New Frontier

by Peter David

  The gap between Ryjaan and Calhoun widened, and Ryjaan took several steps back, ran, and leaped. He vaulted the distance and landed several feet above Calhoun. He shouted in triumph even as he pulled a dagger from the upper part of his boot. He started to clamber toward Calhoun . . .

  . . . and suddenly the ground shifted beneath them once more, thrusting forward onto the lip of another chunk of land. Just that quickly, the land they were on was now twenty feet in the air. There was an outcropping from another mountain that was within range of a jump, and it would be a more tenable position than Calhoun’s present one, provided he could get to it.

  Ryjaan started to get to his feet, to come after Calhoun across the momentarily semi-level surface—and suddenly the ground jolted once more. The cracks radiated as far as the eye could see, as if the landscape of Thallon had transformed into a massive jigsaw puzzle. In the distance, the great city of Thai—once the center of commerce, the seat of power, of the Thallonian Empire—was crumbling, the mighty towers plunging to the ground.

  The jostling sent Ryjaan off balance, and he was tossed toward the edge of the precipice . . . toward it and over. With a screech he tumbled, and the only thing that prevented him from going over completely was a frantic, one-handed grip that he managed to snag on the edge. A short drop below him, lava seethed, almost as if it were calling to him. He tried to haul himself up, cursing, growling . . .

  . . . and then Calhoun was there, fury in his eyes, and he was poised over Ryjaan. It would take but a single punch to send Ryjaan tumbling down into the lava. To put an end to him. The savage within Calhoun wanted to, begged him to. And he knew that there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to save Ryjaan . . .

  . . . and he grabbed Ryjaan’s wrist.

  “Hold on!” he shouted down to Ryjaan. “Come on! I’ll pull you up!”

  Ryjaan looked up at him with eyes that were filled with twenty years’ worth of hatred.

  And then he spat at him. “Go to hell,” he said, and pulled loose from Calhoun’s grip. Calhoun cried out, but it was no use as Ryjaan plunged down, down into the lava which swallowed him greedily.

  Calhoun staggered to his feet, then grabbed up his sword and prepared to jump to relative safety on the outcropping nearby.

  And then there was another explosion, even more deafening than the previous ones, and Calhoun was blown backward. This time he held on to his sword, for all the good it was going to do him. He was airborne, flailing around, unable to stop his motion, nothing for him to grab on to except air. Below him the lava lapped upward, and in his imaginings he thought he could hear Ryjaan screaming triumphantly at him, for it was only a matter of seconds as gravity took its inevitable grip and pulled the falling Calhoun into the magma.

  Then something banged into him in midair, and he heard a voice shout, “Emergency beam-up!”

  His mind didn’t even have time to fully register that it was Shelby’s voice before Thallon dematerialized around him, and the next thing he knew they were falling to the floor of the transporter room. He looked around in confusion and there was Shelby, dusting herself off and looking somewhat haggard. “Nice work, Polly.” Watson tossed off a quick, acknowledging salute.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” he asked.

  “I was there the whole time. We monitored you via your comm badge until you were brought to wherever your surging testosterone demanded you be brought to so you could slug it out, and then I had myself beamed down to be on the scene in case matters became—in my judgment—too dire.” She tapped the large metal casings on her feet. “Gravity boots. Comes in handy every now and then, particularly when the ground keeps crumbling under you.” She pulled off the boots and straightened her uniform.

  “You saw the entire thing?”

  “Yeah.” She took a breath. “It was all I could do not to jump in earlier. But I knew you had to see it through.” She headed out the door, and Calhoun was right behind her. Moments later they had stepped into a turbolift.

  “Bridge,” said Calhoun, and then he said to Shelby, “You did that even though I gave you specific orders to stay here. Even though I told you, no matter what, that you weren’t to interfere. Even though the Prime Directive would have indicated that you should stay out of it.”

  “Well, you see . . . someone once told me that sometimes you simply have to assess a situation and say, ’Dammit, it’s me or no one. And if you can’t live with no one, then you have to take action.’ “

  “Oh, really. Sounds like a pretty smart guy.”

