[Star Trek TNG] - Double Helix Omnibus

  The Capitano looked at the coordinates and growled, “I know this section of space. There’s nothing at these coordinates. Nothing at all.”

  “There will be,” Darg said with a small smile. “There will be.”

  And with that, Darg made it quite clear that the meeting was over. One by one, the assorted representatives departed, stepping rather gingerly around the remains of the Kreel. “Worry not,” Darg said with remarkable cheer, “he’ll be attended to shortly enough. I wouldn’t advise getting too close for the time being, though.” The representatives took care to attend to his advice.

  “Well,” Darg said once he and Kwint were alone. “That went about as well as could be expected.”

  “You suspected that someone was going to doubt you…to walk out…didn’t you,” said Kwint.

  Darg shrugged. “There’s always one. Frankly, I was hoping it would be the Kreel. Insufferable race.” Then he regarded Kwint more closely. “You spoke out of turn.”

  “Yes, I did. I considered your proposal intriguing, and seeing skeptical and even disrespectful looks from those…individuals…was bothersome to me.”

  “And if something strikes you as bothersome, you feel an obligation to do something about it. Is that it?”

  Kwint nodded slightly. “Something like that.”

  “‘Something like that.’ I see.” Darg looked Kwint up and down. “You know, Kwint…you have potential.”

  “Potential as what? You mentioned bringing me into your organization before…”

  “Part of what I was doing during this meeting was keeping an eye on you. Trying to determine what one can expect of you. But you know…I’m still not sure. Your speaking up was not particularly wise on your part…but on the other hand, it took nerve. I suppose you simply felt you had to ‘equalize’ things once more.”

  “In a way.”

  “‘In a way’ is another means of saying ‘something like that.’ Yes, Kwint, definite potential. If you seem worthwhile, you might definitely be in line for my number two man.”

  “Me?” Kwint looked like he couldn’t believe it. “But we’ve only known each other for a few hours. Are you sure?”

  “I work on instinct a good deal, Kwint. That’s how I judge people, and most of the time, I’m right.”

  “What happened to your previous number two man?”

  “I killed him.”

  “Oh.” Kwint didn’t seem to know what to say.

  Darg, for his part, couldn’t have cared less. “I said most of the time, I’m pretty reliable. Everyone has setbacks.”

  And suddenly his hand was on Kwint’s chest, and he was lifting the smaller man up and slamming him against a wall. The pressure on Kwint’s chest was such that, not only had the wind been knocked out of him, but he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. He pulled in futility at Darg’s immovable hand.

  “Have a care,” Darg said quite softly, “that you do not have a setback of your own.” Then his hand opened wide and Kwint slid to the ground, coughing violently as he gulped down air. “Do we understand each other?”

  Kwint nodded, still coughing.

  “Now…you can attend to your first duty as a member of my organization.” And he handed Kwint a large sack and a thick pair of gloves. Kwint, having managed to recover his breath, looked in confusion at Darg. Darg simply pointed in the direction of the remains of the Kreel. “Kindly clean that up. That is the first rule of my organization: We pick up after ourselves.”

  Kwint looked none too thrilled.

  “Setbacks,” Darg reminded him in a slightly singsong voice.

  Kwint promptly did as he was told.

  XI.

  N ICE NIGHT TO BE SEDUCED , thought Calhoun.

  Indeed, it was a splendid night, one that seemed to be filled with promise. However, Calhoun couldn’t be entirely sure just who was going to be seducing whom, or what precisely was going to be promised.

  This “Vara Syndra” was unlike any woman he’d ever encountered. She was pure sex. Calhoun found it difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand, or even remember what the matter at hand was. But that wasn’t what he needed to do at all. He had to stay focused, remember what his—

  Grozit, look at those hips. The sway of them, and the arch of her back…the way she swivels when she walks…

  He nearly had to slap himself across the face to try and bring himself back in line with what he was doing.

