by Peter David
Williams was studying her with open curiosity. “No offense, but I can’t say’s I recall ever seein’ a Vulcan get worked up about anything.”
“My apologies,” Soleta said evenly. “Were I a better Vulcan, perhaps I would be able to discuss my father’s impending murder with sufficient dispassion.”
Commander Williams leaned back in her chair, studying Soleta with such a piercing gaze that Soleta felt as if it were boring into the back of her head. Finally she said, “I regret, Soleta, that I am not at liberty to provide you with any information about Rajari. His known whereabouts are confidential. Computer, time please.”
“Thirteen fifty hours,” the computer replied promptly.
“My apologies, Lieutenant,” Williams said as she rose. “I have a meeting I must attend. You can see yourself out, I’m sure.” And without another word, she strode briskly around the desk and out the door.
Soleta, confused at the abrupt departure, watched her go. Then she looked back at the computer screen . . . and realized that it was still activated. The “strictly confidential” information was sitting there, hers for the taking.
Which was, she realized, exactly what the commander’s intention had been.
Wasting no time, Soleta was around the desk in a flash. She read over the contents of the file as quickly as she could, committing the facts to memory with her customary ease.
There was no great detail in the file as to precisely why Rajari had been freed beyond that which she already knew. It even made specific mention of “extenuating circumstances,” just as he had, but did not go into detail. It did, however, tell her where he was . . . or at least where Starfleet had its last record of him being.
“Thank you, H.B.,” she said softly.
Less than a day later, she was with her father at the spaceport. She was cutting her stay short. He did not ask why, nor did she feel the need to volunteer the information. In truth, both of them had a fairly clear idea of what was going on, but neither of them chose to say it out loud. She started to head for her shuttle, and then Volak said, “You made no endeavor to embrace me.”
“I would not want to provide any further painful embarrassment,” said Soleta, turning back to him.
“Ah. That is considerate.”
“Thank you.” She started to leave once more.
And then Volak said, “Your mother once said that she thought me capable of enduring any amount of pain.”
This stopped Soleta in her tracks. She turned to face him again. “Indeed.”
“Yes.”
“It might be,” she said thoughtfully, “of scientific interest to see whether or not she was right in her assessment.”
“You may very well be correct,” said Volak.
This time when she hugged him, she did not care who was watching.
ADULUX
“HELLO. WOULD YOU LIKE to tell us why you’re about to jump off the roof?”
Adulux froze where he was, the stiff wind whipping his dying robes around him. They were the dying robes that had been passed down from father to son, as was the custom on Liten, for several centuries. They were, in fact, nothing particularly impressive to look upon. The sleeves were tattered and the garment was badly in need of patching, which was an odd state of affairs for a garment that was worn only during a brief time in one’s existence. The truly sad matter was that Adulux had no one to pass the robes on to, for all his hopes for the future had vanished along with his beautiful wife, Zanka.
He had not yet looked down. He had stepped to the roof’s edge while looking resolutely forward. He was concerned that if he actually looked at the plunge that awaited him, he might lose his nerve.
As were all Litens, Adulux was not especially tall, with fairly slender build and skin that was tinted a soft green. His brow was slightly distended, his thick black hair brushed back and down. When he listened carefully to someone, he tended to tilt his head slightly, giving him a perpetually quizzical look. He was looking somewhat quizzical at that particular moment, trying to figure out who the two individuals were on the roof, why they had come there at this particular point in time, and why they looked vaguely . . . wrong.
The one who had spoken was the shorter of the two. He was a Liten, to be sure, as was his companion. But he had an air about him, a seen-it-all attitude that Adulux had never discerned in any Liten before. He was also clad rather unusually, wearing a long tan coat and a strange hat that was tilted rakishly to one side. He had an air of amused detachment about him, as if he were curious about what Adulux was about to do, but not so interested in the outcome that he was going to do anything to try and avert it.
The taller one was . . . well . . . much taller. Wider, too. He was likewise a Liten, but the most powerfully built Liten that Adulux had ever seen. Indeed, he might possibly have been the most powerfully built Liten that anyone had ever seen. His head seemed so close-set to his body that it appeared he had no neck at all. He was dressed in a similar manner to the smaller one, but without the hat.
“Well?” asked the shorter one. “I asked you a question. Are you going to want to take all night to answer it?”
“Wh-who are you?”
“No one interesting. Not as interesting as you, in any event.”
“How am I interesting?” demanded Adulux. He thought that he had never heard anything as absurd in his life. Everyone knew just how incredibly dull he was. Even his beloved Zanka had become exasperated with him and his plodding, predictable, routine ways. “How am I more interesting than you? Than anybody?”
“Anyone who is about to leap to his death is automatically interesting.”
It seemed a reasonable enough statement, and Adulux had to agree, albeit reluctantly, that there was some merit to it. But he wasn’t about to step away from the edge of the roof just because of one passing meritorious comment. “Don’t come any closer,” he ordered.
“I actually haven’t moved since we started talking,” the shorter one pointed out. The taller one had said absolutely nothing up to that point. He seemed content merely to watch and let matters unfold. Adulux suspected that if he did indeed jump, the big one wouldn’t shed a tear or care one way or the other. The shorter one continued, “I was just curious as to why you are doing this, and thought you could enlighten me.”
