New Frontier

by Peter David

  V.

  “ISN’T IT AMAZING?” murmured Calhoun, as the planet Nelkar rotated below them. He gazed at it upon the screen. “One planet looks so much like another when you’re up here. Sometimes you want to take planetbound races who are at war with each other, bring them up here, show them their world. Make them realize that it’s one world that they should all be sharing, rather than fighting over it.”

  From her position next to him on the bridge, Shelby asked, “And if someone had done that for young . . .” She hesitated over the pronunciation, as she always did, gargling it slightly, “M’k’n’zy of Calhoun . . . would he have stopped fighting?”

  “No,” he said with amused admission. He thought of the short sword mounted on the wall of his ready room. “Mr. Boyajian,” he said in a slightly louder voice, deliberately changing subjects, “have you raised the planet’s surface yet?”

  “Not yet, sir. As of this point, I’m . . . Wait. Receiving transmission now.”

  “On screen.”

  The screen wavered ever so slightly, and then a male Nelkarite appeared. He had much the same angelic look as Laheera did . . . that same “too good to be true” appearance that Calhoun had felt so annoying when they’d first encountered the Nelkarites.

  “Greetings,” he said in a musical voice evocative of Laheera’s. “I am Celter, governor of the capital city of Selinium. Welcome to Nelkar.”

  “Mackenzie Calhoun, captain of the Excalibur. Laheera informed us that you were willing to provide sanctuary for the passengers we have aboard.”

  “That is so. And she informed us,” and clear amusement tinged his features, “that you did not trust us.”

  “It is my duty to be judicious when making first contacts,” Calhoun said reasonably. “I would be remiss if I did not have at least some concerns with depositing four dozen people on an alien world.”

  “I remind you, Captain, that you are the aliens here. If anyone has the right to be concerned, it is we. Yet we welcome you, trust you. We would like to think that we should be accorded, at the very least, similar consideration.”

  “Point taken,” said Calhoun. “Nonetheless, if it is all the same to you, we will send an escort down with our passengers. I’d prefer a firsthand report of the environment where we’re dropping them off.”

  “As you wish, Captain,” said Celter with polite indifference. “We have nothing to hide. We are merely doing our best to be altruistic. These are, after all, unusual times.”

  “All times are unusual, Governor, Some are just more unusual than others. Please send us the coordinates for an away team, and we will prepare your new residents for landfall. Calhoun out.” The screen blinked off before Celter could say anything else.

  And then, before Calhoun could give any order, make any pronouncement, Shelby said crisply, “Captain, request permission to head the away team, sir.”

  The request stopped Calhoun in midthought, and he turned to Shelby. One look into those deep purple eyes of his, and Shelby instantly knew that her surmise had been correct: Calhoun had intended to lead the away team himself, despite Starfleet’s policies to the contrary. Had he voiced the composition of the away team before she’d said anything, she would have had to try and talk him into changing his mind after already speaking it. She had no desire to get into a contest of wills with him; by the same token, she had every intention of fulfilling her obligations as first officer of the Excalibur. And one of those obligations was to spearhead away teams so that the captain could remain safe within the confines of the bridge.

  All this was conveyed by a silent look passing between the two. It was so subtle, so understated, that it went past everyone else on the bridge. Calhoun knew Shelby’s mind, and she knew his. He knew precisely why she had jumped in, and he didn’t seem particularly appreciative of it. By the same token, he was also aware that she was trying to be respectful of his position and feelings. She had volunteered in such a way that her presence on the away team could now come across as a snap command decision by Calhoun, rather than a point of order over which the two of them would have to argue.

  Slowly he said, “Very well. Commander Shelby, you’ll take an away team composed of yourself, Lieutenant Lefler, and Security Officer Meyer.”

  Robin Lefler looked up from her station. “Me, sir?”

  “I want an assessment on their level of technology. Your engineering background makes you the appropriate choice. Plus you finished in the top three percentile of your class in First Contact Procedures at the Academy.”

