Restoration

  “Idiot,” Tapinza said in a voice that dripped contempt. “Did you seriously think that the individual who is the source of all plasers on this world would leave himself vulnerable to that selfsame weapon?”

  He reached into a pouch in his belt and pulled out another version of the plaser, smaller but no less deadly. He aimed it squarely at Temo, who froze in place, his eyes wide. Tapinza cherished the cretin’s expression at that moment. It took all his willpower not to gun him down. “Now, whereas the dampener I employed is enough to put your plaser out of commission,” he continued with the same disdainful sneer, “mine is fully operative. Would you care for a demonstration?”

  “I believe you,” Temo said. He had lowered his own weapon and tucked it back in its holster.

  “How gratifying to hear that. And when I told you that you were to check to make certain that Rheela wasn’t home before you torched her house, did you believe that, too?”

  Temo looked desperately to Qinos, apparently hoping that his brother would provide some sort of backup. “We … we checked,” Qinos said, except he sounded very halfhearted when he said it.

  “Odd. I don’t believe you.”

  “We didn’t see her there,” Temo said defensively. “We didn’t.”

  “And even if you had, you’d still have done it. Because you felt you wanted to teach Calhoun a lesson,” Tapinza surmised.

  The brothers didn’t say anything. They didn’t even look at one another.

  “I wanted to teach him a lesson as well,” Tapinza spat out at them. “And I wanted to show Rheela the hazards of not having me as a protector and ally. Instead, you idiots afforded Calhoun the opportunity to go running into a flaming building and pull her to safety … and then to strong-arm the citizenry into rebuilding the house. What possible need is she going to have for me when she’s got Calhoun there to solve her every problem?”

  “I don’t know,” Qinos said, as if it were a quiz.

  “We want to go after Calhoun,” Temo told him. He looked as if he were fairly bristling with anger. “You’re the one who instructed us to stay out of the city.”

  “Of course I instructed you to do that. Calhoun recruited several deputy Majisters to provide round-the-clock protection for the city. They’re all instructed to shoot you on sight. Your going in to shoot or be shot is a pointless exercise, especially considering that the last time you gentlemen went up against Calhoun, you were four-to-one against him, and you were lucky to come out with your skin.”

  “He tricked us,” said Qinos dully.

  “Yes, I’m sure he did. I know Calhoun’s type. He’ll trick you again, like as not. Now, listen carefully,” and he waved his plaser about for emphasis. “I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your idiot brother, Kusack. I care about building up Narrin, and I care about Rheela and her son. That’s it. That’s all. But I’m not going to send you in there in some sort of half-assed fashion. I don’t trust you in a one-to-one battle with Calhoun, because I can tell you right now, he’s going to outthink you in ways you haven’t even thought of.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I haven’t thought of them yet, Temo, and I’m far smarter than you. Right now, you’re in my employ. You’ll get your chance at Calhoun, but it will be under my terms and at the time that I dictate.”

  “And when will that be?” Temo seemed most anxious to get started on that score.

  Tapinza smiled mirthlessly.

  “When Krut comes,” he said.

  Temo and Qinos looked at one another in silent confusion, and then back to him. “Who’s that? Krut? Is he someone local?” asked Temo.

  “No,” and Tapinza’s lips drew back slightly, showing his white and slightly pointed teeth. “He’s from … out of town. And if anyone can help us dispose of Calhoun, it’s Krut. Because it takes one out-of-towner to kill another. And believe me … Krut’s about as out-of-town as you can get.”

  And at that moment, Krut’s space vehicle angled down toward the planet’s surface, in preparation for his showdown with Mackenzie Calhoun….

  SHELBY

  HAUMAN DID NOT DWARF the conference lounge in the same way that Zak Kebron used to, but, nevertheless, his considerable height made everything around him seem rather small. He was not seated, unlike everyone else in the room. Garbeck was the picture of calm, as was security head Karen Kahn. Also seated was Brandi, Hauman’s associate, whom Shelby remembered from the alarm over the insect invasion back on Makkus.

  “He will not come,” Hauman said for what seemed the hundredth time.

  Garbeck cast a look of mild frustration in Shelby’s direction, and Shelby certainly understood it. This was not the first time that Shelby had been present when efforts were being made to avert a war, and if there was one thing that she knew beyond question, it was that tensions on the part of planetary heads rarely made for healthy negotiating. It was necessary for everyone to have a clear head and some degree of emotional distance. It was clear that Hauman, at this point, was whipcord tense. That alone might be enough to spell disaster. Shelby felt as if she could sense the guns of the ships on either side of the Exeter upon them.

  It had taken some doing to convince Hauman to come to her ship at all. Although it seemed the logical choice, since it represented neutral territory, Hauman was still concerned that some sort of trick might be involved. It had taken a good deal of talking on Shelby’s part, and a considerable leap of faith on Hauman’s, to get him to come there and await the arrival of the Ferghut as well.

  “Hauman,” Shelby said firmly, “as I’ve told you before, the Ferghut has been in contact with us … and well before the one hour we gave him was up. He said that he has every intention of addressing the issues and problems that you have brought forward. He says he doesn’t want war any more than you do.”

