Star Trek - NF - 005 - Martyr

by Peter David

 

  sheet. "Doctor," came the concerned voice of Doctor

 

  Maxwell. "Are you all right?" "I am in perfect health, Doctor. Why are you

 

  inquiring?" "Because you're over an hour late for your shift,

 

  and, well . . . that's unlike you."

 

  That explained why Maxwell had paged her via her comm badge rather than patch directly to her quar-ters. He'd assumed that she was already out and about, since Selar never slept late. Selar checked the chronometer on the wall. Had she been human, she

 

 

 

  would have moaned to herself, or jumped up in a panic. "I . . . appreciate the summons, Doctor. I shall be along shortly."

 

  "Take your time, Doctor," Maxwell's reassuring voice came. "Things are somewhat quiet here, for a change of pace."

 

  "Indeed. You are saying, then, that I am not needed."

 

  There was something in her tone of voice that clearly was puzzling to Maxwell, but he endeavored not to let it show. He was only partly successful. "We can always use your guidance, Doctor. You are the CMO, after all."

 

  "The thought is appreciated, Doctor, as is the halfhearted argument regarding my indispensability." She paused, and then her thoughts began to drift, because she was feeling the building of the warmth once more. It seemed to have its origins in her loins and in her heart, and the two radiated outward, the circles of sensation intersecting within her. Something within her snapped her attention back to the fact that she had an open comm link and a puzzled doctor at the other end. "I will be some time more, Doctor, if, as you say, all is calm. I have a meeting I must attend to."

 

  "Not a problem, Doctor. Sickbay out."

 

  Once again she had nothing but the silence of the room. For some reason, she fancied that she could hear distant wind chimes, and sense a warm desert breeze sweeping over her. Something had to be done about the Pon Farr. She had a plan; her research had been very beneficial in that matter. Now it was just a matter of summoning up her courage and doing what needed to be done. She had hoped she would be able to wait . . . wait indefinitely if need be. But that didn't seem to be an option. Nor was returning to Vulcan much of a solution either. For one thing,

 

 

 

  ") else document.write("

 

  several impassioned overtures before Selar had made it clear that she simply wasn't inclined to sate the demands of Pon Farr with the odd Hermat. But Selar had changed her mind, only to spot Burgoyne arm-inarm with astronavigator Mark McHenry, heading off to what was clearly an assignation. This left Selar high and dry . . . and mightily frustrated.

 

  Burgoyne was smiling at her, hish fangs peeping out from under hish lips. And then Burgoyne reached out with hish long, tapered fingers, and Selar saw herself, her arms reaching out toward Burgoyne. Burgoyne reached for her.

 

  And there was a high-pitched beep. The sound repeated itself, and it was enough to jostle Selar to wakefulness. Sitting up quickly, she misjudged her position and rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor with a rather loud thud. She lay there, entangled in the bedsheet, musing over the rather odd situation that had brought her to this particular sequence of events. Then, in the darkness, her brain fully cleared and she responded via voice prompt "Computer, Selar here," she said, her voice so casual that it never would have betrayed the fact that she was lying on the floor, naked and tangled up in a

 

  sheet. "Doctor," came the concerned voice of Doctor

 

  Maxwell. "Are you all right?" "I am in perfect health, Doctor. Why are you

 

  inquiring?" "Because you're over an hour late for your shift,

 

  and, well . . . that's unlike you."

 

  That explained why Maxwell had paged her via her comm badge rather than patch directly to her quar-ters. He'd assumed that she was already out and about, since Selar never slept late. Selar checked the chronometer on the wall. Had she been human, she

 

 

 

  would have moaned to herself, or jumped up in a panic. "I . . . appreciate the summons, Doctor. I shall be along shortly."

 

  "Take your time, Doctor," Maxwell's reassuring voice came. "Things are somewhat quiet here, for a change of pace."

 

  "Indeed. You are saying, then, that I am not needed."

 

  There was something in her tone of voice that clearly was puzzling to Maxwell, but he endeavored not to let it show. He was only partly successful. "We can always use your guidance, Doctor. You are the CMO, after all."

 

  "The thought is appreciated, Doctor, as is the halfhearted argument regarding my indispensability." She paused, and then her thoughts began to drift, because she was feeling the building of the warmth once more. It seemed to have its origins in her loins and in her heart, and the two radiated outward, the circles of sensation intersecting within her. Something within her snapped her attention back to the fact that she had an open comm link and a puzzled doctor at the other end. "I will be some time more, Doctor, if, as you say, all is calm. I have a meeting I must attend to."

 

  "Not a problem, Doctor. Sickbay out."

