Star Trek - NF - 05 - Martyr

by Martyr(Lit)

  "I understand perfectly. You're obviously the one who doesn't understa-"

  He didn't have the opportunity to complete the sentence, because a chime began to sound from within the cave. Calhoun looked around. "What's that?" he asked.

  "An alarm clock to tell you that now's when you're supposed to butcher me?"

  "No. It's a proximity alarm," Ramed told him. He pulled the cloth away and saw that it was soaked with blood, but also could see that the flow had slowed down appreciably.

  "An alarm? We're in a cave in the middle of nowhere. What kind of alarms and technology do you have in a place like this?"

  Ramed stared at him. "You'd be amazed," he said.

  "If someone's coming," Calhoun told him, "particularly if it's my people, I assure you, they'll get past whatever it is you've got prepared."

  "Your confidence in your crew is most heartening,

  even though it indicates an unwillingness to accept the hopelessness of your situation. This area has been prepared, you see. Prepared for centuries by my ancestors, who have known that this would be the place where the Savior would be taken to meet His destiny. There is technology here that is undreamt of, even by your standards. It's one of our other great secrets. Anything that your people might have prepared has already been considered and guarded against."

  "I was unaware that you were that technologically advanced a race."

  "We're not," Ramed smiled ruefully. "That is both our blessing and our curse.

  Your people have already made a foray to find you. They were rebuffed."

  "Rebuffed?" This caught Calhoun's attention. He started to sit up, but Ramed held the spear out in a vaguely threatening fashion and Calhoun stopped moving.

  "What do you mean, rebuffed? What did you do to my people?"

  "I? I did nothing. They did it to themselves, just as these newcomers will. And once they are disposed of, well, the third hour of the third day beckons, oh

  Great One. That which will be your last hour."

  "Or yours," Calhoun replied.

  Ramed looked at him sadly. "Poor, sad Savior. Still hoping to be rescued. Still refusing to believe that neither man nor woman will save you."

  And Calhoun smiled. "Believe me, Ramed, with my crew, that isn't necessarily as much of an obstacle as you might think."

  XVI.

  IT WAS LATE AT NIGHT on Zondar as Burgoyne stood on the rocky outcropping, hir nostrils flaring, feeling more alive than s/he had in ages. The moons of Zondar were full, providing a healthy dose of light. Nearby Ensign Janos-looking cramped, as always, in his Starfleet uniform-cracked his knuckles with a sound that seemed like a cannon shot.

  The area around them did not seem particularly inviting. It was fairly mountainous, with a myriad of caves. Burgoyne realized that there was any number of hiding places where the captain and his captor could be. S/he held up a medical tricorder, packing the same information that Selar's had held, as a means of tracking down the captain. But a quick readout of the immediate area revealed a problem. "We're getting some sort of interference," Burgoyne said.

  S/he tried adjusting the tricorder but had no success with it."

  "Which would lead us to assume," Ensign Janos

  observed, "that someone is actively trying to discourage us from locating the captain."

  "Obviously. This must be one of the things that caused the other away team to run into problems. So," and Burgoyne snapped the tricorder closed, "we're just going to have to go about this the old-fashioned away. How's your sense of smell, Janos?"

  "My olfactory abilities are exceptional, as befits my race, if not necessarily my breeding."

  "All right, then. Start sniffing around. You take east, I'll take west."

  No words were exchanged for some minutes after that. Burgoyne prowled the area, paying little attention to Janos at that point. All of hir senses were extended, trying to pick up some physical trace of the captain. S/he sniffed the air, s/he scented around rock and rocky trails, trying to detect some sort of lead, some vague hint as to where the captain might have gone to.

  "Chief!" called Janos. Janos was approximately a hundred yards away, but

  Burgoyne crossed the distance quickly and efficiently, moving with a grace and ease that would have startled any onlooker with the possible exception of

  McHenry. Janos was down on the ground, sniffing around one particular section, and he grunted, "I think I've got something."

  "The captain?"

  "No. I think it's Kebron."

  Burgoyne quickly dropped to the ground next to Janos. It would have been a strange sight, had anyone been around: two Starfleet officers, crawling about on the ground, sniffing. Fortunately enough for decorum and the image of the fleet, no one was around at that particular moment.

  "I think you're right," Burgoyne said after a moment. "Let's go."

  They stayed low to the ground, on the scent. Bur-

  goyne quickly took the lead, moving on all fours across the rough terrain, hir arms and legs bending at joints usually covered by hir uniform. S/he hit an incline at one point, and hir hardened nails dug into the rocky ground with efficiency. There was no unnecessary chatter between the two of them; they were moving entirely on instinct, and Burgoyne came to the reluctant realization that

  Soleta had known what she was about when she insisted on pairing Burgoyne with

  Janos.