  She blinked in surprise, clearly impressed by her captain’s apparent command over the minutiae of her academic career. Even she didn’t remember exactly where she’d ranked in that one particular class. “Uhm . . . yes, sir.” She rose from her station, and Boyajian, a solid “utility player” on the bridge, stepped in to take her place. She headed out at Shelby’s side.

  “Captain,” McHenry said the moment they were gone, “how did you know that Lefler scored so high in the F.C. Pro class?”

  Calhoun smiled. “I didn’t. But who’s going to deny doing well in a class?”

  “Captain.”

  He turned to face Soleta, who had just spoken. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “Dr. Selar would like me to come down to sickbay.”

  “Are you ill, Lieutenant?”

  “Not to my knowledge, sir. I’m not entirely certain why she wants to see me. She just now contacted me privately over my comm badge. I assume it is some sort of personal matter. Permission to leave the bridge?”

  Calhoun considered it a moment, wondering whether he should go directly to Selar and ask after her. But something told him to keep a distance from the situation. “You’re asking my permission for something as simple as leaving the bridge?”

  “Regulations state, sir, that during a time of contact or in the midst of a mission, all hands are to remain on station and must request permission for any reason if—”

  “I know the regs, Lieutenant, but the person who wrote them isn’t here. You’re a big girl, Soleta. Just tell me you’re going and don’t drop your comm badge down the commode or something so I can’t reach you.”

  “Sir, leaving the bridge.”

  “Have a nice trip.”

  She headed into the turbolift and Calhoun sighed inwardly. What was going to be next? Shouting “Captain on the bridge!” whenever he set foot into the place? Part of him appreciated the endeavors to have respect for proper procedures. By the same token, he had seen people follow procedures so rigidly that others had died because of it. Died needlessly.

  An inner voice warned him not to dwell on it excessively, for that way lay madness. And so he turned his attention back to the planet that was spinning below them.

  He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising.

  He didn’t like the feel of this one bit.

  • • •

  The Excalibur didn’t have the facilities to beam all four dozen passengers from the Cambon down at one time. So they were sent down in groups of six, with Shelby, Lefler, and Meyer in the first group. Meyer was slim but wiry, and he had piercing blue eyes that seemed to take in everything that was happening around them. He also had the fastest quick-draw on the ship.

  Lefler immediately began studying the architecture of Selinium, as well as recording her observations on her tricorder. They had materialized in what appeared to be a main square of the city. They were standing on an upper walkway, constructed above roadways upon which traffic was moving at a brisk clip. Lefler noticed that the vehicles were strictly low-tech, moving on wheels rather than any sort of antigrav or mag-lev basis.

  The city towered all around them. However, it was not a particularly large place, which was unusual considering it had been mentioned as the capital. In point of fact, the initial scans of Selinium didn’t seem to indicate more than a hundred thousand people residing there, which was—relatively speaking—puny.

  Still, there was something about the buildings that seemed . .
. off a bit. Lefler promptly began scanning them. She was so involved in it that she didn’t even see the welcome party approach the away team, and didn’t look up until she heard Shelby say, “Hello. I’m Commander Shelby, U.S.S. Excalibur. Captain Laheera, as I recall.”

  Laheera, flanked by several other officials, bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “’Captain’ would be more your term than ours. The more accurate equivalent would a term along the lines of ’First Among Equals.’ But ’Captain’ will suffice, if you are comfortable with that.”

  Lefler was struck by the fact that Laheera was relatively short. Indeed, of the group of them, none of them was much above five feet tall. And yet there was something about them, some sort of inner light that made them appear—it was hard to say—bigger than they actually were. Bigger, more impressive . . . something.

  Certainly her clothing did not leave much to the imagination. As opposed to the more “official” look of the outfit she’d worn when they first saw her, Laheera was now dressed completely in clinging white: a tight white top with a hem just below her hip, and white leggings under them. The cloth adhered so closely to the line of her figure that Shelby had to look twice to ascertain whether it was, in fact, body paint. It wasn’t, but it certainly could have been.