  Although Hauman looked at her balefully, it was Brandi who spoke. “What the Ferghut says is of very little consequence, Captain. It is his actions that will carry the day now.”

  “Because actions speak louder than words?”

  Brandi blinked at her owlishly. “That’s very good. Yes. A very good phrase. Did you just make that up now? Because I like that a great deal. Can I quote you?”

  “I’ve never heard anyone say it before,” Garbeck said quickly, and Shelby saw to her surprise that there was actually merriment twinkling in her first officer’s eyes. Who would have thought that Garbeck had a slightly wicked sense of humor?

  Playing along, Shelby said generously, “Feel free to quote me, yes. In fact, you can even pretend you came up with it.”

  “Oh, no,” said Brandi as she made note of the phrase. “That would be dishonest.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes and was about to confess to the mild joke when her combadge beeped. “Shelby; go ahead,” she said upon tapping it.

  “A transport vessel is moving through the lines, Captain,” came the voice of Althea McMurrian. “Requesting permission to approach and dock.”

  “Have you—?”

  “Scanned them? Yes, Captain, that’s standard procedure,” said McMurrian with such a flat tone that it almost made Shelby feel like a dope for even asking. “I’m reading five life-forms, all Corinderian. No sign of any incendiary or explosive devices of any kind. I can tell you to a certainty that it’s nothing more than what it appears to be: a transport vessel, bringing Corinderians here.”

  “Give them clearance to dock in the shuttlebay,” said Shelby. “Kahn … send an escort down to bring them here.”

  “On it, Captain,” said Kahn as she rose from her seat. Clearly, she had every intention of attending to this personally, and Shelby wasn’t about to stop her. As Kahn headed out, Hauman turned to Shelby.

  “Now what?”

  “Now? We wait,” said Shelby, “and we keep our fingers crossed.”

  Hauman and Brandi looked at each other blankly for a moment and then, clearly wanting to be accommodating, placed their index fingers from each hand so that they crossed one
another. Shelby didn’t bother to say anything about it, figuring that it probably wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, for all she knew, she had just contributed something else to the Makkusian vernacular.

  It certainly seemed as if Hauman’s prediction was holding up, because none of the five Corinderians who filed into the conference lounge were the Ferghut. One of them bore a passing resemblance to that august individual, but for the most part they were a slim and somewhat fragile-looking group. They bore very serious expressions, and Shelby couldn’t help but notice that they were regarding every inch of the conference lounge as if hoping to learn something from it.

  Before Shelby could say anything, Hauman said sharply, “Where is the Ferghut?” This annoyed the hell out of Shelby, but she realized that all she could do was tell Hauman to be quiet and then, basically, repeat the question he’d just asked. That would look and sound rather stupid, so she kept her peace and settled for merely firing Hauman a look that—she hoped—conveyed her desire that he keep his mouth shut.

  One of the Corinderians stepped forward, the one who looked slightly like the Ferghut. “He did not feel his presence was required. I am Shuffer, head of the science council—”

  “Not required?” Shelby said, before Hauman could get a word out. “Shuffer, I think the Ferghut doesn’t seem to realize the severity of the situation. Your worlds are on the brink of war.”

  “Believe me,” said Shuffer archly, “he understands all too well. Unfortunately, he also understands that there are those in this universe who practice deceit and treachery. As much as he would like to trust you, Captain, he must still exhibit caution. He is, after all, Ferghut.”

  “Then, may I ask what his purpose is in sending you?”

  “We, his science council, are here at his service,” said Shuffer, and the others nodded their heads in agreement. “As his messengers, you might say.”

  “And what would his message be?” Garbeck spoke up.

  “We do not know.”

  Everyone else in the room looked at each other. “Then … what are you doing here?” asked Shelby.

  “They’re trying to delay!” Hauman declared. “Trying to stall for—”

  “We are trying no such thing,” said Shuffer mildly. “We have come bearing a message directly from him.” He held up a computer card. “We believe that this is the proper technology for you to interface with?”

  “Our computer can handle it, yes,” Shelby assured them, taking the card.

  “This is a waste of time,” said Hauman, still not sitting. Brandi rested a hand on his arm, trying to calm him.

  Shelby inserted the card into the proper slot in the computer. There was a slight flicker … and then the Ferghut’s image appeared on the screen. He looked genuinely apologetic, which Shelby took to be a good sign. She knew that simple apologies weren’t going to accomplish anything, but at least it was a start.

  “My good and historically supportive Makkusian friends,” began the Ferghut, “and my new and equally respected acquaintances of the Federation … this is quite possibly one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.”

  “So difficult he couldn’t do it in person, like a real leader,” muttered Hauman. Brandi shushed him before Shelby could.

  “The material that you sent me is—quite frankly—incontrovertible. It prompted me to launch an investigation into the matter … an investigation that, as I’m sure you can determine by my speedy response to this situation … did not take long at all. This is one of those instances where the truth made itself as clear as a beacon in the darkness.

  “It is clear that your conclusions were correct. This vicious attempt against the entire Makkusian race did, in fact, have its origins with the Corinderians.”

