by Peter David
Consequently his bound feet went out from under him, and he collided with Ramed in a totally off-balance fashion. Ramed staggered back, spinning away, and his face smashed into the cave wall. He slid to the ground, momentarily dropping his spear, and Calhoun tried to angle around to get it. But Ramed
was too quick, snatching it up and holding it between them, point directly aimed at Calhoun's chest. Calhoun lay on the ground, his purple eyes focused pitilessly on Ramed.
"What did you think you were doing?" Ramed gasped out. Blood was pouring down the side of his face from where he'd slammed it against the wall.
"Trying to make my own destiny, you pathetic idiot," Calhoun snapped at him. "Just as I've been doing all my life. Youyou're a slave to yours. But I'll shape my own. By the way, congratulations. That's going to leave a rather impressive scar."
Ramed was trying to staunch the bleeding. He tore off a portion of his sleeve and used it to put pressure on the wound. "Very amusing, Great One," he said, with as heavy sarcasm as he could muster. "Very, very amusing. You're trying to confuse matters. To confuse me. But it's not going to work, do you understand?"
"I understand perfectly. You're obviously the one who doesn't understa"
He didn't have the opportunity to complete the sentence, because a chime began to sound from within the cave. Calhoun looked around. "What's that?" he asked. "An alarm clock to tell you that now's when you're supposed to butcher me?"
"No. It's a proximity alarm," Ramed told him. He pulled the cloth away and saw that it was soaked with blood, but also could see that the flow had slowed down appreciably.
"An alarm? We're in a cave in the middle of nowhere. What kind of alarms and technology do you have in a place like this?"
Ramed stared at him. "You'd be amazed," he said.
"If someone's coming," Calhoun told him, "particularly if it's my people, I assure you, they'll get past whatever it is you've got prepared."
"Your confidence in your crew is most heartening,
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believe in the ephemeral nature of the spirit? We are plucked from nothingness, and to nothingness we return."
Ramed shook his head and pointed accusingly at Calhoun, coming to within a foot of him. "This is absurd," he said. "In most cultures, prophecies are vague, and those with something to gain try to find the specifics that will serve them. Here the prophecies could not be more specific, and you seek to dilute them."
"I'm simply pointing out that maybe they're not as precise as you thought. You could just as easily be the savior as me. You're a great leader, after all."
"Oh really?" Ramed smiled patronizingly. '"He will bear a scar.' What of that? I have no scar."
That was when Calhoun lunged forward.
He'd slowly been positioning himself, maintaining what seemed a casual sitting position. The moment that Ramed was close enough, however, Calhoun made his move.
His intention was to slam into Ramed with such force that he would knock him cold. He would then grab the sharpened pike and use it to cut through the ropes that were binding him. For a spur of the moment plan, it wasn't bad.
Unfortunately the ground betrayed him.
There was a thin layer of gravel. Had his feet been free so that he could properly maneuver, he would have easily been able to vault it or maneuver around it. But with his feet tied up, it was impossible for him to move with his usual agility.
Consequently his bound feet went out from under him, and he collided with Ramed in a totally off-balance fashion. Ramed staggered back, spinning away, and his face smashed into the cave wall. He slid to the ground, momentarily dropping his spear, and Calhoun tried to angle around to get it. But Ramed
was too quick, snatching it up and holding it between them, point directly aimed at Calhoun's chest. Calhoun lay on the ground, his purple eyes focused pitilessly on Ramed.
"What did you think you were doing?" Ramed gasped out. Blood was pouring down the side of his face from where he'd slammed it against the wall.
"Trying to make my own destiny, you pathetic idiot," Calhoun snapped at him. "Just as I've been doing all my life. Youyou're a slave to yours. But I'll shape my own. By the way, congratulations. That's going to leave a rather impressive scar."
Ramed was trying to staunch the bleeding. He tore off a portion of his sleeve and used it to put pressure on the wound. "Very amusing, Great One," he said, with as heavy sarcasm as he could muster. "Very, very amusing. You're trying to confuse matters. To confuse me. But it's not going to work, do you understand?"
"I understand perfectly. You're obviously the one who doesn't understa"
He didn't have the opportunity to complete the sentence, because a chime began to sound from within the cave. Calhoun looked around. "What's that?" he asked. "An alarm clock to tell you that now's when you're supposed to butcher me?"
"No. It's a proximity alarm," Ramed told him. He pulled the cloth away and saw that it was soaked with blood, but also could see that the flow had slowed down appreciably.
"An alarm? We're in a cave in the middle of nowhere. What kind of alarms and technology do you have in a place like this?"
Ramed stared at him. "You'd be amazed," he said.
"If someone's coming," Calhoun told him, "particularly if it's my people, I assure you, they'll get past whatever it is you've got prepared."