  “He likes to think he is, yes.”

  • • •

  Calhoun walked out onto the bridge and said briskly, “Status report!”

  The fact that Calhoun was bruised, battered, and bloody didn’t draw any comment from any of the bridge crew. They were too busy trying to survive. Burgoyne was at hish engineering station on the bridge, someplace that s/he didn’t normally inhabit. But with the rapid changes required in the ship’s acceleration, s/he wanted to be right at the nerve center of the decisions so that s/he could make whatever immediate adjustments might be required.

  “We’re at full reverse, Captain!” McHenry said. “I couldn’t maintain orbit; the planet’s breaking up and the gravity field was shifting too radically!”

  “Take us to a safe distance, then,” Calhoun said. “Soleta, what’s happening down there?”

  “The planet is breaking up, sir,” Soleta replied, “due to—I believe—stress caused by something inside trying to get out.”

  “Get out?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The area around Thallon was crammed with vessels of all sizes and shapes, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the shattering planet as possible. The confusion was catastrophic; at one point several ships collided with each other in their haste to get away from Thallon, erupting into flames and spiraling away into the ether. Fortunately enough most of the pilots were more levelheaded than that.

  “Status on the current population?”

  “Most of them have managed to clear out in private vessels, sir,” said Soleta. “Some chose to remain on the planet and . . .”

  “Foolish. Dedicated but foolish,” said Calhoun.

  “We’ve evacuated over a thousand people onto the Excalibur as well,” said Kebron.

  “A thousand?” gasped Shelby. “Maximum capacity for this ship in an evacuation procedure is supposed to be six hundred.”

  “We’ve asked that they all stand sideways.”

  “Good thinking, Kebron,” Calhoun said dryly. He turned to Shelby and said, “Looks like we’ll be taking Nelkar up on their offer sooner than anticipated.” Then he noticed Si Cwan standing off to the side, very quiet, his attention riveted to the screen. “Are you all right, Ambassador?”

  He shifted his gaze to Calhoun and said, “Of course not.”

  It seemed a fair enough response.

  “Sir, energy buildup!” announced Soleta.

  “Take us back another five hundred thousand kilometers, Mr. McHenry. Burgoyne, have warp speed ready, just in case we need to get out of here quickly.”

  “Perhaps it would be wiser to vacate the area now,” Shelby suggested.

  “You’re very likely correct. It would be wiser. However, I think I want to see this.”

  She nodded. Truth to tell, she wanted to see it as well.

  On the screen, Thallon continued to shudder, its entire surface ribboned with cracks. Even from the distance at which they currently sat, they could see lava bubbling in all directions. The very planet appeared to be pulsating, throbbing under the strain of whatever was pushing its way out.

  And then, all of a suddenly, something thrust up from within.

  It was a claw. A single, giant, flaming claw, miles wide, smashing up through what was once a polar icecap. Then another flaming claw, several hundred miles away, and then a third claw and a fourth, but these at the opposite ends of the planet, and they seemed even larger. The screen adjusted the brigh
tness to avoid damaging the eyesight of the bridge crew.

  The process begun, it moved faster and faster, more pieces breaking away, and then the planet broke apart in a stunning display of matter and energy. Thallon erupted from the inside out . . .

  . . . and there was a creature there unlike anything that Calhoun had ever seen.

  It seemed vaguely avian in appearance, with feathers made of roaring flame and energy crackling around it. Its talons of flame flexed outward, and its massive wings unfurled. Its beak was long and wide, and it opened its mouth in a scream that could not be heard in the depths of space. Incredibly, stars were visible through the creature. It was as if it was a creature that was both there . . . and not there.

  “I don’t believe it,” said a stunned Calhoun. “What the hell is it?”

  “Unknown, sir,” replied Soleta. “In general physicality, it seems evocative of such beasts as the ancient pteranodon, or the flamebird of Ricca 4. But its size, its physical makeup . . .”

