Missing in Action

  There was Robin Lefler, seated on the bridge of the Trident. Shelby was to her left, Mueller to her right. She looked calm and determined and seething with quiet anger.

  “This message is going out,” she said, “to all sentient beings within the sound of my voice. I am Robin Lefler…late of Earth…late of Starfleet…and now the ruler-in-absentia of New Thallon. My husband, Lord Si Cwan, was assassinated by the usurper, Fhermus, of the House of Fhermus. He did this in the belief that Kalinda of New Thallon was responsible for the death of his son. He was wrong. This error led him to ambush and then slaughter my husband. That was also wrong. I have rectified this error…by taking Fhermus’s life. This will no doubt make me a target for allies of his. Fine. However, as the new power in Thallonian space, I have taken it upon myself to summon aid from Starfleet. If you wish to go up against not only myself but the combined might of the most powerful spacegoing fleet in existence, be my guest. I assure you my hospitality will be forthcoming…and lethal.

  “You can be against me…or you can be with me. And the place you can be with me is Priatia. At this moment, I am heading toward that world…a world where I firmly believe that the true Kalinda, sister of my late husband, is being held prisoner. I intend to retrieve her from captivity, and the Priatians will be forced to admit to their culpability in the death of Si Cwan. For those of you who believe that the Priatians are a helpless, marginal race…a mere shadow of their former selves…I believe they have powerful allies. Allies not of this territory. Allies who may well show themselves if the Priatians are directly threatened.

  “We have the video record of my husband’s battle with the creature who impersonated his sister. Fhermus endeavored to dismiss it as a hoax. It was not. We are going to continue to play it on an endless loop on an adjacent frequency, so all of you can see the heroism that my husband possessed…and so you can see the face of the enemy. We will produce more with that same face, I guarantee it.

  “Those of you who are loyal to Si Cwan—who reveled in his greatness—I say this to you: Fhermus and his followers tried to pretend you did not exist. That you were few in number and of no consequence. I call upon you now to show them that they were wrong. That you have consequence. That you are willing to fight in the memory of your lord, and avenge yourselves upon those who were responsible for this pointless civil war. Join me at Priatia, and we will rain down justice upon them. It will be a battle that will be spoken of for ages, and remembered by all future generations. If you are with me…join us there. If you are not,” and her voice dropped to a deep, threatening tone, “then I suggest you stay the hell out of our way. Robin Lefler…out.”

  After a few moments, Arex called out, “All right. We have it. It’s going out now.” He paused and then said, “Uh…Captain…Admiral…‘rain down justice’? Not exactly in our mission parameters.”

  “I know that, Arex,” said Shelby. “But those hearing the message don’t know that. Officially, we’re simply escorting her. We will fire on no one first.”

  “And if someone fires on us?”

  “Then,” Mueller spoke up, “we will ask them to stop.”

  “And if the Priatians see through my bluff? If they believe it’s a joke of some sort…” said Robin.

  “I suspect that will not be the case here,” Mueller told her. “And I further suspect that, when word gets out…the Priatians will not be laughing.”

  Priatia

  The Wanderers loom over Keesala and the others of his race. It is a size disconnect that Keesala has never quite become accustomed to, always feeling daunted and uncertain in their presence. Now, however, he feels none of that. He feels nothing except escalating panic. And for the first time, others of his species, such as Pembark, who is standing next to him, are likewise looking concerned. Until now, Keesala’s flutelike voice has been alone in suggesting that they are heading for certain disaster. Now, though, others are echoing his concerns, and the Wanderers who had deigned to descend from their vessel and talk to them about it do not look particularly concerned.

  “You received the messages! You must have!” Keesala is saying. “A force of ships—who knows how many—are coming here! Here! We are simply unable to withstand an assault of that magnitude!”

  “You doubt us?” rumbles one of the Wanderers. “You dare to doubt us? We who established your race? We who hold your future in our grasp?”

  “It seems that the Thallonians and their demented new leader have something to say about it as well,” Pembark says. “We encountered this female before. She was more reasonable at that point. Now she is crazed. Implacable. You saw it. We all saw it. Her husband is dead thanks to our machinations, and now she wants all of us to pay for that!”

  “Of what consequence is that to us?” demands the Wanderer.

  “You swore that you would help us! That you would aid us in regaining our past glory!”

  “And so you shall. But you will not cover yourselves in glory if you excrete panic. Let them come. You have seen our power. You have seen what we can do. Do you truly think we cannot withstand an assault by them?”

  “We don’t know how many ships there will be!”

  “Perhaps,” Keesala says, “the wisest course would be to do as they say. Release the Thallonian. Explain to them that—”

  One of the Wanderer’s tentacles lashes out and envelops Keesala before he even knows what’s happening. He is lifted high, high into the air, brought to eye level with the frightening orbs set into the Wanderer’s face. For a moment he’s convinced that a maw is going to open somewhere in the creature and deposit him within.

  “We…explain nothing. We maintain that which interests us and destroy that which does not. Do you desire to be destroyed?”

  “N-no,” stammers Keesala.