"Your confidence in your crew is most heartening,
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even though it indicates an unwillingness to accept the hopelessness of your situation. This area has been prepared, you see. Prepared for centuries by my ancestors, who have known that this would be the place where the Savior would be taken to meet His destiny. There is technology here that is undreamt of, even by your standards. It's one of our other great secrets. Anything that your people might have prepared has already been considered and guarded against."
"I was unaware that you were that technologically advanced a race."
"We're not," Ramed smiled ruefully. "That is both our blessing and our curse. Your people have already made a foray to find you. They were rebuffed."
"Rebuffed?" This caught Calhoun's attention. He started to sit up, but Ramed held the spear out in a vaguely threatening fashion and Calhoun stopped moving. "What do you mean, rebuffed? What did you do to my people?"
"I? I did nothing. They did it to themselves, just as these newcomers will. And once they are disposed of, well, the third hour of the third day beckons, oh Great One. That which will be your last hour."
"Or yours," Calhoun replied.
Ramed looked at him sadly. "Poor, sad Savior. Still hoping to be rescued. Still refusing to believe that neither man nor woman will save you."
And Calhoun smiled. "Believe me, Ramed, with my crew, that isn't neces
sarily as much of an obstacle as you might think."
XVI.
IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT on Zondar as Burgoyne stood on the rocky outcropping, hir nostrils flaring, feeling more alive than s/he had in ages. The moons of Zondar were full, providing a healthy dose of light. Nearby Ensign Janoslooking cramped, as always, in his Starfleet uniformcracked his knuckles with a sound that seemed like a cannon shot.
The area around them did not seem particularly inviting. It was fairly mountainous, with a myriad of caves. Burgoyne realized that there was any number of hiding places where the captain and his captor could be. S/he held up a medical tricorder, packing the same information that Selar's had held, as a means of tracking down the captain. But a quick readout of the immediate area revealed a problem. "We're getting some sort of interference," Burgoyne said. S/he tried adjusting the tricorder but had no success with it."
"Which would lead us to assume," Ensign Janos
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even though it indicates an unwillingness to accept the hopelessness of your situation. This area has been prepared, you see. Prepared for centuries by my ancestors, who have known that this would be the place where the Savior would be taken to meet His destiny. There is technology here that is undreamt of, even by your standards. It's one of our other great secrets. Anything that your people might have prepared has already been considered and guarded against."
"I was unaware that you were that technologically advanced a race."
"We're not," Ramed smiled ruefully. "That is both our blessing and our curse. Your people have already made a foray to find you. They were rebuffed."
"Rebuffed?" This caught Calhoun's attention. He started to sit up, but Ramed held the spear out in a vaguely threatening fashion and Calhoun stopped moving. "What do you mean, rebuffed? What did you do to my people?"
"I? I did nothing. They did it to themselves, just as these newcomers will. And once they are disposed of, well, the third hour of the third day beckons, oh Great One. That which will be your last hour."
"Or yours," Calhoun replied.
Ramed looked at him sadly. "Poor, sad Savior. Still hoping to be rescued. Still refusing to believe that neither man nor woman will save you."
And Calhoun smiled. "Believe me, Ramed, with my crew, that isn't necessarily as much of an obstacle as you might think."
XVI.
IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT on Zondar as Burgoyne stood on the rocky outcropping, hir nostrils flaring, feeling more alive than s/he had in ages. The moons of Zondar were full, providing a healthy dose of light. Nearby Ensign Janoslooking cramped, as always, in his Starfleet uniformcracked his knuckles with a sound that seemed like a cannon shot.
The area around them did not seem particularly inviting. It was fairly mountainous, with a myriad of caves. Burgoyne realized that there was any number of hiding places where the captain and his captor could be. S/he held up a medical tricorder, packing the same information that Selar's had held, as a means of tracking down the captain. But a quick readout of the immediate area revealed a problem. "We're getting some sort of interference," Burgoyne said. S/he tried adjusting the tricorder but had no success with it."
"Which would lead us to assume," Ensign Janos
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observed, "that someone is actively trying to discourage us from locating the captain."
"Obviously. This must be one of the things that caused the other away team to run into problems. So," and Burgoyne snapped the tricorder closed, "we're just going to have to go about this the old-fashioned away. How's your sense of smell, Janos?"
"My olfactory abilities are exceptional, as befits my race, if not necessarily my breeding."
"All right, then. Start sniffing around. You take east, I'll take west."
No words were exchanged for some minutes after that. Burgoyne prowled the area, paying little attention to Janos at that point. All of hir senses were extended, trying to pick up some physical trace of the captain. S/he sniffed the air, s/he scented around rock and rocky trails, trying to detect some sort of lead, some vague hint as to where the captain might have gone to.
