STAR TREK: The Lost Era - 2355-2357 - Deny Thy Father

by Jeff Mariotte

  On this particular morning, Kyle had been looking for the gym he’d been told was on the fourth deck below his—all the decks were identified by Kreel’n symbols which looked like nothing more than squiggles to him, so he had to count every time he went up or down the ladders, on which the rungs were far too close together for his long legs. The ship had no turbolifts, he learned to his surprise.

  He had found the gym, but it hadn’t taken long to discover that none of the equipment inside it was suitable for his physiology. He’d have to settle for the exercises he could perform in his own quarters, without equipment, supplemented by runs or walks through the long corridors.

  Heading back to his quarters, he had indeed taken a wrong turn somewhere—he thought probably at one of the several points where five or six passageways converged on one another in a star pattern—and, trying to backtrack, had found himself in a part of the ship he hadn’t yet seen. Here, pipes hung down from the metal ceiling, suspended by thin steel straps, and the burning rubber smell that he was already getting used to was largely obscured by a harsh oily stench. Even the air seemed thicker in this area. Kyle found himself blinking as the atmosphere stung his eyes. He turned a corner too fast and smacked his head against a low-hanging section of pipe.

  “Ow!” he shouted involuntarily. He rubbed the sore spot, certain that a bump would appear before long, hoping he hadn’t broken the skin so that whatever was crusting the outside of the pipe wouldn’t get into his blood. He was starting to duck underneath the pipe when a door opened before him and a human man smiled at him.

  “I thought that sounded like a human voice,” the man said. “I’d heard rumors that there was another one of us about, but wasn’t sure, given the size and design of this tub, that we’d get a chance to meet one another.” His accent sounded indefinitely continental, as if he’d lived many places and spoke a plethora of languages, all of which contributed a little something to his English. “It’s nice to hear once in a while.” He was still standing in the doorway, hands gripping the jambs on either side of him, sort of leaning out into the hall but ready to flee back inside at a moment’s notice. He was a friendly-looking fellow, Kyle thought, with a thick black beard that merged with the tufts of black chest hair visible above his open shirt. He had little hair on the upper part of his head, though, and what there was he kept cropped close to the scalp. His smiling face was broad, with a large red nose, small red eyes, and puffy, rosy cheeks. He looked to Kyle like a young, disheveled Santa Claus. The illusion carried down to his belly, which was immense. His expansive shirt was checked, red and white, and his pants were pale blue. His feet, Kyle noted, were bare.

  “My name’s Barrow. Kyle Barrow,” Kyle lied.

  “Of course it is. I’m John Abbott. Double b, double t, that’s how it’s spelled.” The man was quite possibly the most cheerful fellow Kyle had ever seen. “You came from Earth, right?”

  “Of course,” Kyle confirmed. “Didn’t you?”

  John Abbott shook his huge head. “No, no. I mean, once I did, originally, certainly. Not recently, though. No, I’ve been here and there, moving about quite a bit, you know? I’ve been on board the Morning Star for quite a spell now. Quite a ways before I leave her, too.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  John cocked his head sideways and shot Kyle an admonishing glare. “That’s the first question you learn not to ask on a ship like this,” he explained.

  “I guess I’ve still got to learn the ropes,” Kyle offered. “Sorry. Maybe I can buy you a drink sometime and you can tell me what else I shouldn’t ask. There is a lounge someplace, isn’t there?”

  “There’s a crew lounge,” John told him. “But you wouldn’t want to go there. The Kreel’n are all very nice, to your face, but get a few of them together—especially with some spirits in them—and you’ll learn what they’re really like, quickly enough. Not a pleasant time, that, not at all.”

  “And if a couple of human guys wanted to get a drink, pass the time, where would they do that?” Kyle could barely believe he was asking the question. He’d planned to be the solitary traveler, the mystery man, keeping to himself and letting no one get close to him. But now, with just two days of solitude under his belt, he was already trying to force a connection with the first human who’d spoken more than two words to him. He was, he knew, generally a sociable person, who had made friends at bases, space stations, and taverns across the galaxies, so the enforced solitude was hard.

