by Peter David
"Very well, then," Yoz said briskly, rubbing his hands together. "Then we are agreed . . . the accused shall be left to our judicial system."
"Where's Zak Kebron?" Calhoun said before Yoz could continue. "D'ndai informs me he's down here."
"Yes, that's correct. As a matter of fact, he's on his way up right now."
D'ndai suddenly spoke up. "Tell me," he asked with genuine curiosity, "you have expansive, liberal views on justice when it applies to one who is not, technically, part of your crew. What if it were Kebron? What if he were accused of crimes? Would you still believe that the Thallonian standard of justice should apply?"
"Absolutely," said Shelby without hesitation.
At that moment there was a roar from the observers, and Zak Kebron and Si Cwan were brought up and into view. The representatives from the Excalibur were relieved to see that neither of them appeared too much the worse for wear, although Kebron did seem a bit banged up. But they were walking steadily and proud, their chins held high . . . or, at least in Kebron's case, what passed for a chin.
They were not in chains, not being dragged. There were guards on either side of them, but they seemed more ceremonial than anything. In fact, they looked rather nervous. It almost came across as if Kebron and Cwan were in charge of the moment, rather than the guards or, indeed, anyone of authority.
They moved to the middle of the room and came to a halt. They noted the presence of the Excalibur crewmen, but gave no overt sign, no loud greeting. The moment seemed to call for underplaying emotions.
Without preamble, Yoz said, "Mr. Kebron . . . I release you into the custody of your commanding officer. You are on probation, and asked not to return to the surface of Thallon after your departure."
Brikar emotions were generally hard to read, but even Kebron seemed to register mild surprise. Then, as if mentally shrugging, he started to walk over toward the others.
And then stopped.
He turned, looked back at Si Cwan, and then back to Yoz. "What of him?"
"He is to be handled separately. He is to stand trial for crimes against his people."
"I see."
Kebron stood there for a brief time, displaying as much emotion as an Easter Island statue . . . and then slowly he walked back to Si Cwan, stood at his side, and faced the accusers.
Immediately more chatter broke out among the crowd as Shelby looked to Calhoun to see his reaction. To her astonishment, Calhoun seemed to be doing everything he could to cover a smile.
"Mr. Kebron, you are free to go," Yoz said more forcefully.
"I disagree," Kebron said calmly.
And now Si Cwan turned to him and said, " Kebron, nothing is to be accomplished by this. Whatever situation I'm involved with is of my doing, not yours. They merely consider you a pawn in this. Don't let yourself be a needlessly sacrificed pawn."
"It is my concern," replied Kebron.
"No, Lieutenant . . . it's mine," Calhoun spoke up. The captain was standing, his hands behind his back in a casual fashion, but there was nothing casual in his voice. "I appreciate and respect the ethics of all my crewmen. But I won't let one sacrifice himself needlessly. These people, and even Si Cwan, have released you. And you're too much of an asset to the ship for me to simply write you off if it can be avoided. I order you to take them up on their offer, Lieutenant."
This time, with what sounded like a sigh, Kebron moved away from Si Cwan and joined his captain. But he regarded Calhoun with a baleful glare that the captain did not particularly appreciate. On the other hand, he more than understood it.
"Si Cwan," Yoz intoned, "you are accused of crimes against the people of Thallon and an assortment of worlds in the Thallonian Empire. These include: suppressing a rebellion on Mandylor 5 . . . the execution of dissidents on Respler 4A . . ."
The list went on for quite some time, and Si Cwan simply stood there, no sign of emotion in his face. The crowd had fallen silent as well, every comment sounding like another great chime of a bell sounding a death knell.
Si Cwan only interrupted toward the end as he said, "Tell me, Yoz . . . do you have any proof that I, myself, had a hand in any of these activities?"
"Do you deny any of them?" shot back Yoz.
"I do not deny that they occurred. But there were others who made these decisions. I did not have control over everything that went on. Mine was but one voice. Of tentimes I learned of these incidents after the fact."
