by Peter David
“Use it as a decoy to bring them together,” Kahn said, nodding.
“All right, I’m with you so far,” said Shelby. “Once we have them all together … then what? Phasers?”
Tulley shook his head. “Too imprecise. Simplest thing would be to, basically, beam them into space.”
“Transport millions of insects?” Shelby looked incredulous.
“Theoretically, it should work.”
“Theoretically.” Less than convinced, Shelby tapped her combadge. “Shelby to engineering.”
“Engineering, Dunn here,” came the brisk reply.
“C.J., we have a question. Can you use the transporter to transport, say, a million or so insects at one time?”
There was dead silence for a moment. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”
Another silence, although, remarkably, this one “sounded” more thoughtful somehow. “Are you talking about beaming them aboard the ship?” he said doubtfully. He sounded less than enthused by the idea.
“Lord, no. Surface-to-space.”
“Oh!” His voice audibly brightened. “So … you don’t care if, when they rematerialize, they’re in working order or not.”
“Could not care less. I doubt deep space would be conducive to their long-term health in any event.”
“All right.” He was obviously thinking out loud. “I’d probably have to rig all the transporters to simultaneous run, and remove all the pattern dampers. It wouldn’t be necessary to store the molecular patterns for reintegration, because, essentially, you’re just … you know, Captain … you wouldn’t have to send them into deep space. I could just demolecularize—no, wait. That might not be a good idea. I mean, nothing might happen as a result … but on the other hand, it could cause an explosion that would tear a hole in the atmosphere the size of a small moon, so that won’t help matters. Yeah, yeah, deep space would be safer. We’d simply reduce them to molecules, redirect the beams into deep space, and release them. Not even bother to reintegrate them. That would solve—”
“C.J.!” Shelby cut him off. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll be coordinating with Lieutenant Commander Tulley.”
“Done and Dunn.”
She rolled her eyes as she cut the transmission.
“Captain,” Garbeck said patiently, “as I recall, the question before us was not whether it can be done … but whether it should be done.”
Shelby turned to face her first officer. “If Makkus agrees to join the Federation,” she said, “then, as Federation members, they may ask for humanitarian aid. The captain then has the prerogative to grant it, if she sees fit. The Makkusians do not have transporter technology, so this solution is beyond them. Using our technology, we can step in and attend to their problem. Augustine, you know these people best: Do you think they’ll join the UFP if, in exchange, we dispense with these insects for them?”
“I do not see how they could say no, under the circumstances, but—”
But Shelby was already tapping her combadge. “Shelby to bridge. McMurrian …”
“Here, Captain.”
“Get me Hauman of the Makkusians on screen.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Captain!” Garbeck said. “You’re talking about blackmailing them into agreeing to joining the UFP. My understanding is that they are philosophically opposed to it.”
“Absolutely true, Number One.” Shelby leaned forward, fingers interlaced. “However, I strongly suspect that they are also philosophically opposed to dying. We’ll just have to see which one has the greater priority.”
“Captain, it’s a bit more involved than that.”
“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Well,” said Garbeck reasonably, “even if the Makkusians agree to apply for Federation membership, there are still procedures to be followed. There is a review process, and a vote is required.”
“At which point they’ll be accepted. You’re not going to tell me that the process you’re describing is anything other than pro forma.”
“That’s certainly true enough, Captain,” Ap’Boylan agreed. “An invitation to join the UFP wouldn’t really be extended if there was not every intention of then welcoming that world in.”
“See, that’s the problem in the thinking here,” Shelby said. Her gaze took in everyone in the room. “We’re not talking about a world. The world is inanimate; the world is of no particular interest. It’s the people on the world I’m concerned about. Barring a catastrophe, the world will be there tomorrow, next week, next year, next century. Can we say the same, with all certainty, about those residing on it?” When a reply was not immediately forthcoming, Shelby prompted, “Well? Can we?”
“No, Captain,” admitted Garbeck. And no one else seemed especially inclined to contradict her.
It didn’t take long at all to get Hauman on the screen in the conference lounge. When Shelby laid out for him the possible solution to their problem, he brightened considerably … until she told him the condition upon which it hinged.
Her staff sat around her, stoic. She knew what they were thinking, since they had not stinted in letting their opinion be known. But she knew what she had to do … or, at least, she knew what she was not going to do. She was not going to stand by and let these people die. She was going to do whatever it took to save them.
My God … I sound like Mac. It was not the first time the thought had gone through her head, and she had the odd feeling it wasn’t going to be the last. She had to wonder whether she would have been operating along the same lines as she was now if she hadn’t spent so much time with him. Would she have done everything she could to rescue these people if she’d never had anything to do with Mackenzie Calhoun? If she had, in short, been like those who were sitting around the table, watching her with uncertainty or even thoughtful calculation? It was impossible for her to be sure.
“Although you are behaving as if you’re presenting me with a choice,” Hauman said slowly and thoughtfully, “you’re not really, are you, Captain?”