  Shelby made quick introductions, and then found that Captain Hufmin of the Cambon was hovering nearby. He had been one of the first to come down, concerned with making sure that his charges were being properly attended to. Although Shelby could tell, from the slightly panting way that he was looking at Laheera, that there had been more to Hufmin’s cooperative attitude than merely wishing to honor the desires of his passengers. He was clearly taken by the indisputable beauty of their hosts. And considering Laheera’s current ensemble, his interest was on the rise. Laheera could likely have asked him to stick a phaser in his mouth and pull the trigger, and he would gratefully have complied, with his last words being profound thanks for the honor of serving her.

  Lefler, meantime, turned her attention back to her duties while the introductions were being made. Shelby sidled up to her as Laheera, along with her associates, moved beyond them to meet and greet the rest of the refugees, who were continuing to beam down.

  “Opinions, Lieutenant?” asked Shelby.

  “Commander . . . you’re familiar with the Borg, as I recall.”

  “A bit,” Shelby said dryly.

  “Well . . . this place reminds me of them a little bit, in that the Borg have . . . what’s the word . . .?”

  “Assimilated?” suggested Shelby . . . always a good word when discussing the Borg.

  “Right. Assimilated technology from throughout the galaxy. The thing is, the Borg have integrated it smoothly into one, uniform whole. Here, it’s . . . it’s a hodgepodge. Look around you.” She indicated the buildings. “Everything’s just sort of strewn together, with no rhyme or reason. You can’t get any sense for the character of the environment. Over there, for instance,” and she pointed. “Look at the dome of that building.”

  “What about it?” said Shelby, but then she slowly started to answer her own question. “Wait a minute . . . isn’t that . . .?”

  “Andorian, yes. You can tell by the markings along the lower rim.”

  “What’s a dome from an Andorian building doing here?”

  “There’s an abandoned Andorian colony on the border of Sector 221-G. My guess is that at some point, the Nelkarites picked it clean. They took whatever caught their interest. That person over there, with Laheera? Wearing a cloak of Tellarite design. That gold iris-eye door fitted into that building over there? It’s off an Orion slave ship. This place is like a giant jigsaw puzzle. It’s like,” and she tried to find the right comparison. “It’s like walking into a cannibals’ village and finding clothes or trinkets taken from previous . . . uh . . . meals.”

  “Are you saying we have to worry about becoming the Nelkarites’ consuming interest?” Shelby said slowly. She noticed that Laheera and the others had finished greeting the refugees, and were now heading back toward herself and Lefler.

  Lefler seemed to consider the notion for a moment, but then she discarded it. “No . . . no, I don’t think so. They just seem interested in technology, that’s all. I don’t think there’s anything particularly dangerous about them. They’re just a small, scrappy race, trying to make use of whatever they happen to get their hands on, for the purpose of getting ahead. I’ll wager they even cobbled together the ship we confronted.”

  “Yes, Soleta made the same observation. Not saying it was ’cobbled together,’ but it seemed to be a patchwork of other technology, most conspicuously Kreel.”

  “It’s possible that Kreel raiders tried to show up here to take advantage of them . . . and paid for it with their ship.”

  “Which means that the Nelkarites are fully capable of protecting themselves,” Shelby mused. “Certainly that’s good news for the refugees. They could use some protection.”

  “Commander,” came Laheera’s musical voice. “Did I hear you saying something about . . . protection?” She seemed almost amused by the notion. “Certainly you don’t think we pose a threat to you?”

  Captain Hufmin sauntered up on the tail end of the comment, and before Shelby could say anything, he announced confidently, “Oh, I doubt that Commander Shelby ever thought such a thing. Right, Commander?”

  Shelby smiled noncommittally. “I’m rather curious, Laheera,” she said. “We’re depositing four dozen refugees on you. Where do you intend to put them?”