"So you believe that you are not to be held responsible. These were activities of the royal family. You were part of that family. Therefore you should be held responsible!"
"You would think that," said Si Cwan. "After all . . ." and he looked poisonously in the direction of Zoran, "if you would take the life of a young girl who had no involvement at all, certainly you would not hesitate to deprive me of my life." Zoran, hardly appearing stung by the comment, instead smiled broadly.
But now Ryjaan stepped forward, and he said, "You would deny hands-on involvement. We know otherwise, Cwan. We know of what you did on Xenex! And my bloodline calls for vengeance!"
For the first time, Si Cwan looked confused. His expression was mirrored in Calhoun's face, but since almost all eyes were on Si Cwan, it wasn't widely noticed. Almost all eyes, because D'ndai was watching Calhoun with undisguised interest.
"Xenex?" asked Si Cwan. "What happened on Xenex?"
"Do not pretend! Do not insult my intelligence!" roared Ryjaan. "You killed my father, and you will be brought to justice for it!"
"Who's your father?" Si Cwan didn't sound the least bit guilty. If anything, he sounded genuinely curious.
"Falkar, of the House of Edins," said Ryjaan fiercely. "A great man, a great warrior, a great father . . . and you, monster, you took him from me. From all of us, with your murdering ways."
And Calhoun felt the blood rush to his face.
His head whipped around and he looked straight at
D'ndai. D'ndai was not returning the gaze. Instead he stared resolutely ahead, as if he found what was transpiring with Si Cwan to be absolutely riveting. But the edges of his mouth were turned up, ever so slightly, like a small smirk.
You bastard, thought Calhoun, even as he tapped his comm unit and began to speak softly into it. Shelby didn't notice, for she was watching Si Cwan's reactions to the proceedings.
"I have never heard of this Talkar,' " Si Cwan said. "I regret you your loss, but I did not deprive you of him."
"You deny it, then! All the more coward you! In the name of Thallonian and Danteri law, in the name of my family, I desire justice for your slaughter of my father!"
"Interesting justice system," Si Cwan said dryly. "Accusation is synonymous with guilt. Proof is not a requisite."
"It was much the same when your family was in charge," Yoz commented. "How many times did I, as High Chancellor, stand there helplessly while enemies of your family simply vanished, never to be seen again, while your justice would try them in their absence? At least we let you stand here to voice your own defense."
"You ask me to prove something I did not do, against accusations that I cannot address. How would you have me defend myself?"
"That," said Ryjaan, "is your problem."
And then an unexpected voice . . . unexpected to all but one . . . spoke up loudly. And the voice said, "Actually . . . it's my problem."
All eyes immediately turned to the speaker. To Captain Calhoun, one of the Federation visitors. He had risen from the place of honor and strode in the general direction of Si Cwan, stopping about midway between the accusers and the accused. Si Cwan stood there in bemusement as Calhoun turned to face Si Cwan's accusers. "Tell me, Ryjaan . . . did my beloved brother inform you that Si Cwan killed Falkar?"
"Yes . . . yes, he did," Ryjaan said slowly.
"Let me guess, D'ndai . . . you were trying to cover up for your younger sibling," Calhoun said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or perhaps you simply regarded Si Cwan as a useful tool for cementing ties with both the Danteri and Thal
lonians . . . the better to provide for you in your old age. Or maybe . . . and this, I think, is the most likely . . . you knew I couldn't simply sit by and allow Si Cwan to suffer for this . . . 'crime.' "
D'ndai was silent. Silent as the tomb.
Shelby slowly began to rise, sensing impending disaster, and she touched Kebron on the shoulder, indicating that he should be prepared for trouble. McHenry knew trouble was coming as well. However, he was also capable of prioritizing, and consequently emptied the contents of the Yukka chips bowl between his outer and inner shirt, since he had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't going to be getting any more in the near future.
"Captain . . ." Shelby said warningly.
But he put up a hand and said sharply, "This isn't your affair, Commander. Ryjaan . . . your father was not murdered. He died in combat, in war, like a soldier. He went down well and nobly. I know . . . because I'm the one who killed him."
