Star Trek - NF - 005 - Martyr

by Peter David

 

  They faced each other, both crouched, their respective teeth bared, and they circled warily. Burgoyne's talons were poised, ready to strike again, and Janos was maneuvering around to try and find a suitable terrain so that he could charge again with his horn.

 

  And then something sounded within Burgoyne's mind. A voice . . . of someone who wasn't there.

 

  In sickbay, Selar's eyes snapped open. She moaned, trying to sit up.

 

  Maxwell saw it out of the corner of his eye and immediately summoned medtechs over. Selar was babbling incoherently, and Maxwell tried to make out what she was saying. Something about Burgoyne, something about monsters, and she spoke as if someone were standing right there next to her whom only she could see.

 

  "Sedate her!" called Maxwell.

 

  "No!" Selar said with what sounded startlingly like a growl. "No! Leave me alone! S/he needs me!"

 

  Burgoyne felt her. Felt her in hir mind, in hir heart. Felt her connection to hir.

 

  For just a moment, Burgoyne's mind cleared. The Excalibur evaporated, the assailants vanished, the laughing stopped . . .

 

  And there was Ensign Janos, charging toward hir with an undiluted roar of fury.

 

  "Oh, hell!" Burgoyne cried out, and s/he back-pedaled rapidly as Janos came at hir. Realizing that Janos was going to catch up if s/he continued to run

 

 

 

  backward, Burgoyne whirled and dashed at breakneck speed, arms pumping furiously. Dead ahead of hir was a solid wall of rock. Right behind hir was the infuriated mugato. Burgoyne picked up speed, ran as fast as s/he possibly could. Janos was right behind hir, propelling himself forward even faster with the aid of his knuckles.

 

  And the second that Burgoyne reached the rock wall, s/he ran right up the wall, hurling hirself up and over. As s/he cleared the top of Janos's head, s/he grabbed the horn. The mugato reached around, trying to get at hir, as Burgoyne landed, allowed hir momentum to carry her, and twisted forward and down with all hir strength. Janos was hauled back and over in a flip, slammed down to the ground.

 

  For just a moment, Janos was immobilized. With the blood lust upon hir, Burgoyne would have taken the opportunity to try and tear out Janos's jugular vein. But hir head was clear, and Burgoyne's hand stretched out, clamping onto the mugato's shoulder. Hir long fingers moved in perfect imitation of the way that Soleta had dropped hir with the nerve pinch.

 

  Janos let out a startled yelp. His body trembled for a moment, and then pitched forward. Burgoyne stepped back, still cautious, in case Janos was pulling some sort of trick. But s/he quickly realized that that wasn't the case; Janos wasn't budging.

 

  S/he felt heat beginning to build beneath hir feet, as if some sort of massive machinery was functioning beneath the ground. For a moment s/he considered picking up Janos and trying to lug him along, but quickly dismissed the notion as unworkable.

 

  "Good thing you were here to watch my back," s/he said, before allowing him to slump to the ground. Then s/he felt it again that same sensation that

 

 

 

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  caused the hair on the back of hir neck to stand up. S/he spun . . .

 

  And saw it coming toward her.

 

  It was massive, hundreds of feet tall, and all s/he could make out was its outline. It seemed to shimmer and coalesce in the darkness, and it appeared to fill not only the air all around, but the area within Burgoyne as well. It seemed to have some sort of massive mouth, and a hundred eyes, every one boring its way into hir soul. S/he began to feel the same fears, trepidations . . .

 

  "Get that way from me!" shouted Selar, all thought of Vulcan control tossed aside. She was sitting up in bed, struggling to shove aside the stasis field.

 

  Maxwell came at her with a sedative, but he never had the opportunity to inject it into her. Her hand whipped around and she smacked the hypodermic out of his grasp, sending it clattering to the floor.

 

  "Burgoyne!" she cried out, reaching into thin air. "Come back to me! Come back!"

