“Good,” said Kebron with that approximation of a nod, and then he turned and walked out of the ready room.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Burgoyne demanded the moment Kebron was out of the ready room.
“I don’t know. He was never one for fervent discourse.” He tapped his fingers idly on the desk. “Talk to Soleta. She’s known him the longest. Perhaps she can shed some light on this. Oh…” he added, with a smile.
“Dr. Selar informed me of Soleta’s little stunt in sickbay. Officially, I’m required to disapprove of her actions. Unofficially, please convey to her my sentiment that her attempted mind-meld with McHenry took a lot of guts, and I admire her for it. According to Selar, Soleta actually managed to…come into contact with him somehow. That single action has given us the first real cause for hope since this entire, hideous affair began. Tell her…I appreciate it. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Burgoyne, obviously amused. Then s/he grew serious again. “About Kebron…about what you said to him…about the gods making us fighting mad?”
Calhoun rose, smoothing his shirt. “I remember what I said, Burgy.” His sword from his days as a Xenexian warlord was hanging, as always, from its place of honor on the wall. He took it down, removed a soft cloth from his desk, and proceeded to polish the gleaming blade. “We’ve been laid up for weeks, Burgy. Last thing I heard was three days to finish everything up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that ironclad?”
“Pardon?” asked Burgoyne.
“Whatever needs to be done, can it be done in transit? On the way to, say, Danter.”
Burgoyne was clearly considering all that needed to be attended to. Then, thoughtfully, s/he nodded. “It’s possible, Captain. I wouldn’t advise it.”
“I wasn’t looking for advice, Burgy. Just a simple yes or no.”
“Yes,” Burgoyne said briskly.
“Good. Inform Chief Mitchell down in engineering to fire up the engines. We’re taking her out for a spin.”
“For a spin, sir?” said Burgoyne with a look of caution in hir face. “Or for vengeance?”
Calhoun was halfway around the desk when Burgoyne spoke, but he paused and leaned against the side. “You disapprove?” he asked, folding his arms.
“It is not for me to approve or disapprove.”
“You disagree.”
“Captain, I had a firsthand view of the threat the Beings pose,” said Burgoyne reasonably. “Believe me, if they had one great heart, I would rip it out and personally devour it.”
“Your sentiments are appreciated, if not your cuisine choices.”
“But,” continued Burgoyne, “I believe there may be issues at work here that you haven’t considered…not the least of which is that Trident may see this as an encroachment.”
“I’m aware of that, Burgy,” said Calhoun with a mildly regretful sigh.
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“Yes. It concerns me. But Burgy…I didn’t trust the Danteri from the get-go. They subjugated my people. They always have other motives. And the Beings were malevolent rather than beneficent. McHenry saw right through them.”
“McHenry said they were not to be trusted, and only then was the assault started,” Burgoyne reminded him.
“What are you saying? That the attack was McHenry’s fault?”
“No. It likely would have come sooner or later anyway. But his sentiments likely triggered it. I’m simply saying, Captain,” s/he continued quickly when s/he saw the increasing clouding of Calhoun’s face. “I’m simply saying that Captain Shelby, considering her lack of personal animus with the Beings, might be the ideal choice of officer to be on the scene at Danter.”
“You’re right, Burgy. She might be.” Then his face hardened. “But she might not. And I’m not interested in playing the odds. Not when my presence can double them in our favor. Now…let’s get this boat under way.”
ii.
Robin Lefler was seated at her ops station, moving her hands slowly over the totally rebuilt surface of the controls. There was no trace of the damage that had been done during the attack. It was almost as if the assault by the Beings were imaginary. If the evidence was gone, it was just that much easier to sweep the reality away into the farthest recesses of recollection.
Well, that was why she had wanted to get rid of the holoimage of her mother, wasn’t it? As selfish as that had been? By banishing that…that thing from existence, it would be that much easier for Robin to avoid thinking about her. Just toss her from her mind, erase any feelings of hurt or love or…or anything. Just be nice and blissfully numb over the loss of the one individual in her life whom she had never known quite how to relate to.
On the screen in front of her was the steady image of Starbase 27 as they continued their leisurely orbit around it. Her gaze wandered from the rather boring view over toward the conn station. Fully repaired, gleaming and new, it nevertheless looked pitifully empty. In addition to McHenry, two backup navigation officers had been killed during the attack of the Beings. Naturally there were crewmen who could fill in in a pinch, but Starfleet had dispatched two new officers to cover the day and night shifts. They were expected to arrive within the next three days.
Devereaux was finishing some work at the tactical station, as Zak Kebron stood near and glowered down at him. It was obviously distracting the hell out of Devereaux, but he lacked the nerve to say anything about it. She couldn’t entirely blame him; Kebron could be a daunting figure when he wanted to be. Or even when he didn’t want to be.
Then Devereaux looked up as the door to the captain’s ready room slid open. “Captain on the bridge,” he barked out.
The rest of the crew had long since given up sending odd looks Devereaux’s way. There were indeed some Starfleet captains who preferred the ceremonial announcement whenever the top-ranked commanding officer set foot on the bridge. But Calhoun’s priorities did not lie in that direction. The first time Devereaux had bellowed the proclamation, Calhoun had told him quite politely that it wasn’t necessary. That everyone in the place had eyes and could see him just fine.