"Chief!" called Janos. Janos was approximately a hundred yards away, but Burgoyne crossed the distance quickly and efficiently, moving with a grace and ease that would have startled any onlooker with the possible exception of McHenry. Janos was down on the ground, sniffing around one particular section, and he grunted, "I think I've got something."
"The captain?"
"No. I think it's Kebron."
Burgoyne quickly dropped to the ground next to Janos. It would have been a strange sight, had anyone been around two Starfleet officers, crawling about on the ground, sniffing. Fortunately enough for decorum and the image of the fleet, no one was around at that particular moment.
"I think you're right," Burgoyne said after a moment. "Let's go."
They stayed low to the ground, on the scent. Bur-
goyne quickly took the lead, moving on all fours across the rough terrain, hir arms and legs bending at joints usually covered by hir uniform. S/he hit an incline at one point, and hir hardened nails dug into the rocky ground with efficiency. There was no unnecessary chatter between the two of them; they were moving entirely on instinct, and Burgoyne came to the reluctant realization that Soleta had known what she was about when she insisted on pairing Burgoyne with Janos.
And as s/he moved across the terrain, as all of hir tracking senses came to the fore, subtle changes came over Burgoyne. Hir lips drew back to reveal hir canines, but it was not in the teasing or slightly threatening manner in which s/he usually displayed them. Rather, it was as if s/he was prepared to use themindeed, couldn't wait to do so. Hir normally dark eyes had clouded over completely as s/he tapped deeply into hirself, into an essence that was hir natural state but one that s/he normally did everything s/he could to keep hidden away. Hir clawsfor that was, indeed, the best way to describe them, since "nails" somehow didn't do them justiceclicked against the rocky surface as s/he made hir way across it. S/he sensed rather than saw that Janos was directly behind hir, smelled his thick fur and distinctive scent.
There was a deep crevice just ahead of them, and Burgoynedisdaining to scamper the rest of the waycoiled and then leaped, clearing the distance of fifteen feet in one vault. Cautious of a possible booby trap, Burgoyne tentatively stuck hir head over the edge and peered down.
Wedged in, far below, was a familiar dark-skinned form.
"Kebron!" called Burgoyne. "Kebron, it's me! Burgoyne one-seventy-two! Kebron!" A moment later, Janos appeared at Burgoyne's side. "Kebron, can you hear me?"
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observed, "that someone is actively trying to discourage us from locating the captain."
"Obviously. This must be one of the things that caused the other away team to run into problems. So," and Burgoyne snapped the tricorder closed, "we're just going to have to go about this the old-fashioned away. How's your sense of smell, Janos?"
"My olfactory abilitie
s are exceptional, as befits my race, if not necessarily my breeding."
"All right, then. Start sniffing around. You take east, I'll take west."
No words were exchanged for some minutes after that. Burgoyne prowled the area, paying little attention to Janos at that point. All of hir senses were extended, trying to pick up some physical trace of the captain. S/he sniffed the air, s/he scented around rock and rocky trails, trying to detect some sort of lead, some vague hint as to where the captain might have gone to.
"Chief!" called Janos. Janos was approximately a hundred yards away, but Burgoyne crossed the distance quickly and efficiently, moving with a grace and ease that would have startled any onlooker with the possible exception of McHenry. Janos was down on the ground, sniffing around one particular section, and he grunted, "I think I've got something."
"The captain?"
"No. I think it's Kebron."
Burgoyne quickly dropped to the ground next to Janos. It would have been a strange sight, had anyone been around two Starfleet officers, crawling about on the ground, sniffing. Fortunately enough for decorum and the image of the fleet, no one was around at that particular moment.
"I think you're right," Burgoyne said after a moment. "Let's go."
They stayed low to the ground, on the scent. Bur-
goyne quickly took the lead, moving on all fours across the rough terrain, hir arms and legs bending at joints usually covered by hir uniform. S/he hit an incline at one point, and hir hardened nails dug into the rocky ground with efficiency. There was no unnecessary chatter between the two of them; they were moving entirely on instinct, and Burgoyne came to the reluctant realization that Soleta had known what she was about when she insisted on pairing Burgoyne with Janos.
And as s/he moved across the terrain, as all of hir tracking senses came to the fore, subtle changes came over Burgoyne. Hir lips drew back to reveal hir canines, but it was not in the teasing or slightly threatening manner in which s/he usually displayed them. Rather, it was as if s/he was prepared to use themindeed, couldn't wait to do so. Hir normally dark eyes had clouded over completely as s/he tapped deeply into hirself, into an essence that was hir natural state but one that s/he normally did everything s/he could to keep hidden away. Hir clawsfor that was, indeed, the best way to describe them, since "nails" somehow didn't do them justiceclicked against the rocky surface as s/he made hir way across it. S/he sensed rather than saw that Janos was directly behind hir, smelled his thick fur and distinctive scent.
