STAR TREK: NEW FRONTIER: THE QUIET PLACE

by Peter David

  “Try that again,” Rier said challengingly. “I dare you.”

  Sumavar did not take the dare.

  “Very wise,” said Rier. He glanced at his followers, who nodded approvingly, and Rier loped forward and hunkered down near Sumavar. “You can guess what we want.”

  “I have no idea.” Considering the pain he must have been under, Krul couldn't help but think that Sumavar was keeping his voice remarkably steady.

  “Hmm.” Rier scratched the underside of his muzzle. “We could, of course, go back and forth and we could torture you some more until you admit that you know what we're here for. But then you'd just be telling us what we already know and would likely be so close to death that you wouldn't last for the second part of the questioning. So, I think we'll just jump forward, if you don't mind. The one you call Riella. She eludes us. You, we have reason to believe, know of her whereabouts. Tell us where she is and we will let you live.”

  “I don't know where she is. I never heard of her.”

  “Don't be a fool.” Rier sounded almost sympathetic to Sumavar's plight. “Bones knit. You can heal from this. You can still recover. You do not have to die. You have my word.”

  “The word of a Dog of War?” Sumavar laughed in pained contempt.

  “Yes. The word of a Dog of War. Such pacts are immutable. Even such as we have an understanding of honor. Tell us what we wish to know, and we will leave you alive with no further harm come to you.”

  For a long, silent moment, Sumavar stared levelly at Rier. Then he said calmly, from a very far away place, “I don't know anyone named Riella.”

  At which point the torture began in earnest.

  There was much screaming, screams that carried a great distance, and no one, but no one, came to help. Krul found it amusing. They must have heard. They must have. There was no way they could not. But they realized that it was only one person being tortured, and thank the gods it wasn't them, so they hid in what was left of their ruined hovels and the great, blustering, supposedly barbaric race called the Barspens kept their distance while the Dogs of War molested unmolested.

  Rier was very judicious in what he did, although naturally he could have killed Sumavar any time. But there is no craft to execution. The trick was keeping him alive long enough to tell them what they needed to know. Rier had no need of any torture instruments. Between his claws and his teeth, he had more than enough to accomplish what he needed to do. The torture session went on for a good hour before Sumavar finally told them what they wanted to know, and after he did so, Rier continued torturing him to make sure that none of the answers changed. They didn't.

  Finally Sumavar lay there, barely recognizable as a bloodied and pulped mess, his breath rattling in his chest. Rier shook his head sadly and simply muttered, “What a waste. Do you have any idea how foolish this was?”

  And then, to the surprise of all the Dogs, including Krul, Sumavar actually smiled. “You ... are the fools.”

  This comment actually drew the bizarre half-smiles that were all that the Dogs of War were generally able to manage. They glanced at others as if trying to determine whether any of them knew what he was talking about. “Are we?” Rier finally asked. “And why would that be, dead man?”

  “You seek... the Quiet Place.”

  None of them had mentioned it. The words themselves had an almost electric effect on the Dogs of War, and Rier drew closer to Sumavar. “Yes. We do.”

  “You will die ... envying me. You will envy me ... because I am already dead. And your suffering ... has yet to begin ...”

  And then he laughed. He laughed deep in his throat, and the noise was clearly annoying to Rier, because his head and neck lanced forward like a snake and his teeth clamped onto Sumavar's throat. With one quick pull he ended Sumavar's life. He carefully wiped away the blood on the edges of his muzzle, and then he turned to the others. “Tell the rest of the Dogs that they can have their fun for another few minutes, and then it's time to leave.”

  “Rier,” Krul said slowly. “What he said ... about the Quiet Place ... do you think it was true? Do you—?”

  Rier looked at Krul with open annoyance. “Of course not. What do you expect him to say, Krul? ‘Hurry to the Quiet Place because riches untold and the secret of immortality await you there.’ Of course he's going to try and warn us off. He doesn't want us to go there. I'm surprised you'd even have to ask.”

