Well, sometimes things just don't work out: Geri Behrens wasn't
pleased with the results of our collaboration. Thus, as of
She has consented, however, to allow it back onto the site
so people can form their own opinions. There will probably never be another
version: Geri’s work on the story died along with the computer into which it
was being typed.
Whoops.
Not only did certain plot elements of "Draconian
Measures" make it into "Tin Soldier," but so did short passages
of the prose (obviously, only that which I'd composed, of course). At
that point, almost a year ago, I was certain the below tale would never again
see the light of day, and didn't want all that I'd written to disappear as a
result. As a matter of fact, I've decided to pull one scene from
"Draconian Measures" and use it in the upcoming "Contretemps
Liberte." I believe it'll fit better therein. Thus, you won't see it here
this time; I'll replace it with another, written especially for this version of
"DM."
Technically, then, this is a new version of the story—a variant on
the "Editor's Cut," so to speak.
Having given it more thought, I'm fairly certain that I'm going to
cannibalize the part of "Draconian
Measures" I wrote for scenes I can use elsewhere; it's not really going to
fit into the TetraLuminaire universe very well, now ("Tin Soldier"
has effectively claimed its niche, and I have to admit I like "TS"
much more, despite our efforts on "DM"). Still, any opinions will be
welcome.
"Draconian Measures"
By Joseph Manno and
Geri Elizabeth Behrens
Kin-tor-shi-en walked silent halls.
The hard deck pounded beneath every tread; the tip of his tail
flicked alternately against each wall. He'd turned the life support as low as
he'd dared; his system required very little in the way of such sustenance,
after all—and the others were safely wrapped in the damned containment spheres.
Unerringly, he made his way to the one containing Amaroth, and
gazed silently, admiring her sleek lines. Even in the deep sleep imposed by the
sphere, she looked angry.
Jaena was the last; perhaps this was coincidence, perhaps
unconscious design. It seemed almost a waste of energy and material to keep her
within such a formidable prison. She looked slender, almost fragile, suspended
within, curled as if on a bed—or in a womb.
Of all those he watched helplessly over, only she seemed at peace.
He wondered if she dreamed…
…and hoped she didn’t.
Kin-tor-shi-en ended his circuit back where he'd started, at the
pond. His eyes penetrated the water easily, finding the serpent as he’d left
her, in her coiled glory.
Her singing stung his mind, slowly becoming fainter, and yet more
painful. He was caught between conflicting urges: The first, to stand raptly,
and listen.
The second, to dive in and silence it.
Neither, he knew, was an option.
Kin-tor-shi-en settled his bulk behind the scan station. At his
behest, the great vessel’s damaged senses reached feebly into the endless near
black, and waited for any of those many specks to stir, to move, to answer.
There had to be a ship somewhere.
Any ship.
***
M’Raav Hatshepsut sipped milk from a delicate glass, purring in
relish at its rich taste. The warmth sliding down her throat somewhat dispelled
the chill rolling off the rippling surface of the pond before her.
Her hostess enjoyed a similar concoction, twirling the flute as
though it were wine she held, her tail sweeping in and out of the water in
which she luxuriated. The Caitian raised her glass in silent salute and her
companion blushed appealingly, reptilian scales darkening from iridescent green
to something approaching purple.
It pleases me that we
have so simple a thing in common.
Hatshepsut trilled agreement.
She knew she was… must be… dreaming. That fact intruded neither on
her curiosity about this being her mind had created, nor on her enjoyment of
the unusual company. She turned her eyes again to the water, its dimensions
hidden in distance and roiling fog.
"Where are we?" she asked, glancing behind her at what might be a door, in a strangely warped
wall that seemed almost... alive.
Merada shook with a scratching sound that perhaps passed for
laughter.
I almost wish I could
tell you.
Suddenly, she pushed to her feet, crushing the glass in her gray
talon and absently casting the shards into the water; despite her emergence,
the pool’s mist wrapped itself about her as if it were an ally, distorting her
figure so that Hatshepsut never had a clear view.
Then, she dove smoothly into the murky depths, vanishing with
barely a ripple.
Hatshepsut finished her milk, contemplating the creature that had
haunted her sleep of late, examining the dream from within its very borders.
