.

  The chain on his right foot holds.

  For the only time in his life that he can properly recall, Si Cwan loses his balance and goes down, betrayed by his own forward motion. It is a split second of distraction as he glances back, then looks up just in time to see the glittering blade swinging down toward him.

  Robin, he thinks, and then all goes black…

  The Spectre

  i.

  Why is nothing ever simple?

  The question pounded through Soleta’s head as she eased her way cautiously down the narrow maintenance corridor of the ship. For the thousandth time she wondered if there was any way he was going to be able to gain access to the bridge, and for the thousandth and first time she convinced herself that such was not the case. The seals she had left behind were simply too thorough, too efficient.

  Still, she’d thought she had everything covered when she blew her entire crew complement out the hatches, and that hadn’t exactly worked out as planned, had it?

  She was carrying her disruptor tightly, gripping it with both hands for extra accuracy. Despite the tension she was feeling, despite the severity of the situation, one would never have known it to look at her. Her focus was total, and her hands were not trembling in the least. Her breathing was slow and steady, and she was hyperaware of any slight movement from around her that could possibly indicate an attack.

  “Soleta,” came the familiar voice. It sounded through the ship’s intercom, reverberating. She didn’t have the faintest idea from where it was originating, nor could he—naturally—determine where she was. Such was the nature of the horrifically hazardous game they were playing. “Soleta…have you considered the wisdom of surrender?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” she countered.

  “Yes, I imagine you could. Indeed, there are many questions you could ask me.”

  “Not the least of which,” said Soleta, “is how you survived.”

  “Not an unreasonable curiosity,” said the voice. “However, I’m unclear as to why, precisely, I should be willing to share this information with you.”

  “Because you want to, Lucius,” she said, not entirely able to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “You want to boast. You want to brag. You’re simply dying to explain how you, in your cleverness, outwitted the half-breed.”

  She paused at a corner, took a deep breath, let it out, and
then swung around while crouching, bringing her disruptor up fast and smooth.

  Nothing. The corridor was empty.

  The process was excruciatingly slow, and the only solace she took was that somewhere on this damned ship, Lucius was doing the exact same thing, following precisely the same procedure. Hunting section by section, trying to pin her down and eliminate her.

  It had almost been a very simple thing for him to accomplish. Soleta had been on her way up to the bridge. The murder of her crew was the single most horrific act she’d ever accomplished, and yet with effort she was pushing it as far into the recesses of her mind as it could go. There were simply too many things to worry about, not the least of which was the simple concept of…now what? With the ship in her possession, and not owing allegiance to any one race, what was she supposed to do with herself and the vessel?

  She had more or less made up her mind that she had only one choice, and then—as she had turned down a corridor that would lead her directly up to the bridge—she had seen a sight that had shocked her to her core. There, pushing his way up through a catwalk hatchway, coming up right out of the floor, was Lucius.

  He had seen her at the exact same moment that she had seen him. Fortunately for Lucius, and unfortunately for Soleta, he had already climbed halfway out, so he had easy access to the disruptor that was hanging from his hip. He produced it in a heartbeat and fired it right at Soleta. Soleta, moving with speed she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of, fell back even as her own disruptor seemed to leap into her hand of its own accord. She fired off several fast blasts, completely missing Lucius, who ducked down and away from her assault.

  “Computer!” she called out. “Lock down bridge, code six six six! Employ unique voice-recognition subroutine, code-named ‘FUBAR.’ Comply!”

  “Complying,” the computer voice replied with its customary calm.

  Even though Soleta wasn’t seeing it, she knew what was happening at that moment. The main entrance door had sealed itself off, and the backup entrance was now alive with enough crackling energy charge to stun a team of oxen. Furthermore, if by some miracle someone other than Soleta gained entrance to the ship’s control center, an array of death traps would be launched that would certainly dispose of anyone foolish enough to intrude on the locked-down bridge.

  The subroutine code-named “FUBAR” was yet another little fail-safe that the computer-savvy Soleta had built into the ship’s operating system. “FUBAR,” or so she had been taught by her mates back in Starfleet Academy, was an acronym standing for “Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition.” It was used to describe any situation that had gone so completely south, it bordered on hopeless. The slang term had seemed a convenient one to use when she had rigged up the subroutine that would lock out any vocal commands from any other officers—either above or below her—who might choose to try and take the Spectre away from her. The ship was hers, and anyone who tried to usurp it from her did so at their own peril.

  Because of her built-in safeguards, the computer would now not respond to any voice save hers. She would bet her life on that. Actually, I already have, she thought bleakly.

  “You know,” came Lucius’s voice after a short time for consideration, “I believe you’re right. I do want you to know.”

  “Know what?” She wasn’t being coy; her mind was racing so far and so fast, she was having trouble keeping track of the conversation in which she was engaged. For that matter, she was busy trying to second-guess where he was going to be next.

  Engineering. That’s where I would go if I were him. Even without code clearances and computer lockouts, there was nothing to stop him from going to the machine heart of the ship and trying something potentially disastrous. Of course, whatever happened to her would also happen to him. There was every chance, though, that someone as traditional as Lucius simply wouldn’t care.