Adulux thought long and hard about it, and realized that he had nothing to lose. He was, after all, going to be dead in a minute. So what he said here was of no real consequence. “It’s the aliens,” he told them. “They’ve ruined my life.”
“What aliens?” inquired the shorter one.
There was something in his tone, some vague, momentary hesitation, which prompted Adulux to think that the newcomer knew more than he was telling. The big one might know more, too, but he wasn’t saying anything at all, so there was no way to judge. “You know the ones.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“If I know them, why am I asking?”
“Everyone knows them,” Adulux said scornfully. “What sort of Liten are you, anyway? The elders have been covering this up for years. It’s common knowledge. Alien visitors come to this world to torment us and aggravate us, and so far the government has done nothing to put an end to it.”
The newcomer took a step or two toward Adulux, but it seemed more a thoughtful movement rather than an attempt to snatch Adulux back from the brink of disaster. Ten stories below Adulux, sweet oblivion and a freedom from this hellish existence awaited him, but the newcomer didn’t seem to be conscious or caring of that. “What sort of alien visitors?” inquired the newcomer.
“I don’t know!” said Adulux in clear aggravation. “The tormenting and aggravating kind. What does it matter what sort of alien visitors. I know of them, and they know where they are and what they are. And they know that I know they . . .” His voice trailed off and his tapering fingers rubbed his temples. “I lost track of what I was saying.”
The big one finally spoke. He rumbled, “Not a problem. I
lost interest five minutes ago.”
“You’re not helping,” said the shorter one, and he turned back to Adulux. “I believe that we can help you, if you’ll tell us everything that happened.”
“Help me? How can anyone help me?”
“We can. It’s our job.”
He looked up at the two newcomers. “You are . . . what are you?”
“Let’s just say we’re specialists in this kind of situation.”
For the first time in what seemed ages, Adulux felt the slightest bit of hope beginning to blossom within him. “You . . . you’ve dealt with this type of thing before?”
“Oh, yes. Many times.”
“And you’ve found aliens?”
“We can’t say. Confidentiality and all that. We couldn’t really answer your question without betraying any of our clients’ privacy.” He looked slightly apologetic. “You know how it is.”
“Of course I do,” said Adulux, who didn’t. “I . . . don’t have a good deal of money to hire you.”
“Don’t worry about it. We have easy payment plans, and don’t charge for anything until after the job is done. Fair?”
“More than. So . . . so what happens now?”
“Well, that depends. If you step off the roof toward us, we go someplace, have something to eat, and you tell us what happened to bring you to this state. If you step off the roof in the other direction, then our job is pretty much done. It’s up to you.”
Adulux considered the offer. There really seemed to be no serious downside. If this business with the two specialists didn’t work out, well, the roof wasn’t going anywhere. The Sentries had him under suspicion in the disappearance of his beloved Zanka, but they weren’t going to make a move yet to apprehend him. Not until they were sure. He could always return and complete the terminal business that awaited him.
Convinced that he was doing the right thing in the short term, he glanced down before turning to step back toward the roof and safety.
The plunge awaiting him was dizzying. Looking down ten stories was far more formidable than looking up the same ten stories from street level.
The world swirled around him. Adulux’s arms pin-wheeled, trying to grab the air itself for support, but naturally there was none. He toppled forward, twisted in midair even as he fell. His upper torso slammed against the roof edge, slowing him for a split instant, and then he was hanging by his fingers.
The shorter of the two was there, shouting his name, grabbing him by the wrists. But he lacked the strength to pull Adulux up.
The roof trembled, and for a moment Adulux in his panic thought that there was some sort of quake, as if the planet’s gods themselves were determined to tear him from his precarious perch and send him plummeting to his doom. Then the massive being was standing over him, reaching down and gripping him by the wrist. Adulux was stunned by how cold his grip felt. It was as if he were being enveloped by rock, even though the flesh certainly felt like Liten flesh. Then his mind seized up as someone who was displaying absolutely no effort in doing so hauled him to the roof. His feet kicked the air and suddenly they were on the hard surface. He looked up at his savior. “How strong are you?” he gasped in wonderment.
“Strongest one there is,” intoned the big one.
He looked from one to the other. “Who are you two?”
“Name’s McHenry,” said the shorter one. He chucked a thumb at his companion. “His is Kebron.”
“Kebron? Mk . . . kennery? Those are unusual names . . .”
“We’re unusual people,” said McHenry. “Now . . . why don’t we go somewhere with less altitude and you can tell us exactly how you got to this point.”
Adulux surveyed them with a flicker of residual suspicion. “How did you know I was up here? How did you know I needed help? Your help?”
“It’s our business,” said McHenry. “Right, Kebron?”
Kebron grunted noncommittally.
The eatery was sparsely populated, owing to the lateness of the hour. Aside from occasional glances sent Kebron’s way, mostly by females who seemed appreciative and men who appeared jealous, the three of them attracted no attention. Nevertheless, Adulux kept looking around nervously.
