Star Trek New Frontier - Missing in Action

by Peter David

  “Simply this: Execute Alpha Omega.”

  “Now what,” demanded Lucius, “is that supposed to mea—”

  There was a sudden shuddering, a massive vibration, throughout the ship. Instantly Lucius was on his feet, looking around. “Did something just hit us?”

  “No, sir,” Vitus assured him. “There’s nothing—”

  At that moment, the battle doors that separated the bridge from the rest of the ship slid smoothly open. Lucius turned and looked but saw no one coming through. “What’s going on…?”

  “Free her!” Maurus cried out. “Free her before it’s too late!”

  “Are you out of your mind? Why should—”

  “Tribune!” shouted Vitus, and simultaneous with his cry of alarm came the howls of emergency klaxons. “Emergency protocols are being overridden! Exit hatches are being blown open all over the—!”

  That was when the winds came.

  iii.

  Soleta knew she had no reasons for regrets. She had not brought this upon herself. She had instead depended upon her crew to serve under her as they had promised they would do. They were the ones who had forsaken their oaths, and they deserved whatever happened to them. They were no longer her crew; they were threats. Threats to her control of her ship, threats to her liberty and very life.

  One didn’t feel sorry for threats. One dealt with them, quickly and efficiently.

  The most depressing thing for Soleta was that she’d anticipated the possibility and planned for it, even while praying she was wrong. Instead her crew had lived down to her lowest expectations. What did that say about them as a group? About her worthiness as a commander? Indeed, about the noble Romulan race in general?

  The rushing air howled past the force screen. Ironically, that which had been serving to keep her in was now serving to keep out the destructive forces that Soleta had unleashed upon the ship, simply by speaking the code words she had attached to the activation sequence. It had been remarkably simple to do, and she had put it into place the moment she’d learned of the death of the Praetor.

  The simplest way to dispatch threats from a ship: Open the hatches and let the vacuum of space do the rest. Meanwhile she sat secure in the brig, the force screen keeping her and her air supply safely contained.

  She stood there at perfect attention, her back ramrod-straight, as she watched anything that wasn’t bolted down go hurtling past her. The ship’s atmosphere was blasting through all the corridors, exploding out the half-dozen exit and maintenance hatches that her emergency program had forced open. She was already thinking beyond the current events as to what she would have to do next. The vessel’s emergency air supply would kick in once she cycled the doors shut again. Since she would be the only person left breathing on the ship, that would certainly suffice until she was able to find a Class-M planet, bring the vessel down into the atmosphere, and do a complete cleansing of the system.

  The forcefield sparked slightly every time something bounced off, but she wasn’t concerned. She knew it would hold up.

  Then the first of the bodies flew past her. It was one of the men down in engineering, his arms flailing about. He sought purchase, found none, and kept on going, his scream being lost to the rushing of air.

  She set her jaw. She had just killed one of her own men. No. Why stop short of stating that which she knew so well: She had just killed all her men. She had made a plan, she had executed it, and, in doing so, she had executed her crew. And why not? They were all complicit in the mutiny. The penalty for mutiny was death. It was as simple as that. And in the harsh environs of space, Soleta was the judge and jury, and space itself the executioner.

  “Commander!”

  It was Maurus. He had managed to snag an overhead pipe right in front of the brig. He was horizontal, his legs thrashing about, and he was crying out to her in fear and desperation.

  “Commander!” he screamed. It was hard to hear him, for the air was rushing away from him and wasn’t conducive to carrying his voice. Soleta was lip-reading as much as hearing his actual voice, but the terror on his face made clear the tenor of his words. “Commander, I didn’t want to do it! They made me! Save me, Commander! I want to live to see my child! Commander, I’m begging you! Please!”

  She could have shut it down, of course. But she knew she had to wait. She had to wait until the entire crew was gone, because even if Maurus could be trusted—which she wasn’t sure was the case—the others certainly could not. And she would never have this opportunity again.

  So she remained there, rock steady. She didn’t avert her eyes. Instead she simply stared at him, as impassively as her Vulcan training allowed her. Maurus continued to scream, to plead, and he cried out his mate’s name, and the name of his unborn child, even as his fingers started to slip.

  And Soleta’s will began to splinter, and then to crack, and she was about to shout out the shutdown code even though she knew full well it could ultimately cost her her life. But it was too late. Maurus lost his grip on the pipe. His scream went with him, carried off by the air, and then he was gone, sucked out the aft maintenance hatch.

  Soleta continued to stand at attention. A couple more of her men flew past, while the rest were no doubt sucked out through other exits. The Spectre was a maze of corridors. Anyone could have wound up going in any direction through sheer random chance as they were sent hurtling through the ship. She fancied she could still hear scattered screams from throughout the vessel, being carried to her by the forceful winds.

  Finally she heard nothing except the continued screech of the klaxon, alerting the occupants of the Spectre to an emergency that they certainly already knew about.

  She tapped the com unit on the wall. “Override Alpha Omega, code zero two zero three,” she said calmly.

  Her words immediately triggered the ship’s computer fail-safe. She heard the distant shutting of the hatches that had been opened now irising closed. That series of noises was then followed by the soft hissing of air that indicated the emergency air supply was being pumped in.