  And as s/he moved across the terrain, as all of hir tracking senses came to the fore, subtle changes came over Burgoyne. Hir lips drew back to reveal hir canines, but it was not in the teasing or slightly threatening manner in which s/he usually displayed them. Rather, it was as if s/he was prepared to use them-indeed, couldn't wait to do so. Hir normally dark eyes had clouded over completely as s/he tapped deeply into hirself, into an essence that was hir natural state but one that s/he normally did everything s/he could to keep hidden away. Hir claws-for that was, indeed, the best way to describe them, since "nails" somehow didn't do them justice-clicked against the rocky surface as s/he made hir way across it. S/he sensed rather than saw that Janos was directly behind hir, smelled his thick fur and distinctive scent.

  There was a deep crevice just ahead of them, and Burgoyne-disdaining to scamper the rest of the way-coiled and then leaped, clearing the distance of fifteen feet in one vault. Cautious of a possible booby trap, Burgoyne tentatively stuck hir head over the edge and peered down.

  Wedged in, far below, was a familiar dark-skinned form.

  "Kebron!" called Burgoyne. "Kebron, it's me! Burgoyne one-seventy-two! Kebron!"

  A moment later, Janos appeared at Burgoyne's side. "Kebron, can you hear me?"

  There seemed to be a slight appearance of movement on Kebron's part. He tried to angle his head upward, but since his neck was virtually nonexistent, this was somewhat problematic for him. He had to try and tilt his entire torso back as best he could, and was only partly successful. His voice strained with the effort. "I... hear you," he said slowly.

  The crevice had to be at least twenty feet down. "Kebron, we'll get you out of there!" called Burgoyne.

  "Can't," he told them, and he'd never sounded so tired. "Grav generator... out... can barely... move...."

  Immediately Burgoyne knew what had happened. Zak Kebron was so massive, that the only way he was able to move in a non-Brikar gravity field was with a small portable gravity generator that he wore in his belt. It was virtually impossible to break the generator through conventional means. Something had managed to short it out, however, and Kebron was clearly finding it impossible to do anything.

  Burgoyne tapped hir commbadge in an endeavor to raise the Excalibur. Hir reasoning was simple: Beam Kebron up out of the crevice. This intention, however, was quickly thwarted when all s/he could get over hir commbadge was static. And the idea of Burgoyne and Janos going down and trying to pull Kebron out was simply an impossibility. Even between the two of them, and the considerable strength that Janos possessed, there was just no way that they could pos
sibly haul Kebron out from the crevice.

  "Kebron!" Burgoyne called down to him. "You'll have to wait there until we find some way to get you out!"

  "Wait... fine... not planning on... going anywhere..."

  "What happened, Lieutenant?" Janos called down. "What did this to you? How many of them are there?"

  Kebron didn't seem to hear at first. He appeared stunned, and Burgoyne realized that it was a condition beyond anything that the simple deprivation of the field generator could have caused. Kebron was in shock.

  "Hundreds of them..." Kebron said. "Thousands... couldn't stop them..."

  Burgoyne and Janos looked at each other. "That sounds pleasant," Janos observed.

  "Kebron, be strong," Burgoyne urged him, although s/he wasn't sure just exactly how much good that was going to do. "We'll be back for you as soon as we can."

  No reply came back.

  Quickly the two officers vaulted the crevice, sniffing the air, the dirt, anything they could. And this time it was Burgoyne who picked up the scent. S/he had been crouched on the ground, running the crumbling dirt under hir fingers, and s/he detected something that became stronger as s/he moved off to hir right.

  "Got it!" Burgoyne called. "Got the captain!"

  "Brilliant!" crowed Janos.

  "It seems as if-" S/he prowled the area, trying to confirm what s/he already suspected. "Yes. Whoever took the captain was likely carrying him, and then became tired and started dragging him. This way."

  "I'm with you, Chief."

  Quickly they set off across the terrain, moving with amazing speed. The scent grew stronger the farther along that Burgoyne went, and within moments s/he was no longer running in anything that vaguely approximated humanoid manner. S/he was sprinting on all fours, a satisfied growl low in hir throat, and there was no concern whatsoever about what s/he might run into. S/he was completely focused on the hunt.

  And it wasn't just about finding the captain, either. S/he was eager to track down the person or persons

  who had abused Selar. S/he wanted to wrap hir fingers around their throats, s/he wanted to sink hir teeth deep into their flesh, to rend and tear...

  There was a faint buzzing in hir head that began to grow louder and louder, but s/he wasn't fully aware of it. Instead s/he was completely wrapped up in the thoughts of what s/he was going to do to Selar's assailants when s/he got hir hands on them. S/he could almost taste the sweetness of their blood pumping into hir, could savor the screams for mercy that they would utter. But there would be no mercy. There would only be slaughter, and blood, and Burgoyne's laughter combined with a triumphant roar...

  S/he took another step, then another, and the buzzing was becoming louder still, and finally s/he became aware of it in a distant manner, wondering what it was.

  ..

  And suddenly s/he was on the Excalibur.

  S/he looked around in confusion, not entirely sure how the devil s/he'd gotten back there. The corridors were empty. S/he began to run, calling out names of various crewmembers, trying to find someone. S/he didn't even think to hit the commbadge on hir chest. S/he just yelled, becoming angrier as hir cries were ignored.

