Kebron tried everything he could think of to override the weapons systems, but nothing was working. “As long as there’s power going to the phasers, I can’t shut it down—”
“Then we need to shut everything down,” said Xy.
Kebron realized what he meant. It was a majorly risky move, one that would leave the Excalibur disastrously vulnerable. A decision like this was normally above his pay grade. But the captain had left the ship and couldn’t be reached, and the second in command was MIA. The decision, and possible consequences, were on him. He didn’t nod because he had no neck and so nodding was problematic. Instead he simply said, “Do it.”
Immediately Xy called out, “Bridge to engineering!”
“Engineering!” came back the voice of Lieutenant Ronni Beth, the right-hand woman to Chief Engineer Mitchell. She sounded concerned, which was understandable. There were certain protocols that were always followed when the phaser banks were engaged, and none of them was being followed in this instance.
Xy could not have cared less about protocols at that moment. “Shut down the core and the power couplings! Shut down everything!”
“Everything?”
“Everything! Take us to black!”
He didn’t have to explain the severity of this decision to Lieutenant Beth; she knew as well as anyone how open to attack they’d be leaving the Excalibur. They would have as much offensive capability as a paperweight. And it would remain that way for as long as it took them to start the engines back up, which would be a process of some minutes since a cold start-up was courting disaster. But there was simply no alternative. “Initiating shutdown, aye,” came back Beth’s voice.
Seconds passed like hours as the phaser banks continued to punish the surface of New Thallon. The world had planetary defenses, big guns that were capable of returning fire, but the lack of assault on the Excalibur led Kebron to suspect that they had been the first targets. If that was the case, then that eliminated any possible theory that the attack was random. Then again, he had already come to the conclusion that there was nothing random about any of this. He had figured out who and what was behind it because it was the only thing that made any sense.
This was even further affirmed, as if he needed any further confirmation, when Beth’s voice came back from engineering: “Shutdown failed! Repeat, shutdown failed! The system is keeping us out! Every time we try to initiate the shutdown sequence, the system itself countermands it! It keeps changing all the access codes, even the prefix code! We’ve got nothing down here!”
Xy exchanged a look of growing hopelessness, even as he said, “Acknowledged. Keep trying and keep us apprised.” Quickly he left the science station and crossed straight to Kebron. In a low voice, or as low as he could go while still being audible over the red alert klaxon, “Morgan’s not a victim of whatever this is, is she. She’s the cause of it.”
“Yes,” said Kebron, reverting for once to his former terseness.
“What do we do?”
Kebron glanced at him without turning his head. “We wait.”
“For what?”
“For this to play out. This isn’t happenstance. There’s a plan being enacted, and all we can do at this point is bear witness to it, and hope we get a chance to make things right.”
“Make things right?” Xy’s face was grim. “How? Wave a magic wand and restore to life all the poor bastards who are dying down there?”
Kebron didn’t answer, because they both knew there wasn’t anything that he could say.
iv.
S/he knew it was pointless. S/he knew that nothing was going to be accomplished by it.
But after five minutes of being trapped in the turbolift with a smug computer entity that was pretending to be sympethic, deaf, dumb, and blind, knowing perfectly well that the phaser banks were unloading on the surface of New Thallon, trying to raise anyone on the crew via hir com-badge and getting absolutely nowhere, and finally, unable to take it anymore, Burgoyne unleashed a full-throated roar. Hir claws extended from hir fingertips, and hir lips drew back, revealing hir fangs. Morgan, who had just been in the process of offering psychoanalysis as to why s/he had never been happy on hir home world and never truly fit in with other Hermats, and because of that hir entire relationship with Selar was doomed to self-destruct from the very beginning, looked startled as Burgoyne came straight at her.
S/he swept hir claws across Morgan’s face, across her chest, and a huge flap of skin was suddenly hanging down from where Burgoyne’s claws had shredded it, and a chunk of her torso was naked and exposed, blood pouring from it. S/he swung hir claws again, slicing across Morgan’s throat, severing the jugular, and Morgan staggered, clutching at it, her eyes wide with confusion and yes, there was even terror mirrored there for just a second, just an instant.
Burgoyne spun, rebounding off the edge of the turbolift, and came right at Morgan again.
And she was gone.
Burgoyne went right through the space that Morgan had been occupying and banged into the far wall. S/he landed in a crouch, hir head snapping around, and then s/he heard Morgan’s angry voice in the turbolift.
“That was not funny, Burgoyne. Not funny at all. We were not amused.”
“Get back in front of me,” s/he snarled, “and we’ll see how much more I can not amuse you.”
Abruptly the distant sound of the phasers ceased. Burgoyne looked around, hir fangs already starting to retract. Had s/he somehow managed to—?
“I stopped because I didn’t want to deplete the phaser banks entirely. You may need them. I’ve turned the ship around and you are now departing New Thallonian space, very, very slowly.”
Burgoyne’s voice was gravelly, and s/he felt like hir body was engorged with blood. S/he was having trouble bringing hirself down from the killing instinct that had briefly seized control of hir. “You did this so that they’d come after us. So that they would try to destroy us.”