“Not really, no,” she readily agreed. There was no use dancing around it. “I’m giving you a way out, but there are—as we say on Earth—strings attached. And one of those strings ties you to the Federation.”
“Even though we are philosophically opposed to it.”
“Even so.”
“You are asking us to compromise our—”
Shelby made an abrupt, cutting gesture. “Hauman,” she said, a bit more brusquely than she would have liked, “I think we all know what I’m asking you to do. You can cloak it with as many expressions of irritation as you want, but the bottom line remains this: Do you want to save your people or don’t you? It’s not a very complicated question.”
“Actually, it is.”
“All right,” she sighed, “perhaps it is. But the answer itself is not very complicated. It’s one of two one-syllable words, and, depending upon which word you say, your people will live or die. It’s up to you. But if I were you, I wouldn’t lose sight of the fact that you have to consider the big picture.”
“The big picture,” he repeated blankly. He didn’t seem to understand, but he didn’t appear to care all that much, either. He let out a long, unsteady breath as if he was trying to exhale the weight of the world that was on him. “You are sure,” he said finally, “that this process will rid us of them?”
That was when she knew she had him, of course. “Yes,” she said, nodding vigorously. “It’s actually very simple, really. We can institute the process almost immediately.” Garbeck cleared her throat loudly, obviously wanting to say something, but Shelby ignored her. “Do you need to consult anyone, any governing board, before rendering a decision?”
“No, Captain. My people trust me, you see.” He looked sad and a bit lost. “They trust me … and, in order to save them, I’m about to betray them. What sort of leader have I become?”
“I know you meant the question to be rhetorical, but—in my opinion—you’re the best kind of leader there is,” Shelby told him gently. “The kind who’s willing to make the tough decisions that will save his people.”
He didn’t appear to be impressed by that, but he simply shook his head in response. Then, steeling himself, he said, “Very well, Captain. After due consideration, I am asking that my world, Makkus, be made a member of the United Federation of Planets.”
“I will relay your acceptance of the offer to my superiors,” Shelby assured him. “In the meantime, my people will get to work on ridding your world of your insect problem. I assure you, Hauman, you’ve made the right choice.”
“I have made the only choice. Whether it is right or not … may not be for me to judge. I shall likely have to leave that to history to decide.”
“Because of you,” she reminded him, “your world is going to have a history. Shelby out.” The moment his image had blinked out, she barked, “Shelby to engineering.”
“Engineering; Dunn here.”
“Captain,” Garbeck started to say.
But Shelby steamrolled over her. “Dunn, you’re going to work in tandem with Science Officer Tulley. You’re going to institute that little deinfestation solution we were talking about before.”
“Done and Dunn.”
“Captain,” Garbeck said, a bit more forcefully than before, and this time Shelby focused her attention on her. “Captain, as I said before, there are review procedures. Pro forma or no, they’re in place for a reason—”
“And Hauman agreed to his world becoming a member of the UFP for a reason as well,” pointed out Shelby. “I am inclined to honor that reason.”
“But—”
Shelby had had enough. “The only ‘buts’ I want to hear, Number One, are the sounds of your collective butts lifting out of these chairs and attending to the matter at hand. If you think I’m going to sit here in orbit and wait for more of these people to die, while the UFP council convenes and casts a vote on something that’s already a foregone conclusion, then you have drastically failed to comprehend the situation. I asked them if they would join. They said they would. Good enough for me. Now, kill the damned insects. Any questions?”
There was a chorus of “no’s,” some louder than others, some crankier than others. But the result was the same.
It made Shelby feel good. Damned good. As she headed back to her ready room, she realized that Mac would very likely have been proud of her. The thing she couldn’t quite figure out for herself was, if Mac would have been proud … then did that mean that the Shelby she had been would have been ashamed?
RHEELA
RHEELA HAD A BAD FEELING about that evening’s town meeting, and she had no idea why. Then again, truth be told, she always had an uneasy feeling about such meetings, so it really shouldn’t have surprised her. Still … this feeling seemed stronger than usual, and she wished she had some idea why that might be.
She had just changed into the one truly decent outfit she owned. Unlike her normal clothes, there was a splash of color to this ensemble. Since she wore them less frequently, none of the threads were coming unwoven; no spots on it were obviously in need of repair. She studied herself in the mirror and nodded once in approval. From a large, overstuffed chair nearby—his long-time favorite piece of furniture—Moke watched her giving herself the once-over. “You look very pretty,” he ventured.
“Thank you, honey,” she said appreciatively.
“You really do.”
“Thank you again.”
There was a knock at the door. Rheela immediately looked at Moke in confusion, her face a question. Moke shrugged in response. Obviously he wasn’t expecting anyone, and Rheela certainly knew that she wasn’t. She headed to the front door and opened it … and let out an alarmed shriek.
Standing there was the purple-eyed man who had tried to strangle her.