She was unable to find a source for the imagery that nagged at
her: The almost painful atmosphere; the immense body of water too cold to be
inviting; and, of course, the familiar but alien Merada.
She awoke, wondering just who the woman was supposed to be. It was bothersome that, suddenly, dream
and wakefulness seemed little different in feeling.
What disturbed her most, though, was that she could still taste
the milk.
***
Hatshepsut stepped out of the turbolift onto
"…and while I can appreciate the necessity of testing the Chimaera-class
fighters Liberty was recently given, I also find it ironic that this
step is being completed only now—weeks after the conclusion of our war
with the Dominion.
"Two of my officers, Ensign Parihn and Lieutenant Sito—along
with Arkin Jora, our guest from the Argus —are currently engaged in this
important work. I'd commend them for their eagerness to take on the assignment,
if I didn't know that two weeks' worth of joyriding equated to complimentary
leave for all three."
As he finished, Mantovanni glanced up at the seemingly agitated
feline.
"What do you need, Counselor?"
"A word in private, sir," she answered quietly, turning
for his ready room even before he could respond. The Caitian, abruptly,
remembered her manners at the door, and waited for him to precede her; she
remained standing as he settled behind his desk.
An arched brow was the only indication to speak.
She was panting like an excited kit.
"I... have had dreams
of late... I can't explain them, but didn't think too much of it until this
morning."
He nodded.
Even as she began pacing, Hatshepsut continued, "I was in a
session with Ensign Cawley and then I was there,
in the chamber from my dreams, with… Merada.
It seemed the same as the others: the strange wall behind me; a ceiling I can't
see; the pond, or maybe a lake—the mist is always distorting its size—and
Merada sitting in the water... she had a small plant and was asking my opinion
on its health."
Hatshepsut, finally, sat down in the chair facing Mantovanni and
folded her paws in her lap. The words were beginning to tumble out more
quickly; she knew the narrative was losing its coherence, but couldn’t stop.
"I knew I was dreaming and that I wasn't asleep,” she
emphasized. “I told Merada I was considering seeing the doctor, if there was
perhaps some medical reason, a chemical imbalance or..." A low rumble of
distress began in her throat, but she suppressed it. "She suddenly looked
upset, as though she were in pain; that she didn't have much time—the water was
getting stale.
"Then she grabbed my arm and said, 'I'm here.'
“It seemed so real.
“I came back to awareness; Ensign Cawley was shaking me and asking
if I was all right." Hatshepsut looked up at her captain; for a moment, it
looked as if she were just awakening again—the disorientation that had so upset
her seemed to have, for a moment, returned.
"I don't know what to make of it."
Mantovanni leaned back in the chair, his dark eyes thoughtful.
"How long have you been having these… dreams?"
"Every time I sleep…" she hesitated. He gave her no
encouragement. Eventually, she took a deep breath and plunged forward.
"…for the past four days.”
She waited for some chastisement. Instead, he motioned for her to
continue.
“The first experience seemed hazy, but each was a little more
defined—more... flavorful.” She recalled the taste of the milk again. “At the
same time, though, they’ve been becoming... I'm not sure how to describe it.
The fog was heavier in each episode, and the water colder. I've dreamt of
nothing else."
"You obviously haven't seen Matsuoka or McDonald about
it." It wasn't a question.
Hatshepsut nodded sheepishly. "I don't feel there's anything
wrong with me."
At his raised brow, she flinched, and added, “I know… the first time the dream repeated itself, I should have
consulted someone, but..."
“… you’re an exception
to all the rules of counseling and
psychiatric care,” he added drolly. “Putting that aside for the moment—what do you think it is?"
Hatshepsut raised and then lowered her ears. "In my dreams,
Merada has gills… if the water were growing stagnant... but she breathes air as
well… yet, I've never seen her out of the pool… if it wasn't fog that I was
seeing, some noxious... if it weren't a dream, then she might be in
danger." The normally placid Caitian knew she was, essentially, babbling,
but simply couldn’t help herself. Her sense of urgency was impossible to control.
Mantovanni leaned forward again, his gaze intense. "I count
three ‘ifs’ in that rather meandering chain of speculation.
“What do you want to do, M’Raav?”
Hatshepsut considered for a moment, then slowly shook her head.
"I don't know."