 

  Once again she had nothing but the silence of the room. For some reason, she fancied that she could hear distant wind chimes, and sense a warm desert breeze sweeping over her. Something had to be done about the Pon Farr. She had a plan; her research had been very beneficial in that matter. Now it was just a matter of summoning up her courage and doing what needed to be done. She had hoped she would be able to wait . . . wait indefinitely if need be. But that didn't seem to be an option. Nor was returning to Vulcan much of a solution either. For one thing,

 

 

 

  ") if( !cssCompatible ) document.write("

 

  finding a Vulcan male in the right state of Pon Fan was possible but difficult in the time she had left. She could hardly just announce her need on the Vulcan planetary internet, and discreet inquiries took time. Besides, a choice of mate on availibility alone would hardly be logical. Selar still retained enough of her logic to know that. She would at least choose a highly qualified father for her child. No, she knew what she was going to dowhat she

 

  had to do.

 

  She dressed as quickly as she could, annoyed that her fingers were trembling slightly, thereby making it difficult for her to put her uniform on with efficiency. She glanced once in the mirror and turned away as quickly as she could from what she saw. She stumbled towards the door of her quarters . . . . . . and it didn't open.

 

  She stepped back, looked at the door as if to wonder, whether anything on the vessel was going to go right for her this day, and tapped her comm badge. "Selar to Ops. We seem to have a maintenance problem with the door to my quarters."

 

  "We're aware of that, Doctor," came Lefler's voice. "It's not just you. Engineering has some systems glitches they're trying to lock down. Doors all over the ship are opening by themselves or not opening when they're supposed to." "Including turbo lifts?" asked Selar. "No, thank God. Just doors. Burogyne estimates another hour or so before they've got it cleared up . . ." Selar tensed inwardly at the mention of Burgoyne's name. At that moment, the door to her quarters slid open, even though she was standing two feet away. "The door is open; apparently I have been liberated." "We'll keep working on it. Ops out." Selar headed out, relieved to be out of her quarters and away from the face she'd see
n in the mirror. A

 

 

 

  face that she barely recognized as hers. One that seemed to have more ties to Vulcans of the past, with that burning and smoldering savagery, than anything that she vaguely related to her modern-day perception of her race.

 

  A face burned in her mind, one that had not appeared in any of her dreams. And she was going to go to that person and have her situation attended to.

 

  Or else she was going to die.

 

  ") else document.write("

 

  finding a Vulcan male in the right state of Pon Fan was possible but difficult in the time she had left. She could hardly just announce her need on the Vulcan planetary internet, and discreet inquiries took time. Besides, a choice of mate on availibility alone would hardly be logical. Selar still retained enough of her logic to know that. She would at least choose a highly qualified father for her child. No, she knew what she was going to dowhat she

 

  had to do.

 

  She dressed as quickly as she could, annoyed that her fingers were trembling slightly, thereby making it difficult for her to put her uniform on with efficiency. She glanced once in the mirror and turned away as quickly as she could from what she saw. She stumbled towards the door of her quarters . . . . . . and it didn't open.

 

  She stepped back, looked at the door as if to wonder, whether anything on the vessel was going to go right for her this day, and tapped her comm badge. "Selar to Ops. We seem to have a maintenance problem with the door to my quarters."

 

  "We're aware of that, Doctor," came Lefler's voice. "It's not just you. Engineering has some systems glitches they're trying to lock down. Doors all over the ship are opening by themselves or not opening when they're supposed to." "Including turbo lifts?" asked Selar. "No, thank God. Just doors. Burogyne estimates another hour or so before they've got it cleared up . . ." Selar tensed inwardly at the mention of Burgoyne's name. At that moment, the door to her quarters slid open, even though she was standing two feet away. "The door is open; apparently I have been liberated." "We'll keep working on it. Ops out." Selar headed out, relieved to be out of her quarters and away from the face she'd seen in the mirror. A

 

 

 

  face that she barely recognized as hers. One that seemed to have more ties to Vulcans of the past, with that burning and smoldering savagery, than anything that she vaguely related to her modern-day perception of her race.

 

  A face burned in her mind, one that had not appeared in any of her dreams. And she was going to go to that person and have her situation attended to.

 

  Or else she was going to die.

 

  ") if( !cssCompatible ) document.write(" II.

 

  "THE GREAT BIRD OF THE GALAXY."

 

  Admiral Edward Jellico's face, incredulity written in large letters all over it, glared disbelievingly out from the comm screen at Mackenzie Calhoun and Elizabeth Paula Shelby, who were seated in the conference lounge in apparently relaxed fashion. Jellico's tone of voice came as absolutely no surprise to Shelby; she'd had a sneaking suspicion what he was going to say before he said it. She could see the nice view Jellico had outside his window at Starfleet headquarters the Golden Gate Bridge, the occasional shuttle floating past. It seemed pleasant enough, and yet she wondered how he managed to tolerate it. If Shelby didn't have stars to look out at, she was certain she would go completely mad.

 

  "The Great Bird of the Galaxy?" he said again.

 

  "Yes, Admiral, that's correct," Calhoun said.