There was a collective gasp of the onlookers. Ryjaan was trembling with barely repressed fury. "You?"
"Yes. You know of my background as a freedom fighter. You should likewise know that crimes against the Danteri were unilaterally forgiven by your government as part of the settlement of the worlds. You would stand there and accuse me of a crime that your own government no longer considers a crime."
"I have not rendered that decision!" Ryjaan said angrily. "I do not care what my government has or has not decided! That was my father who died on Xenex!"
"Yes, and it was your father who left me with this," replied Calhoun, touching his scar.
"This is a lie! It's all lies!" said Ryjaan. "You think to exonerate Si Cwan by assuming the blame for a crime you did not commit! You have no proof—!"
"No?" Calhoun asked quietly. He tapped his comm badge. "Calhoun to transporter room. Send it down."
Before anyone could react, the twinkling whine of the transporters sounded nearby, and something materialized on the floor next to Calhoun. It was a sword. A short sword. Shelby recognized it instantly as the sword that had been hanging on the wall in his ready room. Calhoun walked over to it and hefted it as comfortably as if it was a part of his own body.
"Recognize this?" he asked.
The curve of the sword, the carvings on the handle, were unmistakable.
And with a roar, Ryjaan leaped forward, his own sword out of its scabbard so quickly that the eye would have been unable to follow. "Final Challenge!" he howled.
"Accepted!" shot back Calhoun, and he caught the downward thrust of the sword skillfully on the length of his own blade.
The crowd was in an uproar, everyone shouting simultaneously.
"Come on!" shouted Shelby, and Kebron led the charge. He plowed through anyone between him and Calhoun, as easily stopped or reasoned with as a tidal wave, knocking anyone or anything in his path out of the way. Shelby and McHenry were right behind him. He grabbed Ryjaan from behind just as Ryjaan was about to lunge forward with another thrust and tossed him aside. Ryjaan went flying, landing squarely behind the place of honor, as Shelby hit her comm badge and shouted, "Shelby to transporter room! Five to beam up, now! Now!"
And the air crackled around them as the away team vanished. And the last thing they heard was Ryjaan screaming, "Final Challenge! Final Challenge! Honor it, if you're a man, and face me, coward!"
MACKENZIE
IX.
"CAPTAIN, NO! YOU CAN'T!?"
Shelby and Calhoun were still in the transporter room, the rest of the away team grouped around them. Polly Watson at the transporter console had no idea what was going on, and so simply stood to one side.
"A challenge has been issued and accepted," replied Calhoun evenly. "This is a matter of justice. You said it yourself, Commander. We have to abide by local customs. The Prime Directive—"
"—is not the issue here, sir! Captain, can we continue this discussion in your ready room?"
"No." He turned to Watson. "Prepare to beam me back down."
"Yes, sir." She stepped toward the console.
"Belay that," snapped Shelby.
"Yes, sir." She stepped back from the console.
"Either you were arguing for a concept and a belief, Commander, or you were arguing for an individual," said Calhoun firmly. "It can't be that something which applies to Si Cwan or to Kebron does not apply tome."
"You're this vessel's captain," Shelby said.
"What better reason, then. I should exemplify the rule; not be the exception to it."
"If I might interject—" began Si Cwan.
"No!"
both Shelby and Calhoun said. "—or not," Si Cwan finished.
"Captain, the legality of this is questionable at best," continued Shelby. "At the very least, let's consult with Starfleet Central over the legal issues raised. You said yourself that—"
"On the first leg of our mission, you want me to drop everything and notify Starfleet so they can tell me what to do. That, Commander, sounds like an excellent way to erode confidence in this vessel's ability to get the job done."
"Permission to speak freely," Kebron said.
"No!"
both Shelby and Calhoun said. "Fine. I didn't really want it."
"Permission to return to the bridge," McHenry quickly said. "I don't think I'm serving much of a function here."
"We'll be right behind you," said Shelby.