  That was when Soleta suddenly discovered herself sitting on the floor. She wasn’t aware that her legs had given out. All she knew was that one moment she was standing, and the next she was seated. Then her mental discipline escaped her in the same way that the air had escaped the Spectre. She began to sob, misery and frustration and guilt racking her body. She mentally flagellated herself all in a rush, grief-stricken over what she had done to her own people. Even though she knew it wasn’t logical, or even rational, she blamed herself for the treason committed against her. Perhaps if she had been a better commander, or a better person, they would have trusted her, they would have—

  They never would have trusted you. You are a half-breed. Your authority with them was dead at the point of your conception.

  She kept trying to tell herself that. She tried to convince herself that, no matter what she had done, they would have turned against her once the protection of the Praetor’s support was gone. That they had brought their fate upon themselves, and she had merely acted in self-defense and in the spirit of her command.

  Her command of a ghost ship. A literal ghost ship. The name Spectre had a whole new frame of reference, because she knew that however long she remained aboard the vessel, the eyes of the crewmen’s ghosts would be upon her, passing mute judgment upon her and waiting for a misstep that would bring her over to their side of the vale of tears and enable them to exact vengeance upon her.

  “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, as she wiped the unseemly tears off her face with the back of her hand. “Just ridic…it’s stupid. Stupid and unworthy.” She stood and said, “Override brig forcefield. Code one zed alpha zed two.”

  For a moment she wondered what in the world she would do if the forcefield didn’t shut off as per her prearranged entry code. That would put her in a hell of a fix. No crew, and her stuck inside the brig until basically she starved to death. It all sounded very promising. A glorious end to a glorious c
areer. Mother and Father would be so proud.

  That made her think, ever so briefly, of the subject she most wanted to avoid: what her parents thought of the direction her life had taken. She hadn’t spoken to them in two years. She didn’t want to begin dwelling upon them now.

  Then the forcefield powered off. She looked from one side of the field to the other, then tentatively reached out to make certain it was down. She winced reflexively in anticipation of a jolt that never came. Letting out her breath, she then tilted her chin defiantly, as if worried she was going to run into someone who would be critical of the actions she had taken.

  An image came to her mind, unbidden. Maurus had proudly shown her a holo of his mate, standing there with her hand resting gently upon her swollen belly, and a look of complete bliss upon her face.

  She envisioned that young female standing outside their home, looking to the skies, waiting for the return of her mate. Waiting and waiting, and not knowing that Maurus was nothing but a frozen, floating corpse in the depths of the void, never to return. And he had achieved that status because she, Soleta, had killed him despite his pleas for mercy.

  “It was him or me. It was all of them or me,” she said, and her voice echoed in the empty halls of the Spectre as she headed for the bridge to determine her next move. From the lack of resolve in her voice, she was only relieved that she didn’t have to convince anyone of the truth of her words. She was having a difficult enough time convincing herself.

  U.S.S. Excalibur

  i.

  Termic of the Bolgar was understandably cautious, which was why he brought with him two of his own to serve as guards. One did not rise to the leadership of the beleaguered Bolgar if one did not display caution.

  Still, he did not truly see the harm in boarding this vessel…“Excalibur,” it was called, which its “captain” had informed him was the name of some sort of legendary weapon back in their own universe. The organisms residing in it were of no threat. He could see it in their eyes as he and his followers moved through the corridors. They were frightened and disoriented, confused by where they were and uncertain of when, or how, they were going to be able to escape.

  The Bolgar’s size was also a bit of a problem. They were not as huge as the Teuthis, certainly, but they were still considerably larger than these organisms. Fortunately enough, the Bolgar’s bodies were fairly malleable. All Termic and his followers had to do was extend their lower halves. It caused them to take up more room side-to-side in the corridors, but that was manageable. And their heads were consequently low enough that they were able to maneuver top-to-bottom.

  Termic had been a bit uncertain when first informed by the captain that a face-to-face was required. That holographic projections simply wouldn’t do. But then he reasoned that there was no harm to it. The small organisms would have to be insane to try and do harm to the Bolgar, who were more than willing to act as allies against the Teuthis…at least, for as long as the organisms were useful. In the future, well…who knew what the future would hold? Everything served a purpose, and there was no point in continuing to make use of something once its purpose had been served. Besides, Termic was admittedly curious what these creatures were like in the “flesh,” as it were.

  Termic was fascinated to learn that the Excalibur had its own matter-transport system. So, too, did Termic’s vessel. Apparently it was preferable for Termic to use his means of transportation. The local concept of “physical laws” was proving to be a bit of a hardship for the Excalibur to adjust to, and their own transmat beams were not especially reliable.

  The ship’s captain, the one called “Calhoun,” was walking in front of the newly arrived group of Bolgar. Close in behind them was a larger organism than any of the others. This one was called “Kebron” and he did not appear to serve any particular purpose. But Termic wasn’t bothered by his presence. What difference could it make, really?

  “Your hospitality is much appreciated, Captain,” Termic said in as politic a tone as he could muster. “Although your insistence that we come to your vessel remains a bit puzzling to me.”