“You appear a bit on edge . . . no pun intended,” said McHenry.
“I’m worried that Sentries are watching me.”
“Sentries. Oh, yes. The local constabulary.”
He nodded vigorously. “They suspect me because of Zanka’s disappearance.”
“Why don’t you tell us the entire thing from the beginning,” McHenry suggested.
Adulux nodded, although it was clear that he was not particularly looking forward to it. “Zanka and I . . . we were not getting on particularly well. She wanted to dissolve our bonds. I did not.”
“Bonds? You were tied up?” McHenry said, looking somewhat uncomprehending.
The response did not exactly bolster Adulux’s confidence. How were these two going to be of any help in finding his Zanka or putting his life back together if he had to explain every simple thing. “Bonds. Life bonds,” he said, as if speaking to a child.
“Oh. Of course,” said McHenry, and he thumped his head with the base of his hand as if chiding himself. “Forgive me. I’m new to this . . .”
Kebron cleared his throat loudly.
“. . . line of work,” McHenry finished. “So I was thinking of bonding in its offensive sense of, well . . .”
“Keep talking,” Kebron said to Adulux, endeavoring to ignore McHenry.
“Zanka wanted to dissolve our bonds,” continued Adulux, casting one more suspicious glance at McHenry. “We had been discussing it for many months. She said she wanted more than I was able to provide her. She said I was boring, uninteresting. She told her friends how dull I was, how unwilling I was to take risks. She . . . demeaned me. Humiliated me.”
“I am sorry,” said McHenry, and he sounded sincere.
It made Adulux feel slightly better, and he continued, “So one night, a week ago, we went out together, to someplace relatively remote. It was an endeavor on my part to recapture some of the romance of our youth. I thought it would help.” He shook his head, disconsolate. “Who knew it would backfire so badly?”
“How did it backfire?”
He gave them a haunted look. “Are you sure you will believe me? I’ve told this story so many times, and the Sentries just give me these . . . these contemptuous stares. As if I am not only lying, but they think I’m stupid for thinking they’ll believe the lie.”
“I assure you, we’ll believe you,” said McHenry. “Won’t we, Kebron?”
Kebron said nothing. He was staring with distinct lack of interest at the food they’d ordered which was sitting in front of them. McHenry and Adulux had already finished theirs.
Adulux wasn’t enthused by the lack of support from Kebron, but he pressed on. “She told her friends that I was taking her somewhere with solitude. She thought it a great joke, I assume.”
“But she went with you anyway.”
“To laugh at me, most likely. Nothing more. But I was desperate. I would have done anything to recapture her love. Do you have any idea what that is like?”
“Yes,” said McHenry without hesitation. This drew a sharp look from Kebron, but no comment.
“So there we were, in a secluded, romantic area with a wonderful view of the city in the distance. The moons were overhead. The breeze was sublime. And she . . . she . . .”
“Showed no interest?”
“Very little. But it became moot very quickly. When . . . when they showed up.”
“They.”
“We were in our vehicle, and suddenly there was this . . .” He gestured helplessly. “This light overhead . . . blinding . . . and this whining, so deafening that it rings in my head to this day. The vehicle wouldn’t move. We leaped out the doors, started to run. The huge light was following us, and I could barely make out the shape of the vessel . . .”
“A vessel. A flying vessel?
” asked McHenry. “A spaceship, you’d guess?”
“Yes, exactly!” Adulux felt a flare of hope. He could tell from McHenry’s demeanor, from his tone, that he wasn’t dismissing the claims out of hand as the authorities had (or at least as they had pretended to do, since the Elders’ official posture on extraterrestrials was well known). He was simply taking down, mentally, the details without making any sort of judgment. He was actually listening to Adulux. “The light was too bright for me to make out any details, but it was definitely of off-world origin. As we ran, Zanka, she . . .” He choked a moment from the memory. “She reached out, grabbed at my hand. And suddenly there was another flash of light, brighter than anything until that point, and I hit the ground. Everything faded into a haze and I lost consciousness. When I came to . . . she was gone. No sign of Zanka. No sign of the vessel.”
“And you went to the authorities . . . ?”
“They came to me, actually. I made my way home, still in shock. I could scarcely believe what had happened. It was like my mind was shutting down. I awoke the next morning, convinced that the previous night’s events had been a dream . . . and then there was a pounding on my door.”
“The Sentries,” McHenry guessed.
Adulux nodded. “Yes. The Sentries. Zanka’s friends had become concerned when she did not return the previous night to regale them with tales of my foolishness. The Sentries began to question me. I told them what had happened. Of course, they did not believe me, or at least they said they did not, as per instructions of the Elders. Thanks to a governmental policy of disbelief, I am being made to suffer even more than I already am.” His voice became low and desperate. “They think I did something with her. They believe I killed her and hid her body away or destroyed it somehow, out of a fit of anger over her refusal to rebond with me. But I did not do that thing, McHenry. I could not have. But no one will believe me.”
“I believe you. As does Kebron. Correct, Kebron?”
Kebron grunted.
Adulux took a deep breath and asked the question that he’d been most fearing. “Can you help me?”