  “Oh, my God,” said Burgoyne in slow astonishment. “It can’t be. Don’t you get it?” s/he said with growing excitement.

  “What is it, Burgy?” asked Shelby, who was as riveted to the screen as any of them.

  “It’s . . . it’s the Great Bird of the Galaxy.”

  THE GREAT BIRD OF THE GALAXY

  XI.

  “DON’T BE RIDICULOUS!” said Shelby. “That’s . . . that’s a myth!”

  “Once upon a time, so was the idea of life on other planets,” commented Zak Kebron.

  The Great Bird, in the airlessness of space, continued to move its wings. It crackled with power. Extending its jaws, it gobbled up floating chunks left over from Thallon . . .

  . . . and then it seemed to turn its attention to the Starship Excalibur.

  “Uh-oh,” said Shelby.

  “I do not like the looks of this,” Calhoun agreed. “Aren’t baby birds hungry first thing after they’re born?”

  “Customarily,” Soleta said.

  “What if it moves to attack the other ships?’”

  “It doesn’t seem interested in anyone else but us, Shelby,” said Calhoun. “Probably because we’re the biggest.”

  “Shall we prepare to fight it, sir?” asked Kebron, fingers already moving to the tactical station.

  “Fight the Great Bird of the Galaxy?” said Calhoun. “Even we have to know our limitations.”

  The creature moved toward them, and Shelby said, “It seems to have a bead on us.”

  “I think you’re right. Okay . . . move us out at warp factor one. Let’s draw it away from the area and give everyone a chance to clear out.”

  “Incoming message from one of the vessels, sir,” Kebron announced.

  “Save it. Now isn’t the time. Mr. McHenry, get us out of here.”

  The Excalibur went into reverse thrust, pivoted, and moved away from the shattered remains of Thai-Ion, with the Great Bird of the Galaxy, or whatever it was, in hot pursuit.

  “It’s picking up speed,” said Lefler.

  “Jump us to warp four,” Calhoun ordered, sitting calmly with his fingers steepled.

  With a thrust from its mighty warp engines, the Excalibur leaped forward. The Great Bird, if such it was, flapped its wings and kept moving, pacing them.

  “According to legend,” Burgoyne was saying, “there can only be one Great Bird at a time. And when it senses its end is near, the Great Bird imparts its essence into a world, gestates over centuries, and is then reborn. I guess that’s why it was ‘mythological ’ . . . it takes centuries for the ’egg,’ if you will, to hatch.”

  “But you told me ’May the Great Bird of the Galaxy roost on your planet’ was a blessing,” Calhoun pointed out.

  “Obviously it was. Look at the prosperity that Thallon saw during the time of the roosting.”

  “But when it hatches, the planet is destroyed! What kind of blessing is that?”

  “It’s oral tradition, not an exact science, sir,” McHenry commented.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Burgoyne said.

  “Sir, it’s catching up.”

  “Pull out the stops, Mr. McHenry. Warp nine.”

  The Excalibur raced away, and this time the creature seemed to let out another squawk before the Excalibur left it far behind. It dwindled, further and further, to the farthest reaches of the ship’s sensor, and then was gone.

  There was a slow sigh of relief let out on the bridge. “Well,” said Shelby brightly, “that wasn’t too much of a chore.”

  “Collision course!” shouted McHenry.

  The Great Bird was directly in front of them, its mouth open wide. Faster than anyone would have thought possible, McHenry course-corrected and tried to send the ship angling out of the way of the creature’s maw.

  No good. The Excalibur flew straight into the Great Bird’s mouth . . .

  . . . and out the other side of its head.

  The ship was jolted, shaken throughout, and it was all that the bridge crew could do to keep its seats. “Damage report!” shouted Calhoun.

  “Slight dip in deflector shields! Otherwise we’re clear!” called Lefler.

  The creature appeared on their rear monitors. It appeared to be watching them go with great curiosity. Indeed, if any of the crew were given to fanciful interpretations of events, they would have said that the creature seemed just as curious about this new life-form that it had encountered as the new life-form was about them.