  “I'm sorry, Rier. It's just.. .”

  Rier's paw moved so quickly that Krul didn't even have time to react. He struck Krul on the side of the head, sending the Dog to one knee. The others who were standing around guffawed in appreciation of seeing someone other than themselves being slammed around.

  “Don't waste my time again, Krul,” Rier warned him.

  Krul bobbed his head in acknowledgment. Deep within him, anger stirred, but he shrewdly suppressed it. The last thing he needed to do was toy with the idea, even for a moment, of going up against Rier. There was no question that he would lose. Rier was half again as tall as Krul, far faster and smarter and ferocious than Krul could ever hope to be. If Rier thought, even for a moment, that Krul was considering challenging his authority, he would break the smaller Dog in half without a second thought.

  So Krul, wisely slunk away, as the rest of the Dogs spread out to do as much damage as possible before they, and their brethren, took their leave.

  Krul didn't even glance behind him as he moved away from the place that had served as the home for the now-deceased Thallonian warrior. Instead his mind was in a turmoil, considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sumavar had not been simply trying to scare them off. What if he knew something they didn't? What if there was some sort of danger in the Quiet Place that had not been considered?

  As he pondered these and other options, his nostrils suddenly flared. He smelled blood, and not far away. There was prey waiting for him, and if it were bleeding, it wouldn't be in much of a condition to fight him. That was the kind of prey that Krul most preferred. Truth to tell, Krul wasn't much of a warrior. He held his own, and when prey ran screaming from him, he was able to run it down capably enough. But when he was going up against someone or something that was capable of putting up a fight, he was more than happy to leave the chore of taking it down to one of the other, more aggressive Dogs.

  But a wounded victim? That was most definitely within Krul's abilities to handle.

  A burned out building, a target of the initial strafing of the Dog's attack run, appeared to be the source of the scent. Moving quickly on all fours, Krul made his way through the rubble, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes and letting faculties other than his sight guide him. He licked his dark-colored lips in anticipation, and every muscle in his body was tense with eagerness. He tread carefully, though, for the rubble was sliding about beneath his paws and it made traction a bit difficult for him.

  He moved over a crest of one of the piles of rubble, the smell of the blood so overwhelming that he felt as if he were going to leap right out of his pelt. The source was just beyond the rise, and he padded over to it, body tensed and ready to lunge.

  There was nothing there.

  No. He was wrong. There was blood, all right. Blood on a red shirt that had been left lying flat on a small pile of rubble. Krul had been downwind of it, so the smell of the blood had wafted right to him. But there seemed to be no purpose to it. Why in the world would anyone leave a blood-stained shirt there for no purpose? Obviously, the answer had to be that there was a reason. The only reason that came to Krul's mind, though, was ... a decoy.

  And barely had his mind processed the information when his assailant leaped onto him from behind.

  Krul cursed his own stupidity. He should have realized that if the shirt was upwind from him, then whoever might be coming around upon him would likely be downwind. Even as the thought occurred to him, he'd been flattened. Driven to the ground by an assailant of unexpected speed and strength. Nevertheless, it was going to take more than a simple sneak a
ttack to get the best of one of the Dogs of War. He tried to bring his jaws around to snap at whoever was on his back.

  He had a brief glimpse of his attacker. He was barechested, of course, with thick hair that hung wildly around his shoulders. There was a thin ribbon of blood across his chest. It seemed eminently likely that he had gashed himself in order to bloody the shirt and draw Krul's attention, taking care to stay downwind of the Dog so that he himself wouldn't be detected. Krul's grudging admiration for the pink-skinned, humanoid creature upon him rose exponentially. That didn't stop Krul from being utterly determined to haul the humanoid off him and tear him to pieces.