  Shelby noted with silent satisfaction that Hauman looked surprised that the Ferghut had admitted to culpability. The question was: Now what?

  But the Ferghut had not finished. “In the course of my investigation, I quickly discerned the origins of the plot … indeed, the only place from which it could have originated: my science council.”

  Up until that moment, the five Corinderians were watching the screen with what could only be described as polite interest. But when the Ferghut named them as culpable in the attempt against the Makkusians, their expressions gave way to utter shock. They all started talking at once, most of them firing questions at Shuffer, who had no answers but, instead, looked as befuddled as they. “Shut up, shut up!” he kept saying, shouting them down.

  Throughout the pandemonium, the Ferghut continued to speak. The computer, sensing the raised volume in the room, increased the sound to compensate. “Naturally, I was distraught to discover that this base attempt against our neighbors was the result of a plan—no, a conspiracy—launched by people whom I had trusted. I was as appalled as you would be, were a similar happenstance to occur with those in whom you had invested faith. My original thought had been to put the villains on trial here on Corinder, but I have decided that, since their crime was against the Makkusians, then it is to you that I must give them over. I turn them over to you, to suffer whatever punishment you deem worthy.” He bowed slightly and his image disappeared.

  The scientists looked mad with fear. “This can’t be true! It can’t be happening!” one of them was saying, clutching at Shuffer’s robes and looking in stark terror at Hauman and Brandi.

  Hauman’s face looked as if a storm cloud had passed over it. “So … your own leader gives you up.”

  “He knew! He knew everything!” Shuffer was practically screaming. “It was his idea! He endorsed it! He … he ordered us to do it! We had no choice! None at all!”

  They were following orders, Shelby thought with bleak amusement.

  “He’s denying it now to escape responsibility! To distance himself!” continued Shuffer.

  “That may very well be,” Brandi said thoughtfully. “However, you admit to your duplicity….”

  “I admit to nothing!” Shuffer said quickly.

  “Actually, you just did,” Garbeck quietly reminded him.

  Shuffer opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. He looked at the other scientists, who had expressions of pure terror in their eyes. “This … cannot be happening. This cannot be …”

  Hauman rose, and the very weight of his presence drew all focus to him. He did not speak immediately, as if considering all his options. “I expected the Ferghut to do anything rather than offer himself up to Makkusian justice,” he said finally. “However, I would consider his offering you up to be … acceptable. I have no true desire to send my people into a battle that may very well cost them more lives. They believe in me. They … trust me,” he said with what sounded like faint amusement. “If I inform them that these scientists acted alone, they will accept that, and be satisfied upon the execution of—”

  “You cannot execute us for doing as we were commanded!” Shuffer cried out. The other scientists were wailing in fear. “I do not believe this! It cannot be happening!”

  “He keeps saying that,” observed Brandi, who seemed grimly amused by it.

  “But the Ferghut would not do this to me!”

  There was something about the way he said that that caught Shelby’s attention. “Why not? Why would the Ferghut consider you deserving of special consid—”

  “He’s my brother!”

  There was a gasp from the other scientists, almost with one voice, and they took several steps back from him, as if distancing themselves from something unclean.

  Shelby couldn’t understand the reaction of the others, and apparently Hauman saw the confusion on her face. “Shuffer has committed something of a breach of protocol. He who is the Ferghut remains anonymous, you see. All family members are to keep their identities unrevealed to the public. It is … an odd custom, but a longstanding one. And, as I’m sure you know, a custom of long standing becomes sacred, no matter how stupid it may be.”

  The scientists ignored the casual slam to their traditi
on, still caught up in the shock of the revelation. Shuffer, in the meantime, was saying, “I have to contact the Ferghut. He couldn’t have meant to do this … not to me … not after everything we’ve …”

  “I doubt he’ll be wanting to speak with you, considering what you’ve just done. In any event … you’re no longer of use to him, Shuffer, “ Hauman told him. There was an extremely nasty look in his eyes. “You can, however, be of use to me.”

  Shuffer took a step back, and then, with desperation in his face, he turned to Shelby and drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. “I demand political asylum, Captain. We are aboard a Federation starship. We ask for asylum. You cannot refuse us.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, Shelby said, “I can’t?” She turned to Garbeck. “Is he correct, Number One?”

  Garbeck seemed surprised that Shelby was asking. But Shelby simply looked at her blandly, and, slowly, Garbeck said, “Technically, Captain … you actually not only can refuse him … but you are obliged to do so.”

  “What?” It didn’t seem possible that Shuffer’s voice could have gone any higher, but it did. “How can she conceivably be obliged to do so?”

  “Tell him, Number One.”

  Garbeck looked from one to the other, looked at the terrified faces of the scientists. “According to the Prime Directive, we cannot interfere with interplanetary politics—”

  “Cannot interfere! You put your starship in between our fleets to stop a war!”

  “That is true. But …” She paused and looked to Shelby, who was not interrupting her. “But the captain has broad discretionary powers. And Starfleet tends to be … elastic … when it comes to a captain exercising that discretion in favor of saving lives.”