StarTrek New Frontier. Excalibur#1: Requiem

by Peter David

  The other Romulan, however, had a firm grip on Soleta’s wrist and was keeping her hand away from his shoulder. They struggled, and then Soleta spotted a sheathed blade in the belt of the Romulan she had just rendered unconscious. He was sagging to the floor, but her hand moved quickly enough to yank the blade free. She did not hesitate. The short blade flashed in her hand, slicing across his face, and the Romulan howled as he released her, reflexively grabbing for where she had carved him. His momentary lapse of focus was all Soleta needed as she grabbed him by the neck and sent him to sleep.

  Then, instinctively, she grabbed him and held him in front of her, even as she turned to face Adis. She was jolted by a sudden thud, and there was a loud curse from Adis. She looked down and saw that Adis’s blade was still quivering from where it had thudded into her makeshift shield’s forehead.

  The remaining guardsman and Adis came at her. She shoved the dead Romulan she was holding in front of her, and he careened into the oncoming assailants. Turning and moving as fast as she could, she clambered up one of the stacks of cartons nearby. Adis lunged at her and the stack swayed beneath her feet, tipped precariously, and then toppled forward. Soleta fell off backward. The guardsman, who was closer, let out a howl of protest, but it did him no good as the boxes toppled down upon him and he disappeared beneath them.

  Soleta was down amid the fallen cartons, wedged in between, and suddenly she heard someone other than Adis shout, “Freeze.” She looked up and saw another guardsman approaching, with a disruptor leveled right at her. It was obviously the shooter who had taken down Rajari moments before. He was coming toward her with the careful respect that one would display for someone who had proven herself to be a lethal force. Soleta was partly obscured by the cartons all around her, but he still had a clear shot at her.

  “Shall I kill her, sir?” he inquired of Adis.

  “No, Mekari,” Adis said slowly. “She is too great a curiosity. We will take her prisoner and return with her to the homeworld. There we can run tests on her and see just what, precisely, she is, although I have my suspicions. Suspicions that I suspect are fairly close to the truth, eh, half-breed?”

  Soleta was too self-controlled to allow the taunting epithet to register any sort of emotion on her face. She did, however, say, “I would not come any closer if I were you.”

  Mekari, the guardsman with the disruptor, laughed and came closer, seeing only a helpless female before him.

  What he did not see was that she had managed to retrieve the phaser that had fallen in between the crates. It was nestled securely in her hand, and now Soleta fired. The beam evaporated both hand and disruptor. The guardsman stared at the smoking stump in stunned silence, the immensity of what had just occurred not fully registered upon him yet. In a way it was almost comical, if one were inclined toward truly morbid humor. It was at that point that Mekari let out an agonized shriek of dismay and he sank to his knees, unable to tear his gaze away from the charred remains of his limb.

  Adis at this point appeared only mildly surprised by the turn of events. “Impressive marksmanship,” he said.

  “Not really,” said Soleta evenly. “I was aiming for his heart.” She managed to stand, shoving the remaining cartons aside, and she spied Rajari on the floor. Remarkably he was still alive, but his breathing was a rattling in his chest and his face was ashen. Keeping the phaser leveled at Adis, she went quickly to Rajari and hauled him to his feet. He was little more than dead weight, but he made some token effort to support himself.

  “You have made this a far more costly endeavor than it needed to be,” Adis advised her, but he did not sound particular worked up about it. “Particularly when you consider that the outcome was exactly the same. You have a dead man leaning on you.”

  “And I will have a dead man conversing with me if you are not quiet,” Soleta warned him.

  He contemplated her, as if considering her to be a problem only in the abstract. “Would you do that, I wonder? Could you? If I make no threatening move toward you whatsoever, would you be capable of cutting me down simply out of a sense of vengeance? Have you that much of the wolf in you, I wonder?”