  John Abbott looked at the ceiling as if giving considerable thought to the question. “Well, there would be your quarters. And then there would be my quarters. And that’s about it. You wouldn’t want to drink too much anywhere else on this blasted ship because you’d have the damndest time finding your way back to where you were supposed to be. And—as with the crew lounge—you wouldn’t want to be wandering about without the fullest use of your faculties. You don’t know who, or what, you might encounter.”

  Kyle could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying we’re not safe on this ship, John?”

  John gave him a big wink. “Oh, you’re safe enough, I’d guess. S’K’lee has no doubt given orders to keep your hide in one piece. But there are those on the crew who hate humans, make no mistake about that, and if you should cross one of them at a time and place when he thought he could get away with it, then I wouldn’t want to swear to anything.”

  Having said that, he stepped away from the doorway, moving with the surprising, almost dainty grace that some large men master as a way of dealing with their bulk. “Come on in, Kyle Barrow, and let’s get acquainted. My replicator can whip up some twelve-year-old scotch just as unconvincingly as yours can, I’m sure.”

  Kyle followed him into the room, which was at least twice the size of his own quarters, but equally impersonal. Most of the extra room was just floor space, as if John Abbott might want to host large parties from time to time. He did have three chairs and a table, though, with a computer stationed at one end of it. He went to the wall-mounted replicator. “Name your poison, Kyle.”

  “That scotch you mentioned sounds fine,” Kyle said. Even in here, the oily smell of the corridor hung on. “A little touch of home. You’ll have to draw me a map back to my bunk, though.”

  John Abbott laughed, a booming sound that echoed in the big space. “Coming right up,” he said. “As far as the map, well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get home in one piece. Home being a relative term, of course.”

  A minute later he brought two glasses over to the table and bade Kyle sit down. He followed suit, again impressing Kyle with his almost balletic grace. After a sip from his own drink, he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Can we talk frankly, Kyle? Because if we can’t, it’s going to be a damnably long voyage, that’s for sure.”

  “Of course,” Kyle said, knowing even as he did so that he’d have to watch his step. He didn’t want to give away too much to a stranger, even one who seemed as friendly and unthreatening as this.

  “Don’t trust anyone on this vessel,” he said. “S’K’lee let you on because you paid her price, but she’d sell you out to the first buyer who could top it. She’s already got your credits, so there’s no percentage in taking your side from now on. I don’t think she’d put you in harm’s way, as I said before, unless there was something in it for her. But you have only bought a ticket, not any kind of loyalty.”

  “It sounds like you know her pretty well,” Kyle observed. “If she’s so bad, why have you flown with her for so long?”

  “Because I know what to expect with her,” John replied. “I don’t expect more than a berth on a fast ship that’s largely ignored by the rest of the universe, and I get exactly what I expect. She knows I mean her no harm, and I try not to be too much trouble. I watch my step and I keep out of the way. I’d advise you to do the same.”

  “Still, it seems like a hard way to live.”

  “Isn’t it what you wanted when you booked passage?” John asked, and Kyl
e realized the man was right. “If you had wanted companionship, you’d have gone on a tourist flight. If you wanted efficiency, a man such as yourself, I’d guess you’ve got Starfleet connections and you could have hitched a ride on one of their boats. No, you came for the quiet, for the privacy. And you’ll get it. I’m just trying to warn you, it comes with a price that isn’t paid in credits. You don’t want to trust anyone with your secret, whatever it is—no, don’t deny it, Kyle Barrow, I know you’ve got one. Well, that’s good. You can’t trust anyone with your secret on this ship, because here, just as much as anywhere else, your secret is safe with no one but yourself.”

  “I take it you have a secret too,” Kyle said. “Since you’re on board with me.”

  “I said everybody has a secret. That includes me, of course. I’m not telling you mine, no matter how long we’re on this bucket of bolts together.”

  “I’m not asking.”

  “See that you don’t.” John’s voice was serious now, almost grim, Kyle thought. He was surprised at the turn the conversation had taken so quickly. This wasn’t a casual get-acquainted chat anymore, but had become a life-and-death discussion when he wasn’t looking. “Let me tell you something else, too, Kyle—it is Kyle, isn’t it?”