"No, 'we' will not," Calhoun informed her. " Watson, beam me back down."
Watson took a step toward the console but eyed Shelby warily. And Shelby turned to Calhoun and said, "Captain, please . . . five minutes of your time."
He eyed her a moment. "Two. All of you out. Kebron, you look like you've been through a grinder. Get down to sickbay."
The others needed no further urging to vacate the transporter room, leaving Shelby and Calhoun alone.
"Mac, I know what this is about. It's just the two of us now, you don't have to pretend. You, of all people, can't tell me that all of a sudden you've grown an inviolable conscience when it comes to the Prime Directive."
"And you, of all people, can't tell me that all of a sudden, you don't give a damn about it."
"What I give a damn about is you, and what you're trying to prove, for no reason. This isn't about justice or the Prime Directive. This is about you needing to test yourself, push yourself. Prove to yourself that you're the man you were. But you don't have to do that! It doesn't matter who you think you were. What matters is who you are now: Captain Mackenzie Calhoun of the Starship Excalibur. And a Starfleet captain simply does not needlessly throw himself into the heart of danger. Let Ryjaan rant and rave. Let him nurse his grudge. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have a responsibility to this ship, to this crew, to . . ."
"To you?" he asked quietly.
There was none of the anger in her voice, none of the edge that he had come to expect. Just a simple, soft, "I'd . . . like to think so."
He turned away from her, oddly finding himself unable to look at her. "Before I knew you . . . I knew you," he said.
"I . . . don't understand."
"I . . . had a vision of you. It's not something I really need to go into now. I saw you, that's all, years before we actually encountered each other. I'd be lying if I said I fell in love with you at that moment. I didn't even know you. But I knew you were my future. Just as I know now that this is my future. I have to do this, Eppy. I have no choice."
"Yes, you do. And so do I. As first officer, I have a right to stop you from subjecting yourself to unnecessary risk."
"Which means this goes to the core of what is considered 'unnecessary.' " He paused a moment and then turned back to her, crossing the distance between them so that they were eye to eye. "There's a man down there demanding justice. There's only one person in this galaxy who can give it to him. I have to do this. If you claim to understand me at all . . . then you'll understand that. And understand this: I want you to stay here. To stay out of this. Do not interfere at any point. These are my direct orders to you."
Shelby, for once in her life at a loss for words, sighed, and then traced the line of his scar with her finger. "Be careful, for God's sake," she said.
"I'm not quite certain if I believe in God enough to be careful for his sake," said Calhoun reasonably. "But, if you wish . . . I'll be careful for yours."
Soleta had set up a separate research station in her quarters. She found that, while her science station on the bridge was perfectly adequate for on-the-fly research, something that required more detailed analysis likewise required relatively calm and even private surroundings. They were not entirely private at the moment, though, for Robin Lefler was with her, studying results from their scientific foray onto the planet's surface.
"You're right about these ground samples," Lefler was saying. "I'm comparing them to the results of the tests you did from ten years ago. It's similar to planting fields on Earth that have not made proper use of crop rotation. The ground has nutrients which are depleted by planting of the same crop. Thallon itself had a sort of 'energy nutrient,' for want of a better word. And the nutrients have all been drained. Except . . ."
Soleta leaned back from staring for what had seemed an eternity. "Except . . . you're coming to the same conclusion I am. That the demands placed upon it by the Thallonians themselves should not have been sufficient to deplete it."
"Exactly. I mean, this is all guesswork, to some extent. We weren't able to monitor the Thallonians on a year-to-year basis, or make constant samples of the ground. All the things that would have led to a more concrete assessment. But as near as I can tell, there's something here that just doesn't parse. And then there's that weird seismic anomaly I was picking up."
Soleta nodded and switched the data over to the readings that Lefler had picked up with her sensor web array. She watched as the blips indicating the seismic tracks arched across the screen.
"What in the world could be causing that sort of . . . of weird pulsation?" asked Lefler. "It's not like any sort of seismic disturbance that I've ever see—"