  “How I survived, of course.” He sounded a trifle impatient (not that she cared). “I thought you were interested.”

  “Of course I am, Lucius. I want you to give me your full due before I blow your head off at close range.”

  It was only her heightened hearing that warned her at the last second. Soleta ducked back as a disruptor blast exploded from the ceiling. Damn him, he’s still overhead! Soleta snarled to herself even as she threw herself backward, strafing the overhead grating as fast as she could. She waited for the sound of a body thudding somewhere, but there was nothing.

  “Tell me again,” his voice echoed mockingly, no longer over the com, but instead all-too-close, “how are you going to be killing me?”

  She did not immediately reply, feeling that to continue to do so was to play to his own interests. Instead she crept over to an entrance to an emergency maintenance conduit, one that she was reasonably sure would be far too narrow for Lucius to fit into. But she, on the other hand, was just barely able to insinuate her smaller frame into it.

  As she wormed her way through, making her way down to engineering foot by agonizing foot, Lucius’s voice continued. “I only had a few seconds to realize what it was you were up to. Fortunately enough, there’s a backup transporter control linked directly into the bridge.”

  “You had the transporter beam you from the bridge to the transporter room, programming in a time delay so that you would reintegrate after the doors had cycled shut once more,” Soleta realized, chiding herself inwardly for overlooking the possibility.

  “Exactly, yes.”

  She paused, not wanting to make mention of the next logical move. Lucius, however, did it for her. “Naturally you’re wondering why I didn’t simply lock on to your life signs and beam you off the ship into the depths of space.”

  “The thought did occur to me,” she admitted.

  “Because such an action would have been unworthy of me. Furthermore, it might make it seem as if I were afraid of you.”

  “Since it’s just the two of us here, no one else would have known,” she pointed out, even as she wondered why she was doing so.

  “I would know,” came his voice firmly. “That one is more than enough, Legate. No, I resolved immediately that the only proper way to destroy you is face-to-face.”

  “And yet you snipe at me from hiding.”

  “Well, all of us are walking contradictions, don’t you think?”

  She wasn’t interested in waxing philosophical. She was interested in finding him wherever it was he was hiding and disposing of him once and for all. Unfortunately, the emergency shaft she was edging through wasn’t making that especially easy. She felt her arms starting to go numb from the elbows down, because she’d been leaning on them for so long.

  “Tell me, Legate,” his voice came to her once more over the comm link . “What was your plan? Now that you’d betrayed the trust of your crew by killing them…”

  “You? You, of all people, are going to lecture me on the cruelties of betrayal?”

  “A fair point,” he conceded. “Still, I am curious as to whether you had thought beyond your actions.”

  “My main concern was survival. However, I admit I have been considering options.”

  “Reached any conclusions?”

  Rather than conclusions, she had reached the end of the emergency shaft. The passage was open in front of her. Deciding that speed was of absolute necessity, she squeezed her arms in tightly on either side and allowed herself to slide swiftly downward.

  Soleta sped down and out, landing in the engineering section and bringing her arms up barely in time to absorb the impact. Just as she emerged, she was certain she heard a swift movement from somewhere around her. She braced herself for a shot; at this distance, it would potentially be a lethal one. None came. She went with the impact of her body upon the floor, rolling gracefully, tucking her knees in, and coming up in a fighting crouch before ducking behind a bank of equipment.

  She cast a quick glance at the readings and saw that the engines appeared to be operating normally. Nothing had been set to overload or self-destruct, so that wa
s all positive. It meant one of four things: Lucius hadn’t gotten there yet; Lucius was already there, but hadn’t had time to sabotage the engines; Lucius was already there, but didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about destroying the ship from the engine room; Lucius was there and had something else in mind.

  Soleta didn’t think the third option was terribly likely. Which meant that, logically, the next thing she had to establish was the possibility of option one. To that end, she remained exactly where she was, unmoving. She was fully prepared to remain in the same place, with the same lack of movement, for however long it took to lure out Lucius if he was hiding there…or to lie in wait and trap him if he wasn’t.

  There was no sign of him being there. His voice, however, was still coming at her loud and clear. The frustrating aspect of it was that, because of the volume, she didn’t have the slightest idea whether he was five decks away or five feet away. It was simply impossible to be certain.

  “Well, Legate?” came the mocking tone. “I’m still waiting for an answer. Now that you’ve murdered your crew…”

  “Defended myself,” she responded. It was her long years of training in the mind-set of Vulcans that prevented the heat she felt from entering her tone of voice. “I defended myself from traitors.”

  “I’m quite certain that’s going to make a vast difference to the loved ones of those who died.”

  “What do you think, Lucius?” she demanded, even as her instinct warned her, Don’t let him do this to you. Don’t let him get into your head. You’ll do nothing but regret it. “Do you think what I did was easy for me? It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

  “And yet you did. You did it quickly and efficiently and—”

  Soleta suddenly fired off several fast disruptor shots. It was a risky endeavor, she knew. If she wound up hitting the wrong thing, and it in turn reacted in the wrong way, the entire question of who should be in charge of the ship was going to become academic.