  Kyle nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “I thought as much. Next time you pick a name, don’t use your real one.”

  “I didn’t mean it was—” Kyle began, but John cut him off.

  “I know, but I also know that it is,” he said. “Don’t fret, I don’t know who you really are and I don’t care, believe me. But I know what you were thinking when you chose it. ‘If I use my real first name, then I won’t have to worry about not answering when someone calls me by it. As long as I change my last name I’ll be safe.’ But the fact is, you’ve just given them—whoever ‘they’ are, whoever you’re on this ship hiding from—half of your identity. If your real first name is Kyle then you should call yourself Met’ridunk or Bob, something completely different. Trust me, for the first few weeks you’ll be so hyperconscious that you’ll answer to anything, and by the time you’re comfortable with it, it will have become habit. Go as far away from your real name as possible. I hope you did a better job with Barrow.”

  “I think so,” Kyle said. He hadn’t even touched his scotch yet. He thought he’d been doing pretty well, but John Abbott—or whoever he was, since that clearly wasn’t his real name either—was making him feel like the rankest of amateurs.

  “Well, you can remain Kyle Barrow for the duration of your time on the Morning Star, and have plenty of time to come up with a name for the next place,” John said. “If you’re willing to accept help, I can even scare up some convincing identification for whatever name you select. Of course, then I’d know your next name. If it were me, I wouldn’t trust me for a second. But the offer’s there, if you’d like the assistance.”

  “Thanks, I think,” Kyle said. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Good man. I’d pass on it too,” John reiterated. “Next thing, did you tell S’K’lee where you’re getting off?”

  “I don’t even know myself yet.”

  “That’s fine, that’s good. If you do tell her anything, be sure you don’t actually get off there. If you pick a spot and we actually go there, then you’ve got to stay on, even if it means renegotiating your fare. If you pick a spot that we might be headed for, you’ve got to find a way off before we stop there. If you’re careful enough, you could be gone for days before she even knows it. It’s harder with cargo, do you have any cargo on board? Don’t tell me what it is.”

  “No, no cargo,” Kyle assured him, shaking his head.

  “Good, good. Travel light, it’s the best way. Me, I’ve got cargo. Makes it a good deal more difficult to slip away unnoticed, I can tell you.”

  Kyle finally took a sip of the scotch, which was better than John had given him any reason to expect. He liked the warm sensation it made going down. “This is the good stuff,” he said.

  “Good as it gets. You live with the stink of this ship long enough, you’ll find that anything that would taste remotely pleasant is just wonderful, simply because it takes you away from the odor. Do your quarters smell this bad?”

  “No,” Kyle replied, taking another drink. Once he had swallowed, he continued. “No, there’s a bit of the smell of Kreel’n around, but nothing like this.”

  “I’m close to the engine room,” John explained. “Kreel’n are notoriously inept mechanically, and they’re some of the messiest creatures you could ever imagine. I’m surprised they can keep the ship aloft, even with the help of the other aliens they’ve got working for them.”

  “Do you socialize with the crew?” Kyle asked him. “Other than Kreel’n, I mean.”

  John looked shocked at the question. “You may get the idea that I don’t like the Kreel’n,” he said. “That’s not true. Or not precisely true, anyway. In point of fact, I don’t like much of anyone. The Kreel’n are okay with me in that they leave me alone and don’t pry into my affairs, but you’d never see me calling one a friend. No, the last thing you’ll ever see on this ship is me having a pleasant conversation with the crew. I’d sooner take a long walk out the airlock.”

  “What about other passengers?” Kyle pressed. “Are there any you’ve gotten to know?”

  John laughed again. “Besides you, you mean?” When Kyle nodded, he went on with a wide smile. “We’re it, Mr. Barrow. We are it.”