  “Oh, that’s not a problem at all. I’m glad you asked that, in fact,” and indeed Laheera seemed more than glad. She seemed delighted out of all proportion to the question. “We have some wonderful facilities which we’ve prepared.”

  “Not some sort of camps or something equally uninviting, I trust?”

  “Not at all, Commander.” Laheera leaned forward, sounding almost conspiratorial. “They’re so luxurious that you might want to stay on yourself instead of returning to the Excalibur.”

  Doing a fair impression of Laheera’s almost giddy, singsong voice, Shelby replied with faux excitement, “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Lefler put a hand to her mouth to cover her own laughter, although the slight shaking of her shoulders betrayed her amusement.

  “Come,” said Laheera, and then she waved to the refugees who were congregating in the square, looking around in wonderment at their new home. “Come along, all of you. I’ll show you to your residences.” She turned back to Shelby and said, clearly pleased with herself, “And then you can return to your captain and let him know that your people are in safe hands.” As she spoke, she hooked her arm through Hufmin’s and together they sauntered off.

  Shelby and Lefler exchanged looks.

  “I think I’m going to be ill,” said Lefler.

  VI.

  “I BELIEVE I AM ILL. Mentally ill. And I require your services to ascertain that.”

  Dr. Selar and Lieutenant Soleta were in Selar’s private quarters. Soleta had reported to sickbay as Selar had requested, but as soon as she was there the Vulcan doctor immediately decided that her office did not provide sufficient seclusion, and so she had requested that they relocate the meeting.

  Soleta was impressed at how utterly stark Selar’s quarters were. It was as if she didn’t really live there; as if her entire life were sickbay, and her quarters was simply where she retired to in order to attend to the minimal requirements necessary to her perpetuation. There was her computer (standard issue), her bed (standard issue).. .

  . . . and a single light.

  The fact that there was nothing else in the room to draw her attention naturally prompted Soleta to focus on it. It was tall, about a foot high, and cylindrical, and shimmered with a blue radiance. She found something unutterably sad about it, and she couldn’t exactly figure out why. Why would a light have a sadness about it?

  Selar saw what had drawn her attention. She didn’t smile, of course, or frown, or in any way ev
ince any emotion. “You have not seen a Shantzar? A Memory Lamp?”

  “No, I . . . have not,” Soleta said. “A tribute of sorts?”

  “Of sorts, yes. To someone . . . long gone.” Briskly, she turned to Soleta and said, “I am in a . . . somewhat difficult position. I must ask your indulgence, not only as a crew woman, but as a fellow Vulcan . . . indeed, the only other Vulcan on this vessel. I ask . . .” She cleared her throat. “I formally ask you to grant me Succor.”

  Soleta was not quite as skilled as Selar when it came to covering her surprise. “A formal request? You could not simply ask for my help, and assume that I would give it?”

  She looked downward. It was surprising to Soleta that Selar was having trouble meeting her direct gaze. “We speak of delicate matters and uncertainties. I do not wish to impose on friendship.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” said Selar. “That is the point.”

  “I cannot say I understand, because that would be lying.”

  Selar looked around her cabin, looked anywhere except at Soleta. “I do not . . . interact well with others,” she said after a time.

  “A curious admission for a doctor to make,” Soleta couldn’t help but observe.

  Another might have taken that as a criticism, but Selar merely nodded in acknowledgment. “As a doctor, I do not see myself interacting with individuals, but rather with their ailments. It is no more necessary to make an emotional investment in patients than it is for an engineer to bond with a power coupling. If it breaks, it is my job, my vocation, to repair it. That is all.”

  “But engineers do bond, do they not?” asked Selar. “Humans in particular. They tend to invest inanimate objects with a sense of life. They even ascribe genders to their vessels, calling them ’she.’”

  “Granted. It gives them . . . comfort, I would imagine. Humans are frequently in need of comfort.” She looked imperiously at Soleta. “Vulcans are not. That is one of the elements which has been our greatest strength.”

  And with a sigh, Soleta replied, “Or weakness.”