Being Human

by Peter David

  “Nothing.”

  He stared at her, not sure he heard her properly. “Nothing. You mean . . . nothing to them?”

  “Nothing to anyone. The Senate made its offer, Si Cwan listened to it, made no reply, returned to the Trident, and put himself into seclusion. That was seven hours ago. We haven’t heard a thing since.”

  “And Kalinda?”

  “Same thing.”

  He rose and began to pace, fury and suspicion at war within him. “That is unacceptable. Simply unacceptable.”

  “To whom, Mac? To you?” She was looking at him skeptically with one eyebrow cocked. “Need I remind you, it’s not your call to make. It’s my ship. I’m on station here. And if Si Cwan wants to keep everyone guessing for a time, I don’t have a problem with that. Better to take one’s time in order to say the right thing, rather than rush into saying the wrong thing.”

  “But Eppy . . .”

  “Come on, Mac, be realistic,” she said, speaking right over him. “They dumped one hell of an offer on Si Cwan. It’s a lot for him to digest, and if he tries to do it too fast, he could choke on it. There’s just no point in rushing things. We’ll stay in orbit around Danter until this matter is decided . . .”

  “I don’t see how it can be decided in any way but one,” said Calhoun, resting his knuckles on his desk and leaning forward on them. “The Danteri are not to be trusted under the best of circumstances, and these are not they. This Senate Speaker . . . what was his name . . . ?”

  She appeared to glance down, apparently consulting notes on another screen. “Lodec,” she said.

  Calhoun felt as if his mind was freezing. He simply stood there, staring at Shelby, and it took him a little time to realize that her mouth was moving and words were coming out. “Mac,” she was saying, “are you all right?”

  “Lodec? Are you sure? Of the house of Falkar?”

  Shelby frowned. “Actually they said, ‘Formerly of the house of Falkar.’ Why? Do you know him?”

  The Excalibur captain laughed very softly at that. “In a sense, yes. The last time I saw him was in the depths of space, after the business with Gerrid Thul and the Double Helix. I wanted to blow him to bits at the time. I didn’t. Before that, you’d have to go back, oh, about thirty years or so . . . when I stood there helplessly and watched him murder my father.”

  She paled when he said that. He could see it, even on the small view screen. “Oh, Mac. Oh, honey, I didn’t know . . . I’m so sorry . . .”

  “There’s no way you could have known,” and he drew a deep breath, “and no way it should be relevant. But it is. These are bad people, Eppy. Bad people. Si Cwan has to understand that. You can’t let him—”

  Suddenly the screen became thick with static, Shelby’s picture blurring out. Not only that, but the lights overhead flickered. “Elizabeth!” he called.

  “Mac, I can’t hear you!” she said, but her voice was no longer synching up with her mouth. Moments later, her image vanished completely.

  “Grozit!” snarled Calhoun, and he tapped his com badge. “Calhoun to bridge. What the hell happened to our com channel?”

  “Just about to summon you, Captain,” Burgoyne’s voice came back. “We’re approaching Zone 18 Alpha. The energy emissions that we were supposed to explore here appear to be interfering with some of our systems.”

  “On my way.” He glanced sadly at the screen. “Sorry, Eppy. We’ll have to pick it up later.”

  ii.

  Soleta couldn’t help herself. She felt as if she were looking at Mark McHenry differently than she had been before. As she stood there at her science station, she kept casting glances in his direction and just . . . wondering. He didn’t seem any different than usual . . . well, yes. Yes, actually, he did, slightly. Much of the time, McHenry would be at his post and looking for all the world as if he were dozing. It had been one of his most disconcerting traits. Officers from Calhoun to Shelby and even William Riker had had to make the adjustment in realizing that looks could be deceiving, and that McHenry was in fact extremely alert to everything that was going on at all times.

  But McHenry was a little different this time, ever since they had begun the approach to Zone 18 Alpha. Soleta knew she wasn’t imagining it, because Morgan Primus, seated at ops, had noticed it herself, even though she was relatively new to regular bridge assignment.

  “Are you all right, Mark?” she inquired.

  McHenry turned and glanced at Morgan. “Yes. Why?”