  Chapter 12

  The days passed quickly for Will and Zeta Squadron. Boon corralled his own obstreperous nature, with only the occasional pointed reminder from his comrades. Dennis took on an ever-stronger leadership role, including delegating authority when it served the team. Will, as it turned out, showed a knack for analyzing and solving the puzzles with which they were faced, though he left it to Dennis to implement the solutions once he arrived at them. The artist spanning the globe turned out to be a museum’s exhibition of a historical robot painter, mounted on a giant trackball—painted like the Earth—so it could work on multiple canvases simultaneously. Other clues led to Coit Tower on Telegraph Hill, and the understory of the two-level Bay Bridge, no longer open to vehicular traffic but left standing as a historical landmark.

  The clue they had found at the bridge had seemed, at first, as incomprehensible as all the others. “Gone Fishing,” it had said, and, “To bring them home means bringing yourselves home.” Dennis had turned, under the latticework of shadows cast by the upper level of the bridge, to look at all the water visible from this point—water that, they all knew, surrounded San Francisco on three sides—and said, “Fish? There’s nothing but fish around us!”

  It was only while performing aikido moves in a heavy-grav environment inside the gym that Will had reached a breakthrough. When their workouts were done and they had showered, he gathered the others together and told them what he’d come to believe. “It’s the easiest one of all if you just take it at face value,” he told them excitedly. “Bringing the fish home. If you go fishing in a boat, you bring them home at a dock, right? Which narrows down our search to where there are working docks. But what if you don’t do the fishing yourself, and you still want to bring some home? You go to a fish market.”

  “That almost seems too obvious,” Dennis countered.

  “Right,” Will agreed. “That’s the beauty of it. These other clues have been so convoluted, who’d expect us to get an easy one at this point? We could spend all day trying to figure out some ridiculously complex meaning to this one, but I think this is really where it’s pointing us.”

  “You could be right, Will,” Felicia said. “It’d be a way of throwing us off the track. Using our expectations against us.”

  “I don’t know,” Boon said. “If you’re wrong we could waste a lot of time. We need to wrap this up today and get back to the Academy. First back, highest marks.”

  “But if you don’t have any different interpretations, Boon,” Estresor Fil put in, “we
might as well try Will’s, right?”

  “I guess,” Boon admitted. Will figured Boon’s hesitation was just because the idea had been Will’s and not his own. Not that he had contributed much during this exercise, other than wearisome negativity and the occasional judicious application of criminal tendencies. Will found himself glad that his encounters with Boon over the past year had been minimal, and that there hadn’t been more extensive group projects like this one. Far from being captain material, Boon seemed like he’d be a detriment to any starship.

  “Let’s get moving, then,” Dennis suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we’re home.”

  San Francisco’s Fish Market, on the site of the city’s old Fisherman’s Wharf, was a massive complex where dozens of boats, hovercraft, and skimmers brought thousands of pounds of fish every day for the citizens of San Francisco. Fresh seafood had always been a tradition in the city, and remained so to this day.

  Will smelled the market before he could see it. The unique and powerful odor of so many fish—dead and not-concentrated in one place created an olfactory wall that was unmistakable. A stranger, beamed into San Francisco for the first time, would have been able to find her way to the Fish Market from anyplace within a kilometer of it. When they passed the invisible barrier, Will wrinkled his nose and smiled at his comrades. “We’re nearly there,” he said.

  “Will?” Dennis ventured. “I’ve been to the Fish Market before. It’s huge. Do you have any idea how we’ll find the checkpoint when we get there?”

  Will flashed him a smile. “I have no idea. I figured we’d cross that bridge when we got to it.”

  “As long as there’s a plan,” Felicia put in. She walked next to Will almost all the time now, and had been sleeping next to him at night. She had never suggested anything further, though, and except for casual—and slightly more than casual—physical contact from time to time, they hadn’t really touched in any meaningful way. A few days ago, Will had been sure he’d been reading her signals correctly, but now he wasn’t as certain. He’d had a couple of girlfriends before, but they had been brief affairs, not at all serious, and having been raised in an all-male household, he sometimes thought of women as a race every bit as different from him as Andorians or Vulcans. Maybe if he’d had sisters, or at least a mother, he would have some idea of what to say and how to act around them. As it was, he had to make it all up. He definitely wanted something to happen—from the moment he’d started looking at Felicia in that light, instead of merely as an extraordinarily gifted cadet who happened to be female, he had wanted to be with her.