  Vara Syndra was talking as she walked, and he came to the abrupt realization that he hadn’t heard a word she said. At one point, though, she smiled at him in a way that seemed to indicate that she not only knew the effect she was having, but that she was accustomed to it. He wondered why she was suddenly so much further ahead of him, and suddenly noticed that he’d stopped walking. He was just standing there and admiring her.

  Stop it. This isn’t funny, he snarled at himself, and forced his feet to go back into motion. It was incredible to him that this female appeared to be an associate of General Thul. One wondered how in the world the man got any work done. Then again, she was certainly eminently capable of making slacking off appear to be the single greatest pastime known to man.

  They had been strolling about, apparently aimlessly, for more than an hour. But now they had arrived in a section of San Francisco that had been restored to much of the late twentieth century architecture. It was an architecture which had made that city so unique before the massive earthquake and fire had practically levelled the place in the first half of the twenty-first century. Vara Syndra was guiding him to one of those townhouses. It had an old-world elegance and charm to it, but at the same time it also had an air of dark foreboding. Calhoun allowed the possibility that he might just be projecting his own concerns upon it. There was the further possibility that, when compared to the vision that was Vara Syndra, everything had an air of dark foreboding.

  “In here,” she said, stopping at the door and gesturing that Calhoun should precede her.

  Calhoun had a fairly reliable sixth sense for danger. So if there was an ambush of some sort waiting inside, for whatever reason, he would likely have been alerted to it. Then again, considering how distracted he was by Vara Syndra, it was possible that an entire regiment of Danteri nationals, thirsting to avenge themselves against the fabled liberator of Xenex, were concealed within and Calhoun still wouldn’t know the difference. Still, there was enough of the cautious and experienced warrior about him that he was prompted to say, as suavely as he could manage, “After you, Vara.”

  “How very gallant,” she said, and entered without hesitation. Calhoun followed a moment later.

  There wasn’t a single Danteri, or other such soldier, in sight.

  There was, however, a full-size portrait of Vara Syndra decorating the portico, and she was gloriously nude in it. She was also discreetly positioned, but still…

  “Oh,” said Vara Syndra in a teasing voice as she saw where his gaze was drawn. “That old thing. Do you really think it captures me?”

  “I don’t think a hundred big game hunters could adequately capture you,” said Calhoun.

  “Aren’t you sweet.” She ran a finger teasingly under his chin, and then sashayed up a long, winding flight of stairs. Calhoun took them two at a time.

  At the top of the stairs she went through a door that Calhoun followed her through, which in turn led to a large suite of rooms. And seated rather comfortably in the elaborately furnished suite was General Thul. He was holding a drink, swirling the contents around casually, and he gestured to a cart nearby which had an assortment of beverages arrayed on it in assorted decanters. “Greetings, Captain Calhoun…or is it accurate to call you ‘captain’ anymore?”

  “Simply ‘Calhoun’ will do for the time being.”

  “Really. Your friends, so I understand, address you as ‘Mac.’ I was hoping that we might become friends.”

  “Interesting that you should be aware of that. Been checking up on me, have you?”

  “It wasn’t all
that difficult, Calhoun. After your rather unceremonious eviction from the gathering, you and your past ‘antics’ were very much the talk of the party for some time afterward.”

  “Indeed. I’m flattered.”

  “You needn’t be. Much of it wasn’t particularly complimentary. Still,” and he stroked his yellowed beard thoughtfully, “even those who were less than flattering clearly had a measure of grudging respect for your…curious talents.”

  Calhoun said nothing.

  “M’k’n’zy of Calhoun,” continued General Thul. “A young Xenexian who watched his father beaten to death in the town square by Danteri oppressors, and was inspired by that incident to free his home world from Danteri rule. By the age of twenty, he had accomplished this rather remarkable feat, achieving the rank of warlord and becoming possibly the most admired man on his world. All of Xenex was at his feet, but he instead walked a different path at the behest of one Jean-Luc Picard. He joined Starfleet, developed a reputation as an independent thinker whose sheer bravery and resourcefulness got the job done, and then resigned after an incident that resulted in the death of his commanding officer aboard the Grissom. Spent a number of years doing whatever jobs he could for whomever he could before rejoining Starfleet and being assigned command of the Excalibur, presently on extended assignment to my dear Thallonian space. And now…?” He waited, but Calhoun still said nothing. “Now…what, Calhoun?”