  Unfortunately the humanoid wasn't giving him a chance. Krul tried to dig his teeth into his attacker, to get a limb within range, but the humanoid was too quick. Before Krul even knew it, the man had his arms down, under and through Krul's arms, and his fingers were interlaced and clamped onto the back of Krul's neck. Try as he might, Krul couldn't dislodge him. He flipped over onto his back, tried slamming the man into debris, but still he failed to make any headway in removing him. “Get off me!” he howled, as if that would make any difference. At the very least, he hoped that the sounds of struggle might attract other Dogs to his aid.

  But the humanoid had been too careful. He had succeeded in luring Krul off on his own, and he wasn't about to give up his advantage. Krul felt his neck beginning to creak under the pressure.

  The human brought his mouth close to Krul's ear, and he whispered, “I want to know what you know.”

  “I'll tell you nothing!” snarled Krul.

  “I wouldn't bet on that,” said the humanoid, and he readjusted his grip. He released Krul's left arm and his fingertips brushed against Krul's forehead. It was a sloppy maneuver on the part of Krul's attacker, and he intended to take full advantage of it. He started to yank free—and then his mind went blank.

  He had no idea what was happening. All he knew was that he felt somewhat disoriented. It seemed to pass almost in no time at all, except the next thing he knew, his wrists were being tied behind his back. He looked around in total befuddlement. It was as if time had jumped. One moment he was in the midst of a battle; the next moment, it was over and he was the clear loser. “What did you do?!” he started to yowl, but his demands were quickly truncated when a strip of leather was lashed around his mouth.

  “Stop it,” said his attacker.

  Krul tried to speak, tried to protest, but he couldn't open his jaws at all. He had been tied up too thoroughly; he couldn't make a single move. His mind was still awhirl; bare minutes ago he had been the predator, and now he was the prey. It made no sense to him.

  He was flat on his stomach. He tried to sit up, but then a boot pushed on the back of his neck, shoving him back down again. “There is a cost,” his assailant said, “to killing. Every time you kill someone, a little piece of you dies along with your victim. I very much believe that. Which is not to say that I'm averse to killing, but the victim has to be worth it. You are most definitely not.”

  “I'll kill you!”

  “Possibly. But not today,” said the humanoid, with the tone of one who had said that phrase a number of times before.

  “You'll learn nothing from me, if that's your plan!”

  “You mean I'll learn nothing about Riella? Or the fact that she's hiding out on a world called Montos? Or that she holds the secret to the Quiet Place? Is that the nothing you're referring to?”

  Krul froze. It was impossible for him to hide the terror on his face. “I... told you ... nothing! ...”

  “True. But your leader—Rier was his name, I believe—isn't going to know that. As a matter of fact, if you make any endeavor to follow me or hunt me down before I get off this rock, then trust me, I'll be sure to get word to Rier that you told me everything I needed to know without the slightest hesitation. I think I can readily imagine what your leader will do to you in that circumstance.”

  “He'll... kill me!” Krul choked, hating his own weakness, but having no choice. “Please, don't tell—”

  “Then stay here like a nice Dog of War. Feign unconsciousness if you wish when they find you. Better for them to think that you were simply knocked cold. Your stock won't go up, but you won't be considered a traitor—just inept, which you are.”

  “Who are you!”

  “Just someone passing through. Pay me no mind, I'll be gone before you know it.”

  Krul was about to issue a protest, and then a rock (gripped firmly in the humanoid's fist) slammed down into the side of his skull. Krul's head sagged and, with a barely audible sigh, he gave up consciousness. Just before blackness enveloped, he thought he heard a faint chuckling sound, and he swore to himself that he would never forget it. That sooner or later, he would face his assailant again, and the next time around, it would be Krul who had the last laugh.

  Telepathy had never been Xyon's strong suit. Most of his psionic powers were low level and instinctual. But when he had encountered the creature that called itself Krul, what he found was a remarkably simplistic creature with not much depth and tremendous reliance on instinct. As a result, Xyon was able to divine more information from Krul than he would have been able to glean from a more sophisticated, resistant mind. Unfortunately, what he had managed to extract didn't make a tremendous amount of sense to him.