 

  And then s/he shook it off. The creature raged above hir, and at first Burgoyne backed up, intimidated, afraid. But s/he felt something else within hir mind, something that was helping hir to brace hirself against the beast . . .

 

  And s/he realized what it was doing.

 

  "I am not alone," whispered Burgoyne. "I am not alone, and you have no power over me."

 

  Selar did not understand what was going through her mind. She was operating purely on instinct. She shoved aside the stasis field, and stumbled off the medtable, hitting the ground heavily. She wasn't remotely aware of her surroundings. All she knew was the instinct that was pounding through her, the need

 

 

 

  for her mate. The need to feel completion. The need to share herself.

 

  She could feel hir. She had no clear idea of how s/he had gotten into her mind, but she was beyond caring. Medtechs approached her, tried to haul her back to the medtable. They made the mistake of doing so by hauling her arms up onto their shoulders. Her instinct in overdrive, she knocked the two of them cold with deftly placed nerve pinches. They slid to the floor and she went down with them, her legs skewed, her eyes staring into nothing and something all at the same time.

 

  "Burgoyne," she whispered.

 

  Burgoyne started forward with slow, measured tread, tapping into the ferocity that rampaged through hir. Ferocity that was born not only of hir own inner nature, but of carefully channeled sexual energy . . . energy that s/he wanted to expend with Selar, but instead focused with the intention of avenging the calamities that had been visited upon the Vulcan doctor.

 

  The creature loomed over hir, and s/he was reminded of the truism that any science, sufficiently advanced, would appear as magic to races that didn't understand it. S/he didn't pretend to comprehend the nature of the being that faced hir. Whether it was biological, whether it was the creation of unseen machines, whatevers/he didn't care. All s/he knew was that s/he was in another place, another mental realm where nothing was going to stop hir, least of all some static-filled, snarling mass of electrons.

 

  "Take your best shot!" shouted Burgoyne. S/he made no effort to dodge, didn't try to run or maneuver around the energy creature. Instead s/he plunged straight into it, bellowing hir defiance. "I know what you're doing! I know what your design is! We are born

 

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  caused the hair on the back of hir neck to stand up. S/he spun . . .

 

  And saw it coming toward her.

 

  It was massive, hundreds of feet tall, and all s/he could make out was its outline. It seemed to shimmer and coalesce in the darkness, and it appeared to fill not only the air all around, but the area within Burgoyne as well. It seemed to have some sort of massive mouth, and a hundred eyes, every one boring its way into hir soul. S/he began to feel the same fears, trepidations . . .

 

  "Get that way from me!" shouted Selar, all thought of Vulcan control tossed aside. She was sitting up in bed, struggling to shove aside the stasis field.

 

  Maxwell came at her with a sedative, but he never had the opportunity to inject it into her. Her hand whipped around an
d she smacked the hypodermic out of his grasp, sending it clattering to the floor.

 

  "Burgoyne!" she cried out, reaching into thin air. "Come back to me! Come back!"

 

  And then s/he shook it off. The creature raged above hir, and at first Burgoyne backed up, intimidated, afraid. But s/he felt something else within hir mind, something that was helping hir to brace hirself against the beast . . .

 

  And s/he realized what it was doing.

 

  "I am not alone," whispered Burgoyne. "I am not alone, and you have no power over me."

 

  Selar did not understand what was going through her mind. She was operating purely on instinct. She shoved aside the stasis field, and stumbled off the medtable, hitting the ground heavily. She wasn't remotely aware of her surroundings. All she knew was the instinct that was pounding through her, the need

 

 

 

  for her mate. The need to feel completion. The need to share herself.

 

  She could feel hir. She had no clear idea of how s/he had gotten into her mind, but she was beyond caring. Medtechs approached her, tried to haul her back to the medtable. They made the mistake of doing so by hauling her arms up onto their shoulders. Her instinct in overdrive, she knocked the two of them cold with deftly placed nerve pinches. They slid to the floor and she went down with them, her legs skewed, her eyes staring into nothing and something all at the same time.