  “It seems to me,” Soleta said, “that you are seeking an excuse not to attack me, so that you need not find out.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I suppose we will never know. Take him, for all the good or ill that he will do you. I will not try and stop you. Indeed,” and he laughed softly in a rather unpleasant way, “I would prefer that you live a long life, carrying with you the knowledge that you risked your life to save this creature and, ultimately, failed to do so. Tell me this, though. You seem reasonably intelligent and resourceful. What possible interest can you have in this . . . thing?”

  She made no reply, for none seemed necessary . . . and also because she was not entirely sure what she could say.

  There were still moans coming from the Romulan with the injured leg and the one with the ruined hand. The latter, Mekari, looked at her with pure hatred and snarled, “I will kill you for this.”

  “Perhaps. But not today.”

  She was surprised by how little weight Rajari actually seemed to have. Perhaps it was the effects of the illness that racked his body. Still, for someone who had loomed so large in her nightmares for so many years, he had remarkably little substance when it came down to it.

  She never allowed her gaze to waver from Adis, who had lapsed into contemplative silence, even as she hauled Rajari away. Rajari was eerily silent, and only the faintest strains of his labored breathing allowed her to determine that he was still alive. She said nothing but simply kept pulling him grimly toward the nearest exit, which was, unfortunately, a hideous distance away. “Help me, Rajari, if you’re at all able,” she whispered to him. She wasn’t really expecting any response, but to her surprise, some reserves of energy seemed to flicker in him still. He supported a reserves of his own weight to aid her as they made their way to the door through which she had first entered the facility. She knew there were likely others about, but she didn’t want to take the time to try and locate them.

  With no need for stealth, she aimed her phaser and disintegrated the door. The cool night air beckoned to them and, repositioning her burden once more, she half-walked, half-stumbled out the door with him.

  “Listen . . .” It was Rajari, and the rattling in his chest was not only awful, but also telltale. She had bare minutes left at most, and the force of will that was keeping him alive at this point was nothing short of amazing.

  “We have to get clear . . .”

  “No time . . . listen . . . in apartment . . . in box . . .”

  The strain of supporting him was beginning to weigh on her. Reluctantly, she eased him to the ground, cradling his upper body in her arms as she knelt next to him. Blood was fountaining from his ruined chest, his lifeblood literally pouring into the street around them.

  She heard a rumble of thunder from overhead. The atmosphere processors on Titan were still working to their functional norm, apparently, and their timing could not have been worse. Unfortunately, no one was asking Soleta whether precipitation would be convenient to her. Within moments of the overhead warning, rain began to pour in thick, wet drops. “Perfect,” muttered Soleta.

  All the strength was gone from Rajari’s body, and for half a heartbeat she thought he was gone as well. His eyes were glazed over. Suddenly it was as if he was physically hauling his half-departed spirit back into his body as he convulsed a moment and then focused directly on her. “In apartment . . . box,” he whispered.

  “The box, yes. What about it?”

  “Inside . . .” He steadied himself and took a long, deep breath into the remains of his chest that, she sensed, was the last he was going to be able to draw. “Inside . . . family heirloom . . . I stole long ago . . . stole from my own family . . . if you can believe that . . .”

  “I can believe it,” she muttered, and then mentally chided herself for her ill-timed display of cynicism.

  He di
d not appear to have heard her. “House of Melkor . . . that is my family name . . . hoped to return it . . . with my own hand . . . stealing it . . . unpardonable sin . . . if not returned . . . I will never go to afterlife . . .” His body was shaking, his hand clasping spasmodically on her shoulder. The rain was coming down harder now, plastering her hair and clothes to her. But even though it was spattering full in his face, his eyes weren’t reacting to it. She wondered how much he was even aware of his surroundings, or aware of anything save for this great transgression that he was unburdening to her. “Must be returned . . . promise me . . . you will . . . promise . . . please . . .”

  Leave him. Leave him and never look back.

  The inner voice made such eminent, perfect sense, and the action it recommended would have been wholly appropriate for her, were she still dealing with the monster that she had carried in her darkest memories for all these years.