Devereaux, equally politely, had told him that—the way he was raised in a family that had followed a tradition of Starfleet service for two centuries—there was simply no option. He had sworn to Calhoun that he would try to restrain himself. Sometimes he managed to refrain from saying it at all, and other times he said it softly. Every so often, though, he just had to let it out. Calhoun simply shrugged it off. Lefler had even begun to suspect that—on some level—the captain kind of liked it. At the very least, he seemed to get a kick out of the way everyone looked at Devereaux.
Instead of heading to the captain’s chair, Calhoun stopped a few feet from the exit of the ready room and said, “Mr. Devereaux…three hours ago you told me your work on the computer core would be completed. Because I’m a generous sort of fellow, I’ve given you three hours and two minutes. Where do we stand?”
“We stand completed, Captain,” said Devereaux briskly. “The entire system has been stripped down, flushed out, buffed up, and is ready to go. And without so much as the loss of a single operating system for so much as a minute.”
“There are fewer great satisfactions than that of self,” Calhoun replied solemnly.
For her part, Robin felt a distinct sinking sensation. She felt…unclean. Ungrateful. Hell, she had to be candid with herself: Even though she knew there was no basis in fact to feel that way, it was as if she had somehow condemned her mother to death with her own hand.
“All right then,” said Calhoun after a moment. “Impress me, Mr. Devereaux.”
“Computer,” Devereaux called.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the computer voice filtered through the bridge. “Working.”
The voice was jolting for Robin. She’d never fully realized, now that Morgan was gone, just how much the computer voice—even under normal circumstances—sounded like her. She’d not
ed a resemblance in the past, but now…now it felt as if the same woman was speaking.
Devereaux looked to Calhoun expectantly. Calhoun merely shrugged, waiting. So Devereaux said, “Computer: List all ships currently active in Starfleet registry.”
“Specify order: Alphabetically by ship name, in order of date of registry, or numerically by registration number.”
Devereaux started to respond, but Calhoun cut in and said quietly, “Computer, you choose.”
The computer proceeded to rattle off with crisp, cool, and monotone efficiency every starship, transport, troop ship…everything that had a Starfleet registration number. It listed them alphabetically, beginning with the Adelphi. By the time it got to the Ellison, Calhoun had obviously heard enough and made a throat-cutting gesture.
But there was something going on that Lefler couldn’t quite understand. She saw a look of quiet contemplation on Calhoun, as if he was comprehending something that was simply not obvious to Robin Lefler at all.
“Computer, begin running diagnostic checks on all systems. Report when completed.” He turned to Calhoun and said, “Satisfied, Captain?” But even Devereaux seemed a bit puzzled by something.
Then Lefler realized what it was, or at least she thought she did. It was exceedingly odd that the computer had responded at all when Calhoun had given it a choice of what order to list the vessels. It really should have said “Unable to comply” or “Specification required.” Still, it was entirely possible that there was simply some sort of default program or setting.
“Computer,” Calhoun said suddenly, “access personnel file,” and his gaze swiveled over to Robin, “Lieutenant Robin Lefler.”
“Accessing,” the computer said without hesitation.
Lefler frowned, not understanding at all what the purpose of this was.
“Captain…?” said Devereaux, also clearly bewildered.
Calhoun ignored him. “Computer…read out the entirety of Robin Lefler’s personal medical history. All details. Then her psych profile. All details. As a matter of fact,” he continued, “access her personal log. Read that out, too. Begin with that.”
Robin’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Captain!” she said in shock.
“Captain Calhoun, I must protest,” said Devereaux. “There’s many other ways to test computer efficiency!”
“Captain, I respectfully agree,” Soleta said, casting a look toward Robin. “This is a most intrusive…”
But Burgoyne turned and said, “Soleta…it’s all right.” She looked visibly surprised for a moment in response, but said nothing further.
In the meantime, curiously, the computer had not carried out its ordered function. “Computer,” Calhoun said, and he strolled toward the center of the bridge, arms draped casually behind his back. “Execute orders.”
“Medical records accessible only to chief medical officer. Personal recorded material is under confidential seal,” the computer said after a moment’s more hesitation. “Access denied.”
A sigh of relief escaped from Robin, but Calhoun didn’t appear fazed. “Computer, I am employing command override priority One Zero Zero Zero One. Execute my orders. Let’s all hear Robin Lefler’s most personal, intimate thoughts.”
Robin braced herself.
The computer was silent.
“Computer,” said Calhoun with a warning tone. “Don’t make me come in there. Execute my orders, override priority One Zer—”
“You bastard,” the computer said.
There was startled gasps from throughout the bridge, but Calhoun simply laughed.
“Captain!” an alarmed Devereaux squeaked out. “I…I didn’t instruct it to—!”
“Mr. Devereaux,” Calhoun sighed, walking over to tactical and resting a hand on Devereaux’s shoulder, “you may know computers. But I know people. And one person I knew—Morgan Lefler—was not someone who was of a sort to go gently into that good night. Morgan! Front and center. That is an order, and this one I definitely am expecting to be obeyed.”