 

  "Burgoyne," she whispered.

 

  Burgoyne started forward with slow, measured tread, tapping into the ferocity that rampaged through hir. Ferocity that was born not only of hir own inner nature, but of carefully channeled sexual energy . . . energy that s/he wanted to expend with Selar, but instead focused with the intention of avenging the calamities that had been visited upon the Vulcan doctor.

 

  The creature loomed over hir, and s/he was reminded of the truism that any science, sufficiently advanced, would appear as magic to races that didn't understand it. S/he didn't pretend to comprehend the nature of the being that faced hir. Whether it was biological, whether it was the creation of unseen machines, whatevers/he didn't care. All s/he knew was that s/he was in another place, another mental realm where nothing was going to stop hir, least of all some static-filled, snarling mass of electrons.

 

  "Take your best shot!" shouted Burgoyne. S/he made no effort to dodge, didn't try to run or maneuver around the energy creature. Instead s/he plunged straight into it, bellowing hir defiance. "I know what you're doing! I know what your design is! We are born

 

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  alone, and we die alone, all of us! And we spend a lifetime running from that fact! Taking solace in relationships, making children to follow in our footsteps, all to avoid any contemplation of the fact that we are always alone! Always separated by our very natures! But I'm not alone, creature! I'm not!"

 

  S/he shoved hir way squarely into the beast, and was immediately buffeted by high energy emissions that threatened to flay the skin from hir body. But there was more than physical punishment. One had to be battered down mentally in order to succumb to the beast, that much s/he had already figured out. It was the classic divide-and-conquer strategy. Separate the intended victim from all that he or she holds dear from friends, from loved ones, from self-esteem, from the belief that good ultimately triumphs, and that life has any purpose. Leave all that behind and discover that all you have remaining to you is emptiness and hopelessness, and no point whatsoever in trying continue one's existence. Flood the mind with that which is most frightening. Or overwhelming, like the Borg imagery for Shelby.

 

  But that wasn't working with Burgoyne, for Bur-goyne had drawn into hirself the essence of Selar. S/he held it close to hir, nursed it, drew warmth and confidence from it. The creature roared in fury ali around hir, and s/he felt it descending upon hir. It was like trying to walk step by slow step through a tornado, feeling it flailing at you and trying to rend you limb from limb. Burgoyne, however, would not be stopped, would not be slowed.

 

  Shelby, Selar, Hecht, and Scannell, even the mighty Zak Kebron . . . they had all endeavored to enter this realm, and all had failed. All had somehow been battered into submission, had been made to feel small and alone in a hostile galaxy. Not Burgoyne. Burgoyne felt the closeness of the link with Selar, and not

 

 

 

  only that, but s/he felt the eternal company of hir own nature. Male and female, yin and yang, the two eternal parts kept close with one another. Not only was Burgoyne joined with Selar, but furthermore, Burgoyne was at one with hirself. And as such, s/he would not be stopped.

 

  "Get out of my way!" s/he howled once more, as I loudly as s/he could, and then s/he pushed completely through the creature and suddenly felt relief swelling through hir. Relief and a sense of dizzy light-headedness. S/he spun and saw that the beast was raging behind hir, infuriated at hir ability to get past, and then it started to reach for hir.

 

  With a snarl, Burgoyne kept going, no longer moving in anything vaguely resembling something hu-manoid. In hir four-legged, miles-consuming stride, s/he came across as something akin to one of the great cats of Earth. S/he charged up an incline, gravel rolling away beneath hir, hir nostrils flaring as the scent became stronger and stronger with every pass-ing moment.