***
Jane McDonald frowned and attempted to make sense of the readouts
displayed on Matsuoka’s office computer screen. The task was made more
difficult by the agitated feline – who clearly
wished to be elsewhere – pacing in front of the desk. Both were awaiting the captain,
whom McDonald had just summoned from the bridge.
She didn't bother looking up at the whisper of opening doors,
merely bobbing her head in absent acknowledgement; instead, she turned the
console towards the newcomer, and tapped the screen with a nail, indicating a
vivid discoloration within the complex 3-D map of Hatshepsut's brain.
McDonald finally glanced up, surprised at the absence of any
questions, and found herself the object of the captain's silent scrutiny. She
took a deep breath, but maintained her stern expression.
"Based on the results of my tests, patient aggravation
notwithstanding, I believe I've found a possible explanation." If she
expected some reaction from Mantovanni, she was disappointed; he merely
continued directing that intense gaze at her.
She suppressed a frown, and thought, He’s no doubt waiting for me to justify calling his august personage
from the bridge. I should have simply gotten Shiro to come down here and deal
with him.
She hadn’t, though. Shiro Matsuoka,
Jane indicated the screen again.
"I've detected unusually elevated levels of psilosynine in
her cerebral cortex, and her nerve centers are being hyperstimulated. In my
medical opinion, Hatshepsut is receiving some psychic signal that her
subconscious is doing its best to interpret. Whatever it is, it’s very
determined to get through to her. I would think the episode during her session
with Ensign Cawley rules out the possibility of it being something she
ate."
"These readings argue an outside influence, as psilosynine is
not something a Caitian’s brain
normally produces in this quantity.
“Before seeing this, I would have questioned whether it could at
all."
Mantovanni nodded. "Are there any indications that she’s in
danger? I'm concerned that this message might be…"
The feline's ears flattened and her tail whipped against the wall
with a thump.
"I feel fine,” she declared crossly. “There’s nothing wrong
with me." She made an unhappy noise and folded her arms, continuing her
pace.
The captain had never been one for being interrupted – and this
was no exception.
His voice cracked with authority. “Commander, step outside.”
Growling under her breath, Hatshepsut slunk from the room.
Jane shook her head and grinned, recognizing that he’d headed off
a feline tantrum with all the skill of a lion tamer.
"Beyond her obvious
anxiety, and a headache,” she continued after the office door closed behind the
Caitian's twitching tail, “nothing that I can detect. I'd like to keep her here
for a while, and run a few more tests, but I see no reason to assume this is a
threat."
Jane frowned; through the window, she watched her patient stop in
mid-pace and slowly shake her head, as though to free her mind from some
entanglement.
What presence was at work here? It—whatever it might be—had reached out, seeking... something.
And it had found Hatshepsut.
Now that it had, what was it going to do next?
***
I'm here. Listen,
mewling; time runs short. Open your eyes, ... and see!
Hatshepsut awoke with a growl, heart racing and whiskers aquiver.
In her mind’s eye, she could still see Merada in pain, drowning. She leaped from
bed, reaching for her comm badge…
…even as it came to life with the captain's voice.
"Mantovanni to
Hatshepsut.
"Aye, Captain. On my way." Hatshepsut scrambled for her
uniform and dressed quickly.
She moved slowly from her quarters, out into halls alive with
motion; the crew was a rushing blur. She still felt half in a dream… thoughts a
jumble… Merada whispering too low for Hatshepsut to understand, her desperation
sawing the Caitian’s nerves so that she nearly jumped out of her fur when the
turbolift opened onto the bridge. The lights dimmed… the klaxon irritating her
ears… the crew a flurry, calling back to one another their findings…
… and the view screen huge with a jagged wedge of a broken ship.
***
At last.
Open your eyes... and
see!
***
Hatshepsut stood before her chair, unable to look away from the
hulk on the screen. For all that she heard, or cared, the crew's reports might
as well have been static. There was something about life support, and an Away
Team, but…
Merada was on that ship.
And she wasn't alone.
The Caitian could feel
others now, cold and still; and a different voice, wailing in pain...
Come to me, now.
Light exploded around her…
…and Hatshepsut was no longer on
***
Kin-tor-shi-en, with an effort, had managed to grasp her, reaching
across the vastness to the other vessel and summoning her to him with an
exercise of will that wasn't entirely his—and power that definitely wasn't.