  “Well . . . you’re awake,” she said.

  McHenry smiled wanly. “That’s not the strangest thing in the world, is it?”

  “For you, yes, it is a little odd.”

  As Calhoun walked out onto the bridge, Soleta looked over to Kebron. Ever since their conversation earlier, he had not broached the subject of his suspicions about McHenry. He seemed, in fact, utterly focused on his job . . . which was, Soleta supposed, as it should be. She found it disconcerting, though, that she was now regarding Mark McHenry—whom she had known for years—as if he were a total stranger. On one level, it seemed absurd. After all, how could anyone reasonably be suspicious of somebody simply because they were awake? At their post? It was patently ridiculous.

  And yet . . . look at him, thought Soleta. He seemed fidgety, uncomfortable. If there was any individual whom she had ever met who never appeared nervous about anything, it was Mark McHenry. Or was it that she was applying her own concerns and misgivings to him, and her perceptions were being filtered through those? It was impossible for her to tell, and she found that singularly frustrating. She was supposed to be a scientist, the science officer of the Excalibur. What kind of scientist—hell, what kind of Vulcan—was she if she could not be trusted to provide dispassionate observation of a subject?

  Well, that was what the problem was, wasn’t it. She was thinking of McHenry as a “subject.” Something to be considered, studied, probed, instead of a longtime friend and crewmate. It was ridiculous. At the same time, she couldn’t help herself. She was totally suspicious of him.

  Calhoun was standing beside his chair, staring at the empty space presented on the screen. Burgoyne had just brought him up to speed on their present situation. “Do we have any other problems besides long-range communications?” he asked.

  Burgoyne, addressing the broad question to the rest of the bridge crew, said, “Status reports?”

  “All ships systems operating normally,” Morgan Primus said promptly, checking her instrumentation.

  McHenry didn’t even bother to look. “Helm and navigation holding steady.”

  Soleta turned her mind back to the business at hand, pulling it away from pointless speculation about McHenry. “We’re experiencing difficulties with longrange sensor sweeps. Although I’m getting energy readings, I’m unable to determine the point of origin or precisely what types of energies they might be.”

  “Short-range scanners?” asked Burgoyne.

  “Operational norm.”

  Burgoyne turned to Kebron. “Weapons? Tactical?”

  “Normal.”

  Nodding in approval, he called out, “Bridge to engine room.”

  “Engine room. Mitchell here.”

  “Status report on the engines, Mr. Mitchell?”

  There was a pause, and then Mitchell’s shocked voice came back, “Oh my God! They’re gone!”

  Soleta saw Morgan twist around in her seat, looking utterly perplexed. Several other bridge crew members were likewise startled by the outburst. But Calhoun simply rolled his eyes while the unflappable Burgoyne said mildly, “Mr. Mitchell . . .”

  “They were right here, I swear! The moment I turned my back, though . . .”

  “Craig—” Burgoyne said in a warning tone.

  “Engines are fine, Lieutenant Commander. All readouts are normal.”

  “Good. You might have said that in the first pla—”

  “They ask about you all the time, though. They have trouble sleeping at night.”

  “Thank y
ou for sharing that. Bridge out.”

  Calhoun stared at Burgoyne. “He was the best we could do for chief engineer, was he?”

  Burgoyne shrugged. “A number of people said that in regards to your choosing me for first officer, Captain.”

  “I know I did,” McHenry volunteered.

  Leaning against his chair thoughtfully for a moment, Calhoun then turned to Soleta and said, “Thoughts, Lieutenant?”

  Soleta pulled her mind back to the matter at hand. “In regards to the scrambling of our long-range sensors?” He nodded. She gave it some thought and said, “I see two possibilities, Captain. Either the interference is an unavoidable result, caused by the fundamental and asyetunknown nature of the phenomenon that we have been sent to explore . . .”

  “Or?”

  She took a breath. “Or that there is something out there deliberately blocking our long-distance sensors in order to force us to come in closer.”

  “Agreed,” said Calhoun. “Recommendations?”

  “I don’t see how we can go in unless we have more information,” Burgoyne said, pacing the upper ramp of the bridge.