“There was only so long I could have kept the imposture of Calhoun going,” she admitted. “This was going to have to happen sooner or later. I chose to make it sooner. And I will give you the same opportunity that I provided Calhoun: to die on the best possible terms, fighting for your lives against overwhelming odds. I mean, you could give up, I suppose. But I don’t expect you to surrender any more than I expect Mac to. That was part of the deal I made.”
“Deal?”
“Nothing that need concern you,” her voice said offhandedly. “You could have easily been destroyed, and so too could Mac. But you’ve all earned far more than that. So I’ve arranged it all for you to die the way you should: bravely and in action. I could do no less.”
“You,” said Burgoyne, “are not Morgan Primus, if you ever were. And we will cut you out of the Excalibur like the cancer that you are…”
“Now, now,” she scolded him. “You’re not exactly in a position to be issuing threats, Burgoyne.”
The turbolift suddenly jolted and started heading in the opposite direction from where it had been going.
“I’m bringing you back to the bridge,” Morgan’s voice informed him. “I suspect you’re all going to have a great deal to discuss. I wish you the best of luck.”
“If the ship is destroyed,” Burgoyne said, “you’re going to go with it.”
“That would be silly, if I was going to let that happen. Of course I’m not going to go with the ship when it’s destroyed. I’m immortal, my dear. It’s funny,” she mused, “I was immortal for such a long time, and I became so sick of it. All I wanted to do was die. And then I became what I am, and now all I want to do is live. Funny, isn’t it.”
“And yet I’m not laughing.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to see the humor of it,” she said. “Maybe in your last moments, you will.”
With that, the doors of the turbolift opened and Burgoyne emerged into chaos.
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco
A Short Time Later
Edward Jellico had ju
st returned from chaos.
As head of Starfleet operations, he had stood before the Federation Council and withstood a storm of criticism and interrogation as to the barbaric and catastrophic actions taken by the starship Excalibur and her captain, Mackenzie Calhoun. One after another the questions were flung at him like a barrage of hailstones: “Has Calhoun lost his mind?” “Why didn’t his psych profile predict this?” “Was this part of a Starfleet plan to instigate an interstellar incident?” “Was the entire crew of the Excalibur in on this?” “Has there been a mutiny?” “How are you going to stop him?” “Can he be stopped?”
And Jellico had fought back as much as he could. He reminded them of Calhoun’s lengthy and distinguished service to the Federation, and the numerous times—including as recently as a major Borg incursion—when he and his ship had been instrumental in saving countless lives.
But this had been promptly combated with incidents taken from Calhoun’s records that detailed his many instances of insubordination including, most damning, condemnations written by Jellico himself. The assumption from the Council, rather than accepting that subsequent events had caused Jellico to change his mind, was that Jellico was automatically moving to blindly defend one of his officers.
With condemnations, dictates, and warnings ringing in his ears, Jellico returned to his office only to find both Admiral Nechayev and Tusari Gyn waiting just outside it. Perfect, he thought.
“Ambassador. Admiral,” he said, nodding to each one in sequence. He didn’t even bother to ask them to follow him inside; he knew they would do so without being invited. He was, as it turned out, correct.
Jellico did not sit down behind his desk, however. Instead he turned to face the two of them and leaned against his desk casually. One of two things would happen as a consequence. Either they would both choose to sit, at which point Jellico would then be looking down at them, thus giving him a subtle advantage. Or else they would stop a short distance away and not sit. Since he was leaning while they would be just standing there, they would become increasingly uncomfortable the longer they remained that way.
They were minor points, but wars were fought and won or lost on minor points. The devil was in the details, and Jellico prided himself on being a cunning devil.
“So, Edward,” began Nechayev, perhaps thinking that invoking his first name would give the proceedings a more personal flavor. “It seems we have a bit of a situation here.”
Tusari Gyn looked at her as if just noticing she was in the room. “A bit of a situation? I believe—and I think that the Federation Council would bear me out—that that is a huge understatement. This entire business is a fiasco.”
“This entire business,” and Jellico made no attempt to keep his voice down, “was your damned idea, Ambassador.”
“Admiral, a little respect, please,” Nechayev said sharply.
“As little as possible, Admiral,” he shot back. “Again, this was the ambassador’s idea, not mine.”
“It was my idea to utilize Captain Calhoun to expedite a peace process,” said Tusari Gyn. “Something that would have benefited all concerned. It was never my idea to have his ship open fire on my world. Yet that disaster has unfolded, and yes, I bear responsibility for it, Admiral, because I was the one who inadvertently unleashed that madman upon New Thallon in the interest of a peace that now will never come. The blood of my people is on my hands, with my good intentions being responsible for spilling it. So now the collective voices of the dead and dying cry for justice, and I am here to ask: How do you intend to balance those scales?”
Jellico wanted to reach out and throttle him, but he didn’t think that would be the best first step in dealing with the problem in front of them.
Gyn, meanwhile, was still talking. “When I think of all that we were willing to forgive. His previous trespasses on New Thallon, and his willingness to provide sanctuary to the fugitive Robin Lefler. And this… this… is how he repays our generosity?”