He'd thought to reassure her with an encouraging hiss or two, but hadn't
reckoned on the urgency of Merada's compulsion. Rather than watching her
attempt to mindlessly claw her way past him (amusing and futile though that
might be against a creature of his size), he shifted his bulk and allowed her
to pass.
After she'd vanished in a stumbling haze down the corridor, he
turned his attention briefly back to the data board. The shrill voice of one of
their females was bleating something at him in a tone she no doubt thought was
impressively threatening. His English wasn’t good, but he felt certain they
understood where their crewman was…
…and wanted her back.
They'd have to be patient. She had a job to do.
He ignored the board beside him; it was furiously alight with
additional indications of their squawking, most of which was a garbled
cacophony to his ear. He finally took pity on them and played his recorded
message—the only way he had of communicating at the moment.
"To anyone in
hearing, this is the vessel Vancairin—damaged, crew decimated, attacker closing.
If you can hear, tell them to beware the O'nca'itii, for their lives. Escape if
you can, they're…” and for a moment the message was drowned out in an
explosion, “…here. Meera save us…
"To anyone in
hearing, this is the vessel Vancairin…"
Amaroth had set the message to broadcast on a loop, so others
would know; but the O'nca'tii had stopped it for a long time.
Kin-tor-shi-en just hoped the humans understood what had
happened—and the danger that yet lingered.
A humming in the air heralded a swirling incandescence that
coalesced into six human-smelling beings. Four of them immediately swung their
paltry-looking hand-held weapons at him, their ugly little primate faces
twisted in fear.
Kin-tor-shi-en chuckled and bared fangs at them, but that only
frightened them more. Humans, he knew, were generally quite weak and cowardly.
A male stinking of authority took a single step towards him. Bold,
for such a little creature. His respect for them climbed infinitesimally.
"Ootant lldss arrsip ebety. Aeir ownsler itshhapstt?"
Kin-tor-shi-en cocked his crested head at him curiously. What form
of twisted English did he speak? The words... but it was obvious what the
creature wanted.
He stretched to his full 11 feet and flung out his tail; its tip
struck the door panel with what they must have thought a surprisingly light
touch, from their expressions.
It opened.
He pointed at it and hissed before crouching again and slinking
towards it. They'd just get lost on their own, and Merada wouldn't like them
meandering about the remains of her ship. Kin-tor-shi-en would have to show them the chamber... and hope their
puny-looking weapons could cut into the spheres.
The whispering drew Hatshepsut through the maze that was Vancairin, bringing her to the correct
chamber within minutes of her abduction. From a distance, she could imagine the
captain’s reaction; she seemed somehow
aware both that an Away Team had followed her – and that some sort of…
inhibitor field had gone up around them the instant they’d beamed aboard.
But Merada, she thought contentedly,
would find a way to make it up to them.
Hatshepsut agonized over whom to free first: her friend was near
death, but once out of the water, might not be able to breathe. The Caitian
couldn't take that chance.
The whispering then directed her through long, pulsing hallways to
Jaena's sphere—whoever Jaena was.
She raised her phaser—why she'd thought to carry one was beyond
her—adjusted the setting to five, and fired. Again, she seemed to possess some
preternatural knowledge of the object's weaker points. After a few seconds, the
translucent alien material began to heat. Quickly, a section of it grew by
measures luminescent, then incandescent, and finally blinding.
Instead of a molten piece dropping away, however, the sphere
suddenly shattered, suspension liquid cascading down in a splash that soaked her
to the skin. The now freed Jaena's still form crashed to the floor, umbilical
and other attachments conveniently releasing her instead of fouling her sudden
descent. Vaguely, the Caitian noted that the once formidable sphere seemed to
have evaporated once its perimeter was breached—it was the only reason the
woman she'd released wasn't lying in a bloody heap amongst its shards.
At once, the compelling whisper left Hatshepsut's mind…
…and she awoke in a foreign place.
Where... Merada!
"...lost contact an
hour ago..."
"...strange
creature..."
"...soaking..."
"...don't remember
how..."
"... you understand me?"