Immediately she slammed the door in his face. Moke, who had not seen who was on the other side, struggled out of the chair. “Ma, what is it?” he said, picking up on her obvious consternation.
“It’s him!”
“It is?!” Moke blinked. “Him who?”
Before she could reply, there was another knock at the door. There was no more urgency to it than before, and when he spoke from the other side, it was with a mixture of amusement and obvious regret. “It’s all right,” he called.
“How is it all right?” she demanded.
“I’m feeling much better now.”
“Oh! So you’re in much better shape to attack me again, is that it?”
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. But she had to keep reminding herself that just because he sounded a particular way didn’t make it so. “If I’d been in my right mind, I’d never have hurt you. I was ill. But I’m not anymore.”
“I think he means it, Ma,” Moke suggested.
He certainly sounded like he meant it, but that didn’t give Rheela the slightest compulsion to lower her guard. “I think you’d better go now!” she called. “If you don’t, I’ll … I’ll tell Majister Fairax that you were harassing me!” She definitely liked the sound of that. She was taking a firm, no-nonsense position from strength, and not coming across as the least bit frightened. That was definitely the position to take under the circumstances.
So it sent a chill down her spine when she heard him say, “Majister Fairax is dead.”
She had no immediate response to that. “Dead,” she whispered. “Did … did you …”
“No, of course I didn’t kill him.”
“How do I know? How do I know that you didn’t kill him and want to finish the job—?”
And then, to her shock, the door was suddenly shoved inward. She let out a shriek and stumbled back. The purple-eyed man was standing there, his hand flat against the door. She’d had no lock on it … had never felt the need. The only thing that had been holding it closed against him was her own body weight and strength, and that had been as nothing to the frightening man who stood there, his gaze boring into her.
“Because,” he said quietly, “if I wanted to kill you, I could.”
With that, he closed the door, still on the outside. It clicked silently back into place. Rheela stared at it a moment, not quite believing what she had just seen. She picked herself up, dusted herself off. Moke was watching the entire sequence of events, apparently spellbound by them. “Wow,” he said. “He’s really strong.”
Once more, a knocking. By that point, of course, the message was obvious to her. He could enter at will, could do whatever he wanted. Instead, he was leaving the option of keeping him out entirely up to her, showing respect for her concerns and fears. If he were really as frightening and terrifying a creature as she had previously thought him to be, well … she’d likely be dead by now anyway. The fact that she was still breathing—that alone should have been enough to make her realize that she had badly misjudged the situation.
As if reading her mind, he said, from the other side of the door, “Can’t blame you, really. If I were you, I’d be terrified.”
“I’m not terrified,” she lied, but she was beginning to feel her concern subsiding.
“If not on my behalf, then certainly on the boy’s.”
That was certainly true enough. After all, if he attacked and murdered her, Moke would most certainly be next. Still …
“How did the Majister die?”
“Some thugs murdered him.”
She shuddered. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. A good, honest man, losing to creatures of evil. “Have they been brought to justice?” On some level, it was a pointless question. No amount of “justice” would bring the Majister back to life. At the moment, though, it was all she could concern herself about.
“One of them. The others will. I promise.”
“You promise.” What odd phrasing.
“Listen …” he continued, “I came to apologize. To tell yo
u that you’ve nothing to fear from me. And I felt it would be better to tell you now, here, in the privacy of your home, rather than for you to see me in the streets of the city and run screaming, under the mistaken assumption that I’m going to hurt you again.”
“Why would I see you in the streets?”
“Well … what with my being the new Majister …”
That, finally, prompted her to yank open the door and gape at him. Sure enough, pinned to his shirt was the burnished metal outline of a flame: the torch of justice emblem that was worn by anyone who had the title of “Majister.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said tonelessly.
“Why? Just because a criminal tossed in gaol one day becomes the chief law enforcer the next day? Does that strike you as strange somehow?”
“Very,” she said evenly. Nevertheless, for all her consternation and grief over the loss of Fairax, she couldn’t help but note that this newcomer had a very pleasant smile. And yet, there was something in that smile, and in those eyes, that bespoke pain deeply felt.
He cleared his throat. “My name is Mackenzie Calhoun.” He paused, and then added, “My friends call me Mac. I would like to think I can count you among them.”
“Rheela,” she said after the slightest hesitation. “And Moke.” She indicated her son.
“Yes, I … vaguely remember him. Vaguely remember a lot of things.”
“Including trying to kill me?”
“Yes.” Had to give him credit: he faced it head on, with no prevarication. “I have already apologized. If you’d like, I’ll apologize again. There’s really only so much I can do about what’s past. If you’re unwilling to forgive me—”
“No, no, it’s all right,” she said. “I … forgive you.”
“Thank you.” He paused, and then said, “Well … I said what I came here to say. Good evening to you, then.” There was a luukab, the one that Fairax used to use, standing nearby. Calhoun turned and started to head over to it.