  “Our assignment is to explore it,” said Soleta. “I, for one, do not see how we can reasonably remain where we are and do our job. There is concern from Starfleet that an unknown energy source might be, at the very least, a previously unknown gateway.”

  “Lord, I hope not,” said Calhoun. He started to tug thoughtfully on his beard, and then caught himself and lowered his hand. “I’m getting a feeling that we are indeed heading into something that is not simply ‘natural.’ On the other hand, people: We knew the job was dangerous when we took it. Mr. McHenry, ahead full impulse. Soleta, keep sensor scans on maximum. If you find anything out there that even looks at us funny, we’ll . . .” He stopped and looked in the direction of the conn. “Mr. McHenry . . . was my order unclear?”

  “No, sir,” said McHenry. He sat there with his hands resting on the conn board, but he was making no move to drive the ship forward.

  Soleta exchanged silent looks with Kebron. The look in the Brikar’s eyes seemed to speak volumes: See? But Soleta quickly pushed that away. So McHenry was acting strangely. So what? It wasn’t as if it was the first time, and he’d always come through in the past.

  Calhoun stepped forward, leaning over and looking into McHenry’s face. The captain didn’t seem angry so much as he did concerned. “Mark?” he said softly. “Is there a problem? Something you wish to discuss?”

  Whatever was bothering McHenry, he shook it off. “No, sir,” he said, forcing himself to sound brisk and businesslike. “Just a bit distracted. No problem at all. Half impulse—”

  “Full . . . impulse, Mr. McHenry,” Calhoun corrected.

  “Full impulse, aye,” said McHenry, and a moment later the starship was heading toward the area in question.

  There was silence on the bridge for a time. Everyone was going about his or her business, and there was no one thing that made Soleta think that anything was wrong. But McHenry’s hesitation had struck everyone there as odd, and it was as if it was feeding into a pensive atmosphere. She almost wished that Calhoun would take McHenry aside and ask him what was going on, but Calhoun did not do so. Instead he would glance in McHenry’s direction, and once as he passed by he rested his hand on the conn officer’s shoulder as if to silently assure him that all was well. But Kebron was not taking his eyes off McHenry, as if he expected the helmsman to have some sort of sudden breakdown, or perhaps launch an assault on another crewman.

  This is ridiculous, she thought. Kebron’s got me watching Mark as if I’ve never seen him before in my life. This is Mark McHenry. He’s as loyal as a basset hound, and about as dangerous as a carrot. There can’t be any problems with him. Kebron is just imagining it, that’s all.

  The thing was, she knew that Zak Kebron might have been many things, but he was not given to flights of fancy. If he thought something was up with McHenry, then something was most likely up. The fact that McHenry didn’t seem to have his head in the game during this latest assignment didn’t help matters at all.

  While all this was going through her head, Soleta deftly managed to multitask, keeping an eye on readings and making sure that the odd energies of Zone 18 Alpha were not wreaking further havoc with any instrumentation.

  The long-range sensors were still providing her with nothing. Using the long-range sensors to track down the energy emissions was like trying to pick up liquid mercury with chopsticks. Every so often she thought she could extract some sort of reading on these very odd, very unusual energy waves, radiating in patterns that were unlike any she’d ever seen. She would get tantalizingly close and then . . . nothing. Gone again. “Chimera,” she muttered.

  “What?” asked Burgoyne, overhearing. “It’s shimmering?”

  “Not shimmering. Chimera,” said Soleta.

  “Isn’t that a beast from Greek myth?” asked Morgan, turning to look at Soleta. “With a lion’s head and a goat’s body?”

  “And a serpent’s tail, yes.”

  “We’re chasing a mythological beast?” asked a confused Burgoyne.

  McHenry looked uneasily at the screen. “I certainly hope not.”

  It was Calhoun who stepped in. “A chimera also refers to any creature or being that’s an agglomeration of unrelated parts. But I suspect that what our lieutenant is referring to is the concept of a goal that is unattainable; an illusion of the mind. You seek it out but, just when you think you’re within reach . . . it’s gone.”