 

  "You're telling me," Jellico leaned forward as if somehow that would bring him closer to the captain of the Excalibur, "that the entire planet of Thallon

 

 

 

  was smashed apart by a giant flaming bird, clawing its way out to freedom, and that it then flew away to who-knows-where?"

 

  "I find it hard to believe myself, but yes, Admiral, that's essentially what I'm saying."

 

  "Captain Calhoun, what do you take me for? Calhoun . . . Shelby," Jellico began again with an air of forced patience, "I know you don't think much of me"

 

  "That's not true, sir," Shelby assured him.

 

  "Absolutely not," agreed Calhoun. In point of fact, Calhoun thought, we actually don't think of you at all.

 

  Calhoun reached down subtly to rub his right shin where Shelby had just kicked him under the table. He fired an annoyed look at her, and blocked his mouth from Jellico's view with one hand as he murmured, "Striking a superior officer?"

 

  Shelby reached up to scratch the back of her neck, shielding her face from Jellico's view long enough to mutter back, "If you want to stay a superior officer, don't say whatever it is you're thinking." Without waiting for him to respond, she turned to Jellico and said, "Admiral, how you are viewed or not viewed by the command personnel of the Excalibur has nothing to do with the matter at hand. The ship's log, the science log, even our visual records, all confirm what it was that we saw."

 

  "Visual records can be arranged, Commander. To imply that seeing is necessarily believing is a charmingly antiquated notion that hasn't had a shred of truth to it in about four centuries now."

 

  "Granted, Admiral, but the fact remains Somehow this creature burrowed into the heart of the planet Thallon, and provided the energy-rich resources which enabled the Thallonians to become the domi-

 

 

 

  ") else document.write(" II.

 

  "THE GREAT BIRD OF THE GALAXY."

 

  Admiral Edward Jellico's face, incredulity written in large letters all over it, glared disbelievingly out from the comm screen at Mackenzie Calhoun and Elizabeth Paula Shelby, who were seated in the conference lounge in apparently relaxed fashion. Jellico's tone of voice came as absolutely no surprise to Shelby; she'd had a sneaking suspicion what he was going to say before he said it. She could see the nice view Jellico had outside his window at Starfleet headquarters the Golden Gate Bridge, the occasional shuttle floating past. It seemed pleasant enough, and yet she wondered how he managed to tolerate it. If Shelby didn't have stars to look out at, she was certain she would go completely mad.

 

  "The Great Bird of the Galaxy?" he said again.

 

  "Yes, Admiral, that's correct," Calhoun said.

 

  "You're telling me," Jellico leaned forward as if somehow that would bring him closer to the captain of the Excalibur, "that the entire planet of Thallon

 

 

 

  was smashed apart by a giant flaming bird, clawing its way out to freedom, and that it then flew away to who-knows-where?"

 

  "I find it hard to believe myself, but yes, Admiral, that's essentially what I'm saying."

 

  "Captain Calhoun, what do you take me for? Calhoun . . . Shelby," Jellico began again with an air of forced patience, "I know you don't think much of me"

 

  "That's not true, sir," Shelby assured him.

 

  "Absolutely not," agreed Calhoun. In point of fact, Calhoun thought, we actually don't think of you at all.

 

  Calhoun reached down subtly to rub his right shin where Shelby had just kicked him under the table. He fired an annoyed look at her, and blocked his mouth from Jellico's view with one hand as he murmured, "Striking a superior officer?"

 


  Shelby reached up to scratch the back of her neck, shielding her face from Jellico's view long enough to mutter back, "If you want to stay a superior officer, don't say whatever it is you're thinking." Without waiting for him to respond, she turned to Jellico and said, "Admiral, how you are viewed or not viewed by the command personnel of the Excalibur has nothing to do with the matter at hand. The ship's log, the science log, even our visual records, all confirm what it was that we saw."

 

  "Visual records can be arranged, Commander. To imply that seeing is necessarily believing is a charmingly antiquated notion that hasn't had a shred of truth to it in about four centuries now."

 

  "Granted, Admiral, but the fact remains Somehow this creature burrowed into the heart of the planet Thallon, and provided the energy-rich resources which enabled the Thallonians to become the domi-

 

 

 

  ") if( !cssCompatible ) document.write("

 

  nant world that they grew into. It was the creature's imminent . . . hatching, if you will . . . that caused the drain of power, the destruction of the world, and the fall of the Thallonian Empire."

 

  "Commander," Jellico said patiently, "empires fall because of any number of things. Economic collapse. Political infighting. Inbreeding causing a downward spiral in the quality of its rulers. Empires do not fall because giant flaming birds smash the home world to bits!"

 

  "Well. . ." Shelby paused, looked to Calhoun, who shrugged. She turned back to Jellico. "Not as a rule . . ."

 

  "Commander"

 

  "Admiral, be reasonable. Do you really think someone would go to all this effort just for the purpose of perpetrating some sort of massive hoax on you? With all due respect"

 

  "There's that phrase again," sighed Jellico. "The one that always precedes something said with a total lack of respect."