“I am not at all convinced,” Jellico said, “that is what happened. I think there may well be more to all of this than anyone is ready to admit.”
“What more can there be? Our planet’s records are clear. The Excalibur was positively identified. There can be no mistake. And no one is denying that Mackenzie Calhoun is still the captain.”
“And since then,” Nechayev said worriedly, “the ship’s gone radio silent. All messages sent on Starfleet emergency channels are being ignored. The mere act of ignoring such communiqués is grounds for court-martial. You know that as well as I do, Admiral.”
Now it’s back to ‘Admiral.’ So much for taking the personal approach. It didn’t bother Jellico, however. Under the circumstances, the more formality there was, the better.
“If there is one thing I have learned in my time in Starfleet,” Jellico said, “it’s that what seems obvious… isn’t always.”
“Are you suggesting that the Excalibur was not responsible for the destruction on New Thallon?” said Nechayev, sounding extremely skeptical.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I am, on the other hand, reminding you, Admiral, that recently it was Starfleet’s belief that I had gone rogue and stolen an experimental timeship. It turned out in that case that not everything was what it appeared to be and that I was, in fact, innocent of all charges. Need I remind you who it was that brought clarity to that particular situation?”
“That’s a valid point as far as it goes, Admiral,” said Nechayev. “But we can’t give the Excalibur latitude simply because of a unique situation that happened to you last year.”
“I believe humans have a philosophy called Occam’s Razor,” said Tusari Gyn. “That the simplest answer tends to be the correct one.”
“That is, in fact, an oversimplification of a far more complicated axiom,” said Jellico.
“That’s as may be,” Nechayev jumped in, and Jellico was starting to feel as if he were fighting a two-headed dragon. “But here’s a truth that we both know, Admiral: Calhoun never ran a typical ship. His command crew is a collection of eccentrics who have two things in common: a host of personal issues, and an unswerving loyalty to their unorthodox captain. With a combination such as that, it was only a matter of time before an incident such as this occurred.”
Jellico studied Nechayev with open astonishment. “You, Admiral, of all people, know that Mackenzie Calhoun has consistently employed his lack of orthodoxy to benefit Starfleet interests.” He didn’t want to go into specifics since he knew that Calhoun had undertaken a variety of under-the-radar assignments for Nechayev’s office, none of which should be made public, particularly in the presence of a Federation ambassador. And Nechayev, of course, knew this perfectly well, which is why it was so annoying to Jellico that she seemed disinclined to provide any support for a man who had been one of her most reliable agents.
“Yes, he has,” said Nechayev, and then she added in a detached manner, “until, apparently, now.”
Before Jellico could respond to that, Tusari Gyn said in that same annoying whispery voice of his, “Admirals… despite your obviously strong feelings on the subject, and without addressing the respective merits—or lack thereof,” and Jellico bristled at that but held his tongue, “of your positions, the fact remains that the Council’s instructions are quite explicit in this matter. I am here simply to learn firsthand how you plan to go about apprehending these renegades since, obviously, I have the most personal stake in the matter. If, however, you find my presence off-putting, I will simply return to the Federation Council and—”
And tell them how damned annoying you are? Because I’d like to be there for that conversation.
“That will not be necessary, Ambassador,” said Nechayev politely. “In Starfleet, spirited conversations over policy are quite common. But ultimately we work in tandem with the Council to safeguard the best interests of the Federation. This will prove to be no exception.” She looked pointedly at Jellico. “Would you call that a fair assessment, Admiral?”
>
His mouth thinned as he said, “Very much so, Admiral.”
“Then I think our course is clear,” she said. She was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable standing in one place, and she slightly moved one foot and then the other, which secretly pleased Jellico for some reason he couldn’t express. “The fact is that Calhoun is far too formidable a foe to take half measures. If we give him the slightest leeway in any engagement, we’re going to lose people.”
“Admiral,” said Jellico carefully, “are you suggesting—?”
“The Excalibur,” she said, leaving no shading in her meaning, “needs to be destroyed on sight. Calhoun may be one of the best strategists we have in our fleet. He’s going to count on any approaching Starfleet vessel to have the exact agenda that you’re describing: trying to determine the ‘truth’ of the situation, giving him a chance to surrender quietly, and all the other procedures we would normally follow in this instance. We have to assume that he will view such hesitations as weaknesses that he can exploit. Playing into that is simply going to guarantee casualties on our side.”
“Calhoun is on our side.”
“No,” said Nechayev. “Calhoun is on his own side, and always has been. In those instances where those interests have overlapped, he has been of great service to us. I admit that. But we now appear to have a divergence of interests, and there can be no hesitation. We need to take down Calhoun fast and we need to take him down hard.”
“So it’s shoot first, ask questions later.”
“That is the current plan.”
“Well then,” said Jellico, his voice on edge, “I’m just going to have to take it up with—”
“Take it up with whomever you wish,” Nechayev interrupted him brusquely. “You will find that this mandate isn’t originating from me, but from the highest levels in the fleet.”