  “I don’t know,” Calhoun admitted. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen. Then again, in retrospect, I suppose it was inevitable. Starfleet and I have never exactly been a smooth fit.”

  “I’ve thought as much myself.” General Thul rose from his chair and slowly walked in a circle around Calhoun. Calhoun, for his part, simply stood where he was, his hands draped behind his back. “I may be able to make use of a man like you.”

  “Give him my regards.”

  “Who?” Thul seemed momentarily puzzled.

  “The man like me.”

  The confusion remained for a second longer, and then Thul allowed a smile. “Very witty. That was very witty, Calhoun.”

  “Not really. But my head’s a bit foggy. Give me about three hours, I’ll have reduced you to helpless giggles.”

  “What do you think of this one, Vara?” Thul said.

  Vara had draped herself over a nearby chair. Calhoun suddenly found that it was all he could do not to jump out of his skin. “I think a good deal of him, General.”

  “So do I. Then again,” and he returned to his seat, “caution is always to be preferred. These are, after all, dangerous times.”

  “Not for you, I’d think,” said Calhoun. “General Thul, doer of good works. Darling of the Starfleet upper rank. What danger have you to fear?”

  “Oh, I’d rather not speak of such things. After all, we wouldn’t want to upset Vara. Would we, Vara?”

  Vara Syndra fanned her face with her hand as if she were a southern belle fighting off an attack of the vapors. “I should certainly hope not,” she said.

  Every movement, every gesture she made, even the rising and falling of her chest as she breathed, was alluring to Calhoun. I must be losing my mind. She must be doing something. But I have no idea what. Moreover, I don’t care all that much, which is even more disturbing.“What things,” he forced himself back on track, “should we speak of, then.”

  Thul didn’t answer immediately. Instead he strolled with slow, measured steps toward a skylight that provided a splendid view of the starlit sky. He stood under it and gazed heavenward. “I have a small matter that I need attended to. You may very well be just the man for the job, and it would fulfill an old debt.”

  “I see,” Calhoun said neutrally.

  “You see, I’ve recently managed to track down a certain individual who is a ‘guest’ of the Andorian government.” The contempt was evident in his tone. “They’re holding him on trumped-up charges of espionage.”

  “But certainly a well-connected individual such as yourself would be able to have him freed through the use of your considerable contacts.”

  “I have my friends, Calhoun, but make no mistake: My influence is not quite as wide and all-encompassing as you obviously think it is. Andorians, you see, are members of the United Federation of Planets, and the UFP will not involve itself in how member worlds conduct themselves. However,” and now he turned back to face Calhoun, “I was hoping you might be able to aid this individual’s…recovery.”

  “You want me to break him out of wherever it is the Andorians are holding him?”

  “Nothing goes past you, I see, Calhoun. That’s very comforting to know. You should be aware, though, that participation in this matter will likely be the end of your association with Starfleet, particularly if they learn of your involvement.”

  “That association doesn’t appear too promising at the moment anyway,” said Calhoun.

  Thul openly scoffed. “You mean that business with Jellico? Calhoun, I have enough contacts to know that Jellico has not earned himself quite as many friends as he would like to think he has. There are some who would probably applaud that you struck him. Although serious black marks on your record might appear as a result of the incident, that wouldn’t necessarily spell complete doom for your career. My mission, however, likely would. So the question is, do you worm your way back into Starfleet? Perhaps apologize to Jellico in the hopes of smoothing matters over? Or do you acknowledge where your talents would best be suited?”

  “And when I accomplish this mission of yours…?”