  S/he ran into engineering, and everyone was theres Everyone. Everyone s/he'd ever known, everyone s/he'd ever encountered. Hir parents were there, and others from Hermat-not friends, certainly, for s/he'd had no real friends on Hermat-and the engineering crew, and the command crew. There was Calhoun standing there, arms folded, shaking his head in clear disdain, and Shelby's face twisted in contempt, and the others were all pointing, shouting at hir.

  "Freak!" they called out. Over and over came the

  word, "Freak, freak!" spoken with derision, cried out in a hundred different voices that combined as one.

  A freak to hir own people, for the outgoing and sexually joyful Burgoyne had never truly fit in with other Hermats, who tended to prefer their own kind.

  Freak to the people of the Excalibur, who had never known a Hermat before and didn't at all know what to make of hir. All the suspicious glances, the scornful looks, all aimed at hir. S/he tried to back out of engineering, but the door had closed behind hir and refused to open.

  "Get away from me!" shouted Burgoyne. "Get away!"

  Instead, they advanced, and there was McHenry in the forefront, shaking his head and saying, "You were just an experiment! An exercise in weirdness! I never found you attractive, never!" and there was Selar, as burned and battered as when s/he'd last seen her, and Selar was sneering, "Even on my deathbed I'd never want you! You vile, bizarre thing! You sickening, perverted monster!"

  Burgoyne roared in fury. The hackles on the back of hir neck rose, hir eyes went completely dark, and hir claws were fully extended. All of the playfulness, all of the confidence, everything that made hir what s/he was, had vanished. All s/he knew were those who feared hir, hated hir, despised hir either behind her back or to hir face.

  "I'll kill you!" s/he howled, and with uncontrolled frenzy s/he leaped forward.

  ..

  And crashed squarely into Ensign Janos.

  Janos, who was surrounded by mugatos, his own kind with whom he had as much in common as he had with an amoeba. Mugatos jumping around, snarling at him, picking at him and poking at him in the midst of the jungle on Tyree's World to which

  mugatos were native. Janos had never set foot, paw, or anything else upon

  Tyree's World, but he had known it just the same. They prodded at him with their horns, they tore at him with their poisonous fangs, which were not toxic to him, but could rip him up and injure him just the same. He cried out as they came at him from all directions, and then the carefully cultivated personality that he'd worked so long to develop evaporated, and Janos bellowed, a truly frightening sound of a mugato in full rage. A mugato seeking an enemy to rend limb from limb.

  It was in this state of mind that Burgoyne and Janos slammed into each other.

  And nearby, something formed of coalescing energy took shape and started to advance upon them.

  XVII.

  THE LONG RANGE SENSORS gave the Excalibur her first warning that there was danger imminent.

  Boyajian, the tactical officer filling in for Kebron due to the security chief's absence, called out to Soleta, who was in the command chair. "We have an incoming vessel, Lieutenant. And it's big."

  "Put it on screen," Soleta said calmly.

  "Not yet possible, sir. Hasn't emerged from warp space yet." He paused and then said, "Orders, sir?"

  Soleta considered the situation a moment. Unknown territory, an unknown vessel coming toward them, intentions unknown. She didn't like to take an immediate defensive posture with a new encounter, since it could make them look as if they were combative or spoiling for a fight. Nonetheless, not doing anything would be tempting fate, particularly if the other vessel dropped out of warp space with all weapons blazing.

  Lefler and McHenry were both looking at her expectantly, as were the other members of the bridge

  crew. Soleta began to feel, once again, the gnawing doubt of someone who believed that she was in way over her head. But there was absolutely no way that she was going to share that sentiment or concern with the rest of the crew.

  "Yellow alert," Soleta said after a moment. "Raise shields. Bring weapons and targeting systems on line, but do not energize weapons."

  "Do not-" repeated Boyajian.

  "No. The chances are that their scans won't be able to detect that we've got them targeted, but would be able to determine that we're running weapons hot."

  "So we're hedging our bets," commented Lefler.

  "Precisely, Lieutenant. Our bets are significantly hedged. Continue sensor sweeps for the captain."

  "Lieutenant," and McHenry leaned back in his chair to address Soleta. There was a trace of worry in his voice. "We haven't heard from Burgoyne or Janos."

  "I didn't expect to, Mister McHenry," replied Soleta. "The area that they are exploring is in the heart of the interference zone. That's the terr
itory that we're having difficulty scanning or getting any communications from. The likelihood that they would be able to keep us apprised of their progress is fairly slim. It is my assumption that if we do hear from them before the end of the twelve-hour period I've given them-of which eight hours, fourtee minutes remains-it will be because they have ac-complished their task and emerged from the zone." She hesitated and then added, in as close to an understanding voice as she could muster, "I'm sure Burgoyne is fine, Lieutenant. S/he is a rather resource-ful individual."

  "Believe me, I know," McHenry said.