  “I told you, Termic. On this vessel, we deal with potential allies face-to-face. It’s just how we do things where we come from.”

  “Yes. But you’re not where you come from, are you,” Termic pointed out with a touch of smugness. “If you were, you wouldn’t be requiring our aid.”

  “That’s a fair point,” admitted Calhoun. “Since we are strangers in a strange land, think of your coming to us as a means of calming our uncertainties.”

  “An advanced race such as mine could do no less.”

  “Yes, I thought you’d see it that way.”

  “May I ask where we’re going?”

  “To a conference facility,” Calhoun said. “On this vessel, we have specific areas where we discuss and work out specific things. A discussion of this magnitude certainly wouldn’t be conducted in the open corridors.”

  “How very different your vessel is from ours,” said Termic. “The interior of ours is just one vast area, acting in complete unison. No one place is functionally different than any other.”

  “A very unified concept. If and when we get back, we might want to take a look at developing something along those lines.”

  “A superb notion,” said Termic. “It is always advisable to learn what you can from your betters.”

  “I could not agree more,” said Calhoun.

  The one called Kebron made some sort of odd noise at that point which Termic couldn’t quite interpret so he dismissed it as unimportant.

  “Is it fair to say,” Termic asked, “that you have seen that allying with the Bolgar is your best chance at survival?”

  “Oh, beyond question,” said Calhoun. He stopped and gestured toward a large set of doors. “It’s just a matter of settling some of the fine points. This way, please.”

  “Good luck, Captain,” Kebron said.

  The doors opened wide as Termic eased through, following close behind Calhoun. The guards followed behind, but Kebron did not come through the doors. Instead they slid shut, cutting him off from view.

  Termic immediately felt more at ease in this new room, which was much, much larger than the corridors through which they’d been moving. He saw several smaller ships scattered about, and correctly intuited that this chamber was used for the storage of exploratory space vessels that could go where the much larger ship could not go.

  Then Termic sensed trouble before he felt it. He stopped in his slime-filled tracks and said, “Wait…what is…”

  “That voice,” came an all-too-familiar tone, rumbling from the shadows. “And that stench. Could it be…?”

  Termic spun as quickly as he was able to and faced Calhoun. It was difficult for Termic to get a sense of what was going through Calhoun’s mind, since he was still new to interpreting the facial expressions of the organisms. But his own fury was mounting. “What sort of trick is this! What sort of—”

  Pontalimus emerged from the shadows, towering and terrible and what passed for a visage twisted in a contemptuous sneer. He stood at the far end of the room, but nevertheless towered to the very top of it. “Termic. What an astounding coincidence.”

  “Kill him!” howled Termic.

  ii.

  Calhoun was never entirely sure from where Termic’s people pulled their weapons. Finally he decided he didn’t really want to know.

  He saw that they were large tubes, about three feet long. They swung them up and aimed them at Pontalimus. Even as they opened fire, Calhoun calmly tapped his combadge and spoke into it softly.

  The Bolgar were clearly surprised at the result of their assault on their despised enemy. The blasts of energy, or whatever they were, slammed into a forcefield that erupted and flared before them, absorbing the impact. It was a large field, taking up the space directly in front of Pontalimus. For his part, the Teuthis leader appeared no less surprised than Termic’s security guards were.

  The barrage lasted for
several long seconds, and then the frustrated Termic shouted, “Enough!” The guards lowered their weapons, checking whatever energy gauges the things must have had, to make certain that they were in proper working order. Termic pivoted in place and snarled at Calhoun, “Is this some sort of game to you?”

  “I suppose it is,” Calhoun replied easily. “A high-stakes game. Best of all, we all get to play.”

  “Lower that field,” Termic warned him, “or you will be the next target of our wrath.”

  Backing up his warning, the guards aimed their weapons straight at Calhoun.

  “You may find this devastating to your self-esteem,” said Calhoun with a nonchalant shrug, “but I’ve had weapons aimed at me many times in the past, and doubtless will in the future.”

  “Your future may be a good deal shorter than you anticipated.”

  “I have nothing to say to that,” said Calhoun, “other than this: Energize.”

  “Wha—?”

  There was the familiar humming of the transporter beams. The guards let out frustrated yells as they suddenly found themselves holding empty air. Their weapons had dissolved into nothingness.

  “I forgot to tell you: We managed to make some adjustments to our transporters. Ship-to-ship remains problematic, but short-range intraship beaming…that we can do.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Did you like the forcefield?” he asked conversationally. “Had it rigged up special. Just in case the transporter gambit didn’t work.”

  “That would only have prevented us from dealing Pontalimus the death he so truly deserves,” snapped Termic. “We could still have dispatched you, you…you traitor!”

  “You could have tried,” Calhoun said. “But people who know me would tell you that I don’t die as easily as all that. Certainly the people who have tried to kill me would tell you that…presuming any of them were left alive.”

  “You waste too much time bantering with him, Calhoun,” rumbled Pontalimus. “Inform him that the Excalibur is going to devote its energies to reviving the control that the Teuthis have over this sphere.”