  “‘When.’ Not ‘if.’ ‘When.’Very confident, aren’t you.”

  “When it seems warranted. If I didn’t go into risky situations confidently, I’d never come out of them.”

  “Very well…when you accomplish the mission…then you and I shall speak again. We shall speak of things of…great importance. So…what say you, Calhoun?”

  Calhoun found himself staring at Vara Syndra once more. She wasn’t even looking at him at that point. Instead, in rather leisurely fashion, she was trailing her fingers along the curve of her leg.

  “What does the job pay?” asked Calhoun.

  “A man after my own heart,” Thul said with a smile. “What would you consider to be adequate compensation for your time?”

  Calhoun looked at Vara. Vara looked at him. Thul looked at both of them, and his smile widened.

  “Everything,” he said, “is open to negotiation.”

  XII.

  BURGOYNE BURST ONTO THE BRIDGE, which was an unusual enough event in and of itself since s/he didn’t tend to hang about the bridge all that much. Even more unusual, s/he went straight to Shelby and stood in front of her, hands on hir hips. “May I speak with you, Commander?” s/he asked.

  Shelby was a bit surprised at the urgency to Burgoyne’s manner. Granted, s/he was one of the more flamboyant individuals aboard the ship, but s/he never displayed the sort of outright consternation that s/he was now showing. Also, Shelby couldn’t help but notice that McHenry was making a determined effort not to look in Burgoyne’s direction. The normally near-comatose helmsman suddenly seemed extremely interested in checking over his instrumentation.

  Riker, who’d been standing next to Zak Kebron and going over tactical relays in preparation for possible battle, looked up in confusion. “Is there a problem, Burgoyne?” he asked.

  “Nothing that Commander Shelby can’t handle, sir.”

  Riker took a step down from the upper ring of the bridge. “Indulge me. What’s the problem?”

  “All right,” Burgoyne said after a moment’s consideration. “I want to know why I just got a reassignment.”

  “What?” Riker said, glancing at Shelby. Shelby shrugged, not knowing what Burgoyne was referring to. “Are you no longer chief engineer?”

  “Oh, I’m still that, yes. But I’ve been rotated to a desk job. Instructed to remain in my office or work at the engineering station here on the bridge.”

  “But why…?”

  “I don’t kn
ow why,” said a clearly exasperated Burgoyne. “I got the message over my computer, and the computer simply said it was orders. I thought they were yours.” Some of the ire was being replaced by simple confusion. “Because of…you know…”

  “Payback, perhaps,” suggested Riker. “For our little misunderstanding in the holodeck?”

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “I don’t operate that way, Lieutenant Commander. I had nothing to do with this reassignment.”

  “Lefler,” Shelby called to Robin at ops, “run this one down, would you? See what’s going on?”

  It took Lefler only a few brief moments to track down the origin of the orders. “Captain Calhoun,” she said, punching up the transfer records at her station. “It came from Captain Calhoun.”

  “What?” said a stunned Burgoyne.

  “Hold on. There’s a notation here…oh,” Lefler said after another moment’s checking. “According to his log, he was concerned about keeping you in engineering, in proximity to potentially high levels of radiation. Because of, well…” She cleared her throat. “…you know.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “Because of you being pregnant.”

  “I’m not pregnant.” Burgoyne waved hir arms about in clear exasperation.

  “Well, yes, but the captain didn’t know that when he put in for the reassignment. Apparently he did it right before he left, and there hasn’t been the opportunity to clear it up yet.”

  “Perfect,” sighed Burgoyne. “Just perfect. Mark, tell them I’m not pregnant.” When McHenry didn’t answer immediately, Burgoyne repeated, “Mark?”

  Shelby couldn’t help but notice how strange McHenry’s voice sounded when she spoke. Usually the most carefree-sounding of individuals, this time he came across as a bit stressed. “So you’ve told me, Lieutenant Commander. Then again, you also told me you were pregnant in the first place. I guess even in this high-speed age, it’s hard to keep up.”