  He is abruptly thrown toward the floor, where he lands with a fairly loud splat. He is nearly boneless, so the impact does not hurt him very much. It does, however, stun him.

  “Then have a care to continue to interest us,” warns the Wanderer.

  The Spectre

  i.

  Soleta lay back on her bed and exhaled heavily. It was rather narrow and not remotely designed for two people, which made it both uncomfortable and yet pleasingly challenging as Lucius dropped his head onto her shoulder and matched her exhausted sigh. Her bare skin was starting to cool, and she drew him closer so that he was half atop her, his naked left leg draped over her loins.

  “Some aspect of me,” Soleta observed, “thinks this was inevitable.”

  He lifted his head with effort and looked at her bleary-eyed. “You’re one of those females who likes to talk a good deal afterwards, aren’t you.”

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “Past lovers usually have leaped screaming from the bed and run out into the night. So I’ve never had the opportunity to explore it one way or the other.”

  “I see,” and he chuckled slightly. He pulled down the blanket, smiled at her breast, and rested one large hand upon it.

  “Worried it’s going to wander away?” she asked. Nevertheless she put her own hand atop his. “Well? Are you going to answer the question?”

  “You didn’t ask me a question.”

  “Yes, I…all right, I suppose, technically, I didn’t. I was wondering whether this…the two of us…was inevitable. All our talk of sex and what it would take…”

  “Perhaps,” said Lucius. “I mean, I knew I hated you far too passionately. There had to be something more. You simply weren’t worth despising that much.”

  “Thanks ever so,” she said and punched him in the shoulder. “Have a care. My previous lover was a god. By every reasonable measure of comparison, I’m slumming.”

  “I suppose,” he observed, “for a hatred as deep as ours, there are only two ways to express it. One is in mutual destruction…”

  “And the other is mutual gratification?”

  “So it would seem.”

  This time when they made love, they did it far more slowly, with non
e of the fierceness-bordering-on-hostility that had accompanied their first coupling. There was no tenderness yet. That would come later, if it ever did at all. But there was slow exploration of what pleased the other, the meticulous and thorough inspection of the curves of each other’s bodies. And when they were once again spent, Soleta fell into a dreamless sleep, wondering if she would be alive when she woke up.

  A beeping alert startled her to wakefulness and for a moment she thought they were under attack…or perhaps Lucius himself was trying to attack her, although that thought didn’t really make a tremendous amount of sense. But Lucius was startled awake as well, and it took only moments for Soleta to realize what it was that the system was reacting to.

  “A recorded incoming message,” she said. “One that the computer feels requires immediate attention.”

  “Our computer is capable of doing that? Of making that determination?”

  “It was after I got through with it.”

  She rolled out of bed on one side while Lucius bounded off the other. They pulled on their clothes and headed for the bridge.

  Once having arrived, Soleta said, “Computer. Play message.”

  And then she and Lucius watched in silence as Robin Lefler made her open appeal for aid in raising an assault on Priatia. All during the announcement, Soleta was not watching Lefler, but instead Captain Mueller. She wanted to see her reaction to all of this. But her face was as immobile as that of a Vulcan’s, and not for the first time, Soleta couldn’t help but wonder if Mueller perhaps didn’t have a little Vulcan blood somewhere in her family line.

  “It will be a battle that will be spoken of for ages, and remembered by all future generations,” Robin Lefler concluded. “If you are with me…join us there. If you are not, then I suggest you stay the hell out of our way. Robin Lefler…out.”

  Her last words hung in the air for a short time, and then the message began to repeat automatically. “Computer, recording off,” said Soleta. She leaned back against a railing and stroked her chin thoughtfully.

  “It sounds like a rather impressive undertaking,” Lucius observed.

  Soleta nodded. “An undertaking being…undertaken…by the vessel that offered us aid when we were crippled, even when it was under no obligation to do so.”

  “That is true.” Lucius considered that. “Do you think that large vessel…the one that manhandled us on our last encounter…will show up?”

  “I think it eminently likely. If they have some sort of proprietary interest in the Priatians, certainly they would make an appearance in order to protect that interest.”

  Lucius nodded, and he smiled in that satisfied way he had when anticipating inflicting damage upon someone. “It would be most pleasing to even the score with that monster of a vessel.”

  “She’s bluffing, of course,” Soleta said. “It’s a starship, not her personal battle vessel. Still, most people won’t know that. Things could get interesting. Still…vengeance is, and always will be, a hollow pursuit. It has neither purpose nor goal.”

  “Can it not be an end in itself?”

  Soleta considered this. “I suppose it can be, yes.”

  ii.

  Soleta wasn’t sure exactly what to expect upon approaching Priatia. She had a number of scenarios worked out in her head, trying to anticipate everything. They covered the entire range of possibilities, from mildest to worst case.

  She didn’t actually expect the worst case to be already in play at the point that she arrived. She estimated that one having a likelihood of one in twenty-seven. But as the Spectre dropped out of warp space, still maintaining its cloak, she realized she had to adjust her estimate somewhat.

  “Gods,” said Lucius, when he saw what was in front of them. He vaulted from the navigation station toward tactical. Soleta immediately took his position at navigation, content to let the more battle-experienced tribune handle the weapons array.