Jaena Parish slowly opened her eyes to a concerned oomaka face—blurry at first, but then
starkly real—leaning over her. She was lying on the floor. Slowly, she sat up,
two pairs of hands assisting her, and tried to make sense of her surroundings.
The last thing she remembered...
…the bastards had taken
her arm off to study it. The lab had been freezing; she'd passed out, wondering
what she'd wake up with... a quick glance down confirmed all her parts were
still her own and attached where they should be. She flexed the fingers of her
right hand, pleased that the interface was functioning as it should be.
At least they'd reassembled the limb correctly.
"How do you feel?" the woman asked.
Jaena pushed to her feet… and did a lazy cartwheel, grinning for
the officers now staring at her. She snapped them a smart salute.
"Lieutenant Commander Jaena Parish, ICSC starship Excalabris. I feel absolutely fine,
ma’am. Do you mind if I ask what dimension we're in?"
Six faces met her questioning gaze with expressions that ranged
from amused to incredulous.
Jaena frowned at them.
"From your uniforms, I know you aren't StarFed officers, but
your language is close enough to Confederation Standard for me to understand
you. If we aren't in Raix, then where?"
Her observations didn't seem to help. Jaena scowled. What ragtag is this? She turned to the
only member of the group likely to have any answers and arched a brow, asking Where? with but a glance.
The image she received from Kin-tor-shi-en's mind shouldn't have
startled her, considering what she'd seen in her life, but it did.
'Far from home' is an
understatement. OK. Next question.
'What in hell happened here? Where are the O'nca'tii?'
Kin-tor-shi-en hissed in its harsh version of laughter. The
scientists are left behind.
Jaena grinned fiercely.
Well, there's some good
news, at least.
At last her surroundings registered. Jaena could have kicked
herself. She was back on Vancairin...
but how? Had Merada somehow freed...?
Merada!
Abruptly, wordlessly, Jaena turned and ran.
"Hatshepsut, wait!" Jane yelled, as the feline bounded
after the alien woman and their monstrous guide.
Crazy cat. She's going
to get herself killed.
"Orders, sir?" one of the marines asked.
Aldus grimaced. "Our first priority is regaining contact with
Liberty…"
“Our first priority," McDonald interrupted firmly, "just
went that way. After I've got Hatshepsut sedated, then we can worry about communications." She turned to follow
her patient, but was stopped by Aldus’ sudden, firm grasp on her arm.
"It's too risky. We don't know what those beings want, or
what they're capable of. That... thing
could eat you in two bites."
McDonald glared at the offending hand until the Roman removed it,
and then jogged after the counselor. Aldus, irritated but helpless in the face
of his superior’s implied instructions, ordered the two marines after her.
Jane grinned. She was acting a tad spoiled, but…
She came to a halt at the end of the corridor. The huge red
creature was hunched there. It raised its massive eight-fingered hand to a
panel and, again with surprising delicacy, tripped a switch. A pair of doors
she hadn't known were there slid open to reveal what looked like a turbolift.
Jane hesitated for only a second before stepping into it. The
alien might look like something from her worst nightmares, but it hadn't done anything threatening; and it had, moments ago, led them through the
massive ship to Hatshepsut.
She just hoped it remained
friendly, or this was liable to be a short ride.
The marines, reluctantly, followed after she crooked her finger at
them; they held their phaser rifles at the ready, and looked none too happy about
being in such a confined space with a creature that was no doubt starring in
someone's nightmare somewhere.
It hit another panel…
…and the floor dropped out from under them.
Jane almost screamed; the marines probably would have turned their
weapons on Kin-tor-shi-en, if the trip hadn't almost literally been over before
it began. The walls bucked as the box came to a screeching halt, the doors
staggering open for the alien. Jane followed it out into a massive chamber,
chilled and hazy, a great body of water just below them.
Hatshepsut stood on the bank, staring out over its surface at....
"Oh my, " she whispered.
A woman, wreathed in fire, floated over the lake.
McDonald blinked, but the unreal scene didn't change. The woman
appeared to be flying, cloaked in an aura of flame, shaped like... a dragon? A
fiery hand disappeared into the water with an explosion of steam, then
withdrew... there was an object, a pod of some kind—and the other woman, Parish,
beat on it with her fists, trying to shatter it.