  Except the stark, irrefutable truth that she had to admit, even to herself, was that she wasn’t seeing him that way. From the monster that he had been, he had been reduced in her eyes to a tragic figure that had carried within him an innate spark of nobility. For whatever reasons, the spark had never been fanned until it was too late, and all she could see before her now was a creature of infinitely wasted potential. Who knew how much he would have been able to accomplish if the circumstances had been different.

  And she heard her own voice saying, “I promise.”

  “Swear. Swear on the memory of your mother . . .”

  “I swear by the memory of T’Pas, I will do this thing for you.”

  He actually forced a smile. He let out the last, remaining bit of his breath as he managed to say, “If I’d ever had a daughter . . . I would have wanted her . . . to be like you.”

  And then he was gone.

  She stood then, the rain cascading about her, and watched as the remains of his blood swirled away into the gutter. She felt the thudding of her own heart even as she set the phaser for wide beam, took aim, and fired. The beam enveloped his corpse, scattering his molecules to the wind as Rajari vanished in a haze. She made a slight choking noise as she turned away from the spot where her father had died and headed back to his apartment to make good on a promise she had regretted the instant she had made it.

  KEBRON

  KEBRON AWOKE BY DEGREES, wondering why he was feeling a pressure on his arm. Since Kebron was not really accustomed to feeling much of anything, thanks to the toughness of his normal epidermis, any sensation—however gentle or innocuous it might be—was enough to catch his attention.

  He also heard a gentle snoring.

  Zak Kebron had fallen asleep leaning against a wall of the fairly boring room that he had been thrust into. Zanka, at his specific instruction, had kept the hell away from him. The woman had gotten on his nerves extraordinarily quickly, and he was wondering why in the world this Adulux fellow had any interest in staying with her in the first place. His reason for wanting her back was obvious; if he could manage to find her and produce her for the authorities, then he would be off the hook. It would be extremely difficult for anyone to make any sort of convincing murder case against him if the alleged victim was standing there hale and hearty. But why in the world had he desired to reconstruct their relationship? She seemed little more than a bundle of neuroses. She was clingy, and annoying, and . . .

  . . . and her head was, at that moment, leaning against Kebron’s forearm.

  Clearly she had disobeyed his specific instructions to keep her distance. Sometime during the night (night? was it night? time had lost its meaning) she had moved over to the sleeping, disguised Brikar and sought some measure of solace. Or security. Or whatever it was she thought she was getting from resting her head on his arm.

  He looked down at her with vague disinterest. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that in repose, she seemed somehow a bit less obnoxious. Indeed, while slumbering her face had actually settled into something that was not too unpleasant to look upon. She even had a small smile on her lips, which was a pleasing contrast to the look of overwhelming concern that she’d been wearing since they’d first put her in there with him.

  What Kebron actually found slightly disconcerting was that her head felt oddly comforting resting where it was.

  It was a bizarre feeling for Kebron. As one of the very few Brikar in Starfleet, he had grown accustomed to being alone. Solitude was not the same as loneliness. By his build, by the physical requirements of his mass, by the impervious skin that cloaked his mammoth frame, they had helped to carve a separate niche for Kebron that he had very comfortably inhabited. He had never sought any way out of the box that circumstances had created for him, because truthfully . . . where was there to go?

  Zanka’s head on his arm, though, filled him with a vague sort of warmth. He adjusted his position slightly and now Zanka—still asleep—insinuated her body against his.

  And then he saw that tears were running down her face. Even in her sleep, she was so upset that she was not able to rest comfortably.

  Kebron reached over and, with a tenderness that he once would not have been capable of, wiped some of the tears away. The moisture felt hot on his fingertips. Curious, he brought his fingers up to his mouth and tasted it gingerly. Salty.

  Her arms waved about aimlessly and then wrapped themselves in a grip around his. She was no longer simply leaning against him; now she was actually clinging to him, as if he were some sort of life preserver in a sea of uncertainty. He wanted to pry her off, to move away from her, but something within him stopped him. And he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased about that or not. He was so accustomed to people counting on him, needing him, but not in any sort of emotional manner. If people required physical protection, then naturally it was within his purview as head of security to provide it. He went about his job with brisk and ruthless efficiency.