  “ ‘A fancy, a chimera in my brain, troubles me in my prayer,’ ” said McHenry.

  “Very good, Lieutenant,” Calhoun said approvingly. “You’re familiar with the works of John Donne?”

  “Some. I’ve just always taken that quote to heart, that’s all,” McHenry told him.

  Soleta was beginning to get genuinely concerned. McHenry wasn’t sounding like himself at all. And even from where she was, she could sense Kebron’s gaze boring into the back of McHenry’s neck. “In any event, you are correct, Captain,” she said, trying to bring attention away from McHenry. “My sensor scans appear to pick up something, but then become vague and unspecific. I am having great difficulty locking down the source of the energy emissions. It’s there . . . but it’s not.”

  “ ‘I thought I saw upon the stair, a little man who wasn’t there,’ ” quoted Morgan. “ ‘He wasn’t there again today. Oh, how I wish he’d go away.’ ” She stopped, pleased with herself, and then added, “Ogden Nash.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Calhoun, and although his calm demeanor remained, he also displayed a flash of impatience. “And if we happened to be a literature-appreciation circle, I would be extremely pleased with the direction in which things are going. However, what with this being a starship and all, I’d be far more pleased if we could actually accomplish our mission. Soleta, a probe perhaps . . . ?”

  “I was just going to recommend that, Captain. The problem is that the interference from the energy emission’s source . . . whatever that may be . . . could impede our ability to stay in contact with the probe.”

  “Granted, but it may still be worth a try,” said Calhoun, easing himself into his chair. “At this rate, we still have no idea what’s giving off these emissions. A ship, an uncharted sun, a wormhole, a spatial rip of some sort . . . it could be anything. The probe might enable us to . . .”

  “Captain!” Soleta said abruptly, looking at her instrumentation. “I’m getting something on the short-range scanners. It just . . . it just appeared there, sir.”

  “You mean it came into range?”

  “No, I mean one moment it wasn’t there, and the next, it was.” She hated not being able to give a more coherent answer than that, but she was befuddled by what was presenting itself to her.

  “Can you get me anything on screen?” Calhoun was leaning forward in his chair, his full attention on the main viewer.

  The screen wavered for a moment as Soleta fed her sensors through
it, but what appeared there didn’t seem to be especially satisfying. It floated, nebulous, its shape shifting, stars visible through it. “It seems similar to an ion cloud,” she said thoughtfully, “but there are significant differences between—”

  But Calhoun suddenly wasn’t listening. Instead his head snapped around, and Soleta saw that he was looking at McHenry. “Lieutenant, what are you doing?”

  Soleta saw it a moment after Calhoun had. McHenry, with no warning and with no explanation, was changing the course of the ship. He didn’t even seem to be aware that he was doing it. His eyes were wide, his body stiffened as if someone had jammed a rod down his spine. He was muttering under his breath, and at first Soleta couldn’t make out what he was saying. But then she heard it. “Got to go . . . got to go,” he kept saying, more to himself than anyone else around.

  “McHenry!” said Calhoun sharply. “Belay that! Reset heading for previous course and speed and maintain it!”

  McHenry simply shook his head, like a man trying to shake off a dream. The Excalibur, under his deft handling, was already well on its way to doing a one-eighty and heading away from its previous destination.

  “McHenry!” Calhoun was out of his seat, and Burgoyne was moving toward him as well. Even as the captain and first officer converged on McHenry, a hail came in from the engineering room.

  “Engineering to bridge!” came Mitchell’s voice. “We just got a signal from conn for warp nine! That speed is usually authorized directly from command. Do you want—”

  “Ignore it!” snapped Calhoun, and he was almost to McHenry, as was Burgoyne. “Mr. McHenry, you are relieved of duty! Ensign Pfizer,” he called to one of the duty officers, “take over for—”

  That was as close to McHenry as Calhoun and Burgoyne got. A sudden discharge of energy rent the air. Calhoun was knocked flat on his back. Burgoyne was hit even harder, perhaps because s/he had been moving faster. S/he was sent flying over the back railing, and only Kebron’s quick intercession prevented hir from crashing into the rear tactical array.