 

  And so did hir killer instinct as well. S/he sensed that s/he was drawing close to the individual who was to be held accountable for the injuries to Selar. S/he knew now, beyond a doubt, that it was the energy creature that had been personally responsible for the state of Selar and the others, but something in turn was behind the creature, either having activated it or brought it to full life. Either way, Burgoyne was there to dispatch justice, no matter what it took. And then, toward the top of the ridge, s/he saw him. He was standing there with some sort of short spear, about a yard long. He was tapping the pointed end gently into the palm of his hand, as if he were tapping out a tune that only he could hear. He was shaking his head in apparent amazement of Bur-goyne's arrival.

 

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  alone, and we die alone, all of us! And we spend a lifetime running from that fact! Taking solace in relationships, making children to follow in our footsteps, all to avoid any contemplation of the fact that we are always alone! Always separated by our very natures! But I'm not alone, creature! I'm not!"

 

  S/he shoved hir way squarely into the beast, and was immediately buffeted by high energy emissions that threatened to flay the skin from hir body. But there was more than physical punishment. One had to be battered down mentally in order to succumb to the beast, that much s/he had already figured out. It was the classic divide-and-conquer strategy. Separate the intended victim from all that he or she holds dear from friends, from loved ones, from self-esteem, from the belief that good ultimately triumphs, and that life has any purpose. Leave all that behind and discover that all you have remaining to you is emptiness and hopelessness, and no point whatsoever in trying continue one's existence. Flood the mind with that which is most frightening. Or overwhelming, like the Borg imagery for Shelby.

 

  But that wasn't working with Burgoyne, for Bur-goyne had drawn into hirself the essence of Selar. S/he held it close to hir, nursed it, drew warmth and confidence from it. The creature roared in fury ali around hir, and s/he felt it descending upon hir. It was like trying to walk step by slow step through a tornado, feeling it flailing at you and trying to rend you limb from limb. Burgoyne, however, would not be stopped, would not be slowed.

 


  Shelby, Selar, Hecht, and Scannell, even the mighty Zak Kebron . . . they had all endeavored to enter this realm, and all had failed. All had somehow been battered into submission, had been made to feel small and alone in a hostile galaxy. Not Burgoyne. Burgoyne felt the closeness of the link with Selar, and not

 

 

 

  only that, but s/he felt the eternal company of hir own nature. Male and female, yin and yang, the two eternal parts kept close with one another. Not only was Burgoyne joined with Selar, but furthermore, Burgoyne was at one with hirself. And as such, s/he would not be stopped.

 

  "Get out of my way!" s/he howled once more, as I loudly as s/he could, and then s/he pushed completely through the creature and suddenly felt relief swelling through hir. Relief and a sense of dizzy light-headedness. S/he spun and saw that the beast was raging behind hir, infuriated at hir ability to get past, and then it started to reach for hir.

 

  With a snarl, Burgoyne kept going, no longer moving in anything vaguely resembling something hu-manoid. In hir four-legged, miles-consuming stride, s/he came across as something akin to one of the great cats of Earth. S/he charged up an incline, gravel rolling away beneath hir, hir nostrils flaring as the scent became stronger and stronger with every pass-ing moment.

 

  And so did hir killer instinct as well. S/he sensed that s/he was drawing close to the individual who was to be held accountable for the injuries to Selar. S/he knew now, beyond a doubt, that it was the energy creature that had been personally responsible for the state of Selar and the others, but something in turn was behind the creature, either having activated it or brought it to full life. Either way, Burgoyne was there to dispatch justice, no matter what it took. And then, toward the top of the ridge, s/he saw him. He was standing there with some sort of short spear, about a yard long. He was tapping the pointed end gently into the palm of his hand, as if he were tapping out a tune that only he could hear. He was shaking his head in apparent amazement of Bur-goyne's arrival.

 

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  "You," he called down, "are going to have to die."

 

  Burgoyne said nothing, but instead scrambled up the side of the hill. Just beyond the man waiting for hir was a cave, and she was positive that the captain was held within, presuming that the captain was still alive.