  He lay the rock down next to Krul's insensate form and tried to collect his own scattered thoughts. Who was this Riella? What was this Quiet Place? He'd never heard of it.

  Montos, however, he had heard of. A backwater world, nothing particularly remarkable about it. Not heavily populated, and the residents there were largely an inoffensive lot. But the people living there (one of them in particular) had suddenly become targets, although they didn't know it yet.

  The things that Xyon had heard about the Dogs of War were beginning to come back to him. They'd been the results of some sort of genetic experiments, that much he remembered. And the group name, Dogs of War, had been given them by some United Federation of Planets reporter, apparently culled from an earth poem or something. The name had stuck, as press-designated names often did. Apparently, even the Dogs themselves had taken to fancying the name, because they were now calling themselves by a term that translated as Dogs of War, although in their language it meant more like “unstoppable rampaging mindless beasts.” The “mindless” part Xyon somewhat agreed with; “unstoppable” was clearly an exaggeration.

  In the distance, he heard snarling and rending and tearing, and he knew that the Dogs were stampeding throughout the area. They would continue to do so until they ran out of prey or got bored, at which point they would then head to Montos and go after this Riella person, a “she,” judging by the information he'd garnered from Krul. Xyon couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

  And then he moaned softly to himself because he knew himself all too well. He knew what that feeling entailed. He was going to have to do something about it. Knowing that the unknown Riella was going to be subject to the vomitus attentions of the Dogs of War was all the impetus Xyon needed to throw himself into yet another determined quest.

  “Gods, I'm an idiot,” he muttered, but unfortunately he didn't find himself in much of a position to do anything about it.

  He checked Krul over and found no weapons on him. That was unfortunate; Xyon could have used some. It was understandable, though; the Dogs were practically living weapons. When they were up in their ships they didn't hesitate to unleash whatever firepower they had, but once on the ground, they obviously preferred close-up rending and tearing with their claws. Charming creatures.

  Xyon began to make his way past the newly created rubble and the burning buildings. He stuck close to the perimeter and managed to avoid the centers of activity where the Dogs were going about their business. As adept at remaining inconspicuous as Xyon was by nature, in this case it wasn't particularly difficult at all. The Dogs were making so much noise that a blind elephant could have avoided detection simply by listening for where they wer
e and going where they weren't.

  Within minutes Xyon had managed to work his way back to the place where the flagship had landed. He had made only one brief stop: At the platform where he had, only a short time earlier, been faced with a rather nasty prospective end. There he had grabbed several of the more easily transportable cutting implements and shoved them into his belt and the tops of his boots. He wouldn't have minded having a phaser, disruptor, or blaster at his side, but he was obviously going to have to make do.

  The main entrance to the ship had been left wide open. This screamed trap to Xyon, for it would have been the work of but a moment to cycle the door shut behind them. So, the obvious conclusion was that they were trying to draw potential victims into the ship for the equally obvious reasons.

  Xyon was trying to determine a way in when it presented itself to him in a most unexpected fashion— specifically, when a low growling and the sound of claws on rocks alerted him at the last possible second. If he had turned to see the Dog of War leaping at him, that would have been enough to finish him. But he knew what was coming, and instead Xyon dropped to the ground, allowing the Dog's lunging charge to carry the creature clear over his head. The Dog was larger than Krul had been, more heavily muscled, and obviously more confident. That confidence, however, turned out to be its undoing. It hit the ground and started to scramble around in order to face Xyon once more, but it was too slow. Xyon leaped atop the Dog's back and wasted no time at all. He gripped the creature's head on either side with fingers that were like steel cords, and he twisted as hard and as quickly as he could. The Dog's neck snapped with only slightly less resistance than Foutz's had. Xyon rolled off as the Dog's carcass slumped to the ground.

  The way in now presented itself. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but it would at least get him close enough.

  He removed the armor from the Dog's body and set to work.