  And then, with a twist of its powerful wings, the Great Bird seemed to warp through the very fabric of space . . .

  . . and disappeared without a trace.

  This time there was a long pause before anyone took it for granted that they were safe. And then Shelby said, “Where do you think it went?”

  “Anywhere it wanted to,” McHenry commented, and no one disagreed.

  “Captain . . . I suggest you get yourself down to sickbay. You need to be patched up,” said Shelby.

  “Good advice, Commander.” He rose unsteadily from his chair, and found himself leaning on Kebron. “Ah. You wouldn’t mind escorting me down there, would you, Lieutenant?”

  But Shelby stepped in and said, “Don’t worry, Kebron. I’ll handle this. After all . . . if you can’t lean on your second-in-command, whom can you lean on?”

  “Good point,” said Calhoun wearily.

  “And a word of advice: Don’t keep the second scar on your face. The one is enough.”

  “Sound suggestion, as always.”

  As they headed to the turbolift, he paused and said, “Oh . . . we had an incoming message? What was that about?”

  “Audio only, sir. I’ll put it on.”

  Kebfon tapped his comm board and a voice filled the bridge. A voice that was instantly recognizable as Zoran’s.

  And Zoran said, “Si Cwan . . . I just wanted you to know . . . I lied before. Your sister is alive. Try and find her, O Prince.”

  And his chilling laughter continued in Si Cwan’s memory long after the message had ended.

  U.S.S. EXCALIBUR

  XII.

  IT WAS EVENING on the Excalibur . . . evening being a relative term, of course.

  Selar was in her off-duty clothes, and she looked at herself in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, she liked what she saw in there.

  She was nervous, so nervous that she could feel trembling throughout her body. For a moment she considered turning away from her intended course, but she had made a decision, dammit, and she was going to see it through.

  She smoothed out her clothes for the umpteenth time and headed toward Burgoyne’s quarters. On the way she rehearsed for herself everything she was going to say. The ground rules she was going to set. The hopes that she had for this potential relationship. She would never have considered Burgoyne her type, but there was something about hir that was so . . . so offbeat. So different. Perhaps that was what Selar needed. Someone to whom questions such as sex and relationships and interaction were nothing but matters to b
e joyously explored rather than tentatively entered into.

  That, Selar realized, was what she needed. Whatever this residual urge was within her, driving her forward, it was something that needed a radical spirit to respond to. Someone offbeat, someone aggressive, someone . . .

  . . . someone . . .

  . . . someone was with Burgoyne.

  Selar slowed to a halt as she neared Burgoyne’s quarters, her sharp ears detecting the laughter from around the corner.

  And then they moved around the corner into view: Burgoyne 172, leaning on the shoulder of Mark McHenry. They seemed hysterically amused by something; Selar had no idea what. Just before they stumbled into Burgoyne’s quarters, Burgoyne planted a fierce kiss on McHenry’s mouth, to which he readily responded. Then he popped what appeared to be some sort of chips into hish mouth, which Burgoyne crunched joyously. They side-stepped into Burgoyne’s quarters, and the door slid shut behind them.

  Selar stood there for a long moment. This was going to be a problem. She had counted on Burgoyne to resolve her . . . difficulty with her mating drive. Perhaps a return to Vulcan was in order. Or perhaps there was another solution, closer to hand.

  Selar returned to her quarters, changed into her nightclothes, and stood before the memorial lamp which burned so that she would remember Voltak.

  She reached over, extinguished the light for the first time in two years—never to light it again—and fell into a fitful sleep.

  • • •

  In his ready room, Calhoun had just finished mounting the sword back onto the wall. He heard a chime at the door and said, “Come.”

  Shelby entered, and stood just inside the doorway. “I was wondering . . . I was about to head down to the Team Room and have a drink. Thought you might like to come along.”

  ‘That sounds great.” He regarded the sword for a moment and said, “You know what was interesting?”

  “No, Mac. What was interesting?”