The computer screen wavered, and then the image seemed to dissolve into bits and pieces, billions of dots floating on the monitor for a heartbeat before snapping back together and reassembling into a familiar, and somewhat annoyed, visage. Robin jumped back in her seat, her jaw dropping, as her mother looked out at them from the screen.
“With all respect, Captain, you are some piece of work,” she said in obvious annoyance.
“This is impossible!” Devereaux cried out.
“And yet, here we all are,” said an amused Calhoun.
“I could have stayed hidden within the computer indefinitely,” Morgan said. Behind her was a background that was an exact replica of the bridge of the Excalibur. She had obviously conjured it at a whim. It was so realistic that Robin half thought she would be able to turn around and see her mother standing directly behind her shoulder. “Kept things running without a hitch. You’d never have known.”
“Morgan, you masked your presence from me for about two minutes,” Calhoun pointed out. “I don’t think long term would really have been an option, do you?”
“Captain, you don’t understand,” Devereaux said, his voice practically trembling with frustration. “I’m one of the top people from Daystrom! No one alive could have been more thorough than I was. What we’re seeing here, this is…this can’t be occurring. There’s no way the personality of Morgan Lefler would have been able to withstand the rebooting of the computer.”
“I can see your point, Devereaux,” said Calhoun, sounding quite reasonable. “But I look at it from a different point of view. The way I see it, we haven’t yet developed the equipment that can overcome the sheer force of willpower, human or otherwise. Early man knew beyond question the world was flat and sailing too far would send you off the edge…yet some explorers found it to be different. Heisenberg would have told you that, by his uncertainty principles, a matter transporter cannot possibly exist…yet it does. Einstein would easily explain why faster-than-light travel is an absurdity…yet here we are.
“In this case, despite all reasonable beliefs to the contrary,” and he looked at the face on the screen, “I was certain from the outset that no technology or procedures, as sophisticated and thorough as they were, would be able to obliterate the personality of Morgan Primus Lefler. Turns out I was right.”
“And if you’d been wrong?” demanded Morgan. “Would you have let my daughter’s most personal concerns become aired publicly?”
“I knew I wasn’t wrong,” Calhoun replied, and it was clear from the way he said it that any further pressing of the question would be a waste of time.
“So…what now?” asked Robin.
“Morgan,” Calhoun said, “it’s my surmise that, short of blowing up the Excalibur—again—you’re more or less here to stay.”
“More or less,” Morgan allowed, and then she glanced cautiously at Robin. “Provided…that’s acceptable to you, Robin.”
Robin let out a breath of relief that sounded surprisingly to her like a laugh. “That’s…perfectly acceptable, Mother. It wasn’t the same without you.”
“Morgan…I think you knew immediately that I was testing you,” said Calhoun, and now he sounded very serious. “On that basis, I wasn’t really expecting you to obey me…as you were likely aware. That is not, however, an acceptable option for the future. Do you understand that? I don’t care that you have a mind of your own. Henceforth, I tell you to do something, you do it. You refuse to carry out an order again, and I will scuttle this vessel, without hesitation. Is that clear?”
“Clear, Captain,” Morgan said quite formally.
“Good. Can you take over the conn station?”
“Of course.”
“What?” Robin was on her feet, and the others appeared startled as well. “Captain…?”
“We’re heading out, and I’m not inclined to sit around and wait for Starfleet to get personnel here. We’ll swing back for them or rendezvous at a future date,” Calhoun said
briskly. “Mr. Devereaux, you’ll return to Starbase 27 at once. We’re pushing off in ten minutes.”
“Course, Captain?” inquired Morgan. With no change in her expression to indicate any effort on her part, the conn and navigation station came awake from standby position, humming to life and illuminating.
“Danter. Best possible speed.”
“Danter, Captain?” inquired Robin.
“That’s right, Lieutenant. Danter.” He smiled grimly. “We’re heading there for round two. And this time, I’m hoping for an ungodly ending.”
Trident
i.
KAT MUELLER, NAKED, MOVED SLOWLY in the dimness of the room, the lights at half so as not to awaken Si Cwan, who was stretched out on the bed. The dinner that she had invited him to eat remained unconsumed on a table nearby. Fortunately enough, it was a cold chicken dish to start with. Kat had surmised ahead of time that they might find other activities to occupy them beside food.
A thin coat of sweat covered her body, as she brought her arm up and around in a slow, circular pattern. Then it went down, her other arm came up in a gentle sweep, and then very, very slowly, she thrust forward her right hand in a tiger claw grip. As slowly as she was moving, each muscle strained against itself. She had been moving through the routine for five minutes, and it was superb isometric exercise for her.
She balanced perfectly on one leg as she drew the other up, keeping her toes pointed, and she snapped out a precision kick.
Then she heard movement from the bed, and sheets rustle. A moment later, Si Cwan was standing next to her, just behind her, looking in the full-length mirror in which she was watching her reflection. Naked alongside her, he proceeded to imitate her moves perfectly, falling into the smooth, easy rhythm she had achieved.