  Some even claimed too ruthless; when attacked with deadly force, Kebron had not hesitated to return it in kind. There had been some raised eyebrows and noises made by Starfleet, but the comments had never gone anywhere. Kebron had always suspected that Mackenzie Calhoun was responsible for running some sort of interference between critics and Kebron. Not that he was ever going to have the opportunity to ask Calhoun about it.

  The thought saddened him. And in being saddened, he actually drew Zanka slightly closer to himself. He did so unconsciously, totally unaware that he had done it. Zanka, however, was more than aware enough for the both of them, for the small movement brought her to full wakefulness. She put a hand up against Kebron’s chest and seemed to draw solace from it. It just made Kebron feel uncomfortable . . . but uncomfortable in a way that he couldn’t really express.

  “Are we going to get out of here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said firmly.

  “How do you know?”

  “I do.”

  “How?”

  “Because I said so.”

  The bravado seemed to impress her, bring her some measure of comfort. Then her face clouded. “But . . . but do you think you can protect me from that . . .” Her hand wavered in the direction of the door. “. . . from that creature?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how are you going to . . . ?” Then, despite the seriousness of the situation, she actually managed to laugh ever so slightly. “Of course. Because you said so.”

  He nodded.

  “Believe it or not, that’s actually good enough for me. You know, Kebron . . . you’re so unlike any other man I’ve ever met. You seem so much . . . bigger. Powerful. Confident.”

  He said nothing.

  “How do you do it?” she asked. “How do you maintain such boundless confidence? It’s remarkably attractive, you know.”

  Kebron definitely did not like the direction the conversation was going. “No. It’s not.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  And then, before he could once again tell her that it wasn’t, she kissed him.

  It was something that he was f
amiliar with by having observed it, or similar gestures, in other races. The Brikar had no such tradition. Their rocklike hides made such gentle and subtle sensations utterly futile. Which was why Zanka’s sudden movement caught him completely by surprise.

  His reaction was swift and immediate. He reached up and clamped a hand on her shoulder, but he found that he was holding it far more gently than he would have thought. Nor was he pushing her away. He wasn’t drawing her toward him, either. It was as if he was assessing what was happening to him.

  Naturally the door to the room chose that moment to slide open, and in stumbled Adulux.

  Adulux looked utterly disoriented, but his attention focused very quickly on Kebron and Zanka, and, more important, on what they were doing. He gaped in shock, as if his brain was having trouble processing what his eyes were telling him. All the emotions of the moment tumbled about within him, warring, trying to chart a course to guide him. But there was nothing simple and immediate, and he looked like someone cast adrift, unsure of what to think or whom to trust.

  He did not see the kiss, for they had parted by that point, but their proximity and Zanka’s body language were unmistakable. As stunned and confounded as Adulux was to see her, Kebron saw that Zanka’s reaction to seeing Adulux was about as far from confusion as a person could be. There was no confusion in her mind, oh no. She was clearly afraid, even terrified. Of everything that she had experienced up until that point, it was the presence of Adulux that seemed to fill her with the most consternation.

  “What are you doing,” demanded Adulux, sounding much less like a relieved husband than an infuriated one, “with him? What’s going on here?”

  “Smile. You’ve found her,” Kebron said. He was careful to physically distance himself from her, even though his instincts were quite different. What he really wanted to do was draw her close, hold her tight in powerful arms that did not have to be concerned about breaking her in half accidentally. He knew that there was no reason for him to feel that way. That it was a purely visceral reaction in response to sensations foisted upon him by the genetic surgery. Inside he was still the same. But on the outside, he was being fed all sorts of stimuli that were playing havoc with the Zak Kebron that he had always been. He made a conscious effort to push it aside as he said, “Aren’t you pleased?”