  The vastness of space over Priatia was alive with weapons fire. There, sure enough, was the gargantuan vessel that had—as Lucius had put it—manhandled the Spectre in its previous encounter. This time, however, the ship was under assault from all around. The Spectre hung back, assessing the situation. “How many ships do you make, Tribune?” she asked.

  “At least two dozen, Commander.”

  She turned and looked back at him. “Now it’s ‘Commander’?”

  He shrugged and then added, “Eyes front, Commander.”

  “Ah. Right.”

  Despite their number, the ships were outmatched in terms of size. But the inhabitants of the massive vessel clearly didn’t know where to look first. “Why aren’t they simply immobilizing the ships, as Xyon claimed they did to his?” Soleta wondered aloud, and then answered her own question: “It must have a range. As long as the ships are staying out of that range, their energy-dampening field can’t be used.”

  “Perhaps it’s not even a field,” suggested Lucius. “Perhaps it’s a specific weapon that must be aimed and fired, same as any other weapon.”

  “Interesting notion…and one that suggests possibilities.”

  She spotted the Trident in the midst of the fight. Obviously the ship had been fired upon, freeing it up to defend itself. The starship had separated its saucer section from its secondary hull, effectively doubling its battle potential. It also made sense since they had two combat-savvy officers, both of command level, on the ship. Mueller was probably aboard the saucer section, while Shelby was on the battle bridge of the secondary section. That would likely be Mueller’s thinking, since the engineering section had the warp engines and therefore greater capacity for escape should the need arise. And since Mueller would be concerned about the admiral’s survival, she would naturally make sure that Shelby wound up on the battle bridge.

  They were coming at the vessel from two directions in a deftly coordinated attack, and Soleta marveled at the way the saucer section spun out of the way of blasts fired at them by the larger vessel. Even in a battle situation, the Trident was displaying admirable restraint.

  And then one of the smaller ships was struck by a blast from the gargantuan ship. Having a chance to observe it from a distance, Soleta was astounded by it. It was like nothing she’d seen before, a sort of spiral blast that simply seemed to drill into the ship like a corkscrew made of pure energy. It smashed the smaller vessel apart in one stroke, bisecting it and sending each half spiraling off in a different direction.

  Then a second ship was picked off, and then a third. “It’s starting to get their range,” Lucius said grimly. “They’re not going to be able to withstand it.”

  “Prepare to decloak and charge weapons.”

  But Lucius did not immediately acknowledge the order. With a faint buzz of alarm over his failure to do so, Soleta turned to check what was going on—half-expecting to see him aiming a disruptor at her and saying, “Surprise.” Instead he was studying the tactical arrays, his elegant arched eyebrows knit together.

  “What is it?”

  He looked up and said with mild surprise, “They have no shields.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Never more so,” he reaffirmed.

  “How can they not have shields? Why would they not have shields?” And then again, the science officer who resided in Soleta’s skull answered the question before Lucius could. “That transwarp corridor of theirs may well be some sort of link to another dimension, rather than simply another section of our universe. And if that’s the case, it’s possible that differences in physical laws might preclude some of their armament from working properly.”

  “That is, I suppose, possible,” said Lucius. “Unfortunately, it does not appear to be making much difference in the long run. The assaults from the other ships do not appear to be taking a significant toll upon the larger vessel. Perhaps they simply can’t get close enough to penetrate the ship’s hull.”

  “Maybe they can’t,” she said grimly.
“But I don’t see that that precludes us from doing so.”

  “I had a feeling you might say that.”

  “Are you game?”

  “Keep us alive long enough for me to do some damage, and I’ll be more than satisfied.”

  Soleta nodded in acknowledgment of the challenge, and then studied the nav station. She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly to steady herself. This was not remotely what she had been trained for, and was unlike anything she had ever done. At that moment she would have killed to have Mark McHenry there, taking confident control of the vessel and sending it sailing into danger, deftly maneuvering around all the hazards that awaited it.

  But McHenry wasn’t there. There was just Soleta, who hadn’t trained on any sort of navigation equipment since her Academy days…and had never operated the navigation system of a Romulan vessel in her life. At least, not in anything approaching combat conditions.

  “Perhaps today,” she said defiantly, “is a good day to die. Hold on to your station. This is going to be…interesting.”

  Soleta cleared her mind and then, keeping the computer guidance lock under close observation, sent the Spectre slamming forward toward the huge ship ahead of them.

  Naturally they did not face jeopardy only from the huge vessel. There were also the other ships to consider. Swooping this way and that, firing freely at their opponent, naturally they didn’t see the Spectre because she was cloaked. So Soleta had to worry not only about possible assaults from their target, but also about friendly fire from those she was trying to aid.

  The Spectre swooped and dove, rolled completely over, and then came up again. Soleta kept the ship moving, with her shields on maximum to handle any additional damage that might come their way.

  “Steady!” Lucius called. “Steady! You’re doing well.”

  “I appreciate that,” Soleta replied, just as the Spectre was jolted by a passing blast. She couldn’t even determine from which direction it had come, and she didn’t have the time to find out.