McDonald watched in disbelief as the dragon's hand set the pod
down, the fire vanishing as the woman landed on the shore with a thump, running
to join Parish in trying to free... there was someone in there!
The doctor ran forward, reaching them just as the two ripped the
covering off. The great creature reached into the sphere with surprising
restraint. It removed a limp figure, and laid it on the sand.
Jane bent to examine the prone form with her tricorder…
…and gave an indignant gasp as Hatshepsut pulled her away.
Instead, Parish knelt beside the unconscious figure, tilted her
head back and covered the still mouth with her own.
It wasn't a primitive form of resuscitation but something else
entirely: A bright glow was reaching from Parish to the reptilian woman,
drawing forth an answering luminescence from between the blue lips.
The Away Team watched in amazement as the two entwined in a
strange near-kiss; Parish's offering lent strength to the other, restoring it
to a gently pulsing life… and bringing the woman awake with a jerk. The glowing
streamers each withdrew and Parish leaned back, helping the other to carefully
sit up.
Chiding herself for allowing the moment to pass without conducting
a scan, McDonald activated her tricorder. She wasn't sure what she was
expecting, but what she got surprised her. It wasn't just a simple energy
transferal; there was a second lifesign in both women, a separate life
form, which obviously manifested itself as a pale luminescence.
Carefully, she directed her small palm scanner at the other two in
turn. Though their large companion didn't have one, the third woman registered
this energy manifestation as well.
They'd rescued not four beings, but seven.
The three women embraced, whispering among themselves, but it
wasn't difficult to see what was happening: The clinging and tears conveyed
their emotions quite clearly.
Hatshepsut placed her hand lightly on McDonald's shoulder.
"We can leave now," she purred, sounding rather pleased
with herself.
The doctor turned the tricorder on the Caitian, but could find
nothing wrong. In fact, whatever strange influence the alien had had over her
seemed to be gone; her adrenaline and psilosynine levels were returning to
normal.
Jane gave the feline a
reassuring smile. "Welcome back, Counselor."
Hatshepsut trilled. "It is good to be wholly myself
again."
She glanced at the strange trio and found them gazing at her. Two
of the three bent nearly in half bowing. Parish added another salute to the
gesture of gratitude. "Our lives, Felisian, are now yours."
The serpent-woman—Merada, Jane assumed—turned to the female who'd
created such an awesome spectacle with her fiery nimbus, and gestured almost
off-handedly. The doctor took note: Her left arm was strangely blackened, as if
burned or withered; and her right was encased in the same material Parish's
was.
"Merada will drop the shields around you now; we're sorry to
have upset your crew."
The serpent-woman's eyes closed briefly, she winced noticeably…
…and Jane's comm badge suddenly crackled to life.
"... Benteen to Away Team. What in hell is happening over
there?"
Jane chuckled. "I'd love to tell you, Commander, but I
haven't the faintest idea. We have, however, found Hatshepsut's dream…
…and awakened it."
***
Mantovanni strode into Sickbay with a thousand questions, all of
which diminished in importance as the scene before him brought him to a dead
halt.
He had to wonder for a moment if Hatshepsut's dreams weren't
catching.
What could only be an elf from a fantasy tale stood stroking the
arm of a veritable nightmare, all crimson talons and massive needle-like fangs.
Beside that oddly content pair was a pale woman sporting a pair of horns, of
which the right was either composed of, or coated in, metal; her left arm was
covered in the same red material that served as the massive beast's exterior.
It might be armor, skin—or just about anything else, as far as he could
determine. The overall impression she gave was reptilian…
…but the ferocious expression was definitely not
cold-blooded.
A pair of the Sickbay biobeds were occupied: On the first lay
something vaguely akin to a panther, but sporting fiendish horns and two
razor-tipped tails, which twitched in what looked to be insensate frustration—but
carefully, the captain noted. The second held another overtly
reptilian-looking woman whose scales kept changing color in what seemed an
unconscious display. These last two both wore an identical set of red visors,
and something like a muzzle covered their lower jaw and most of their necks.
They were all now staring at him with expressions that ranged from
genuinely pleased to openly hostile. The elfin girl grinned and ran forward to
present herself. She saluted, her cat-like blue eyes bright and her posture
confident and proud, despite the dripping rags she wore.
"Lieutenant Commander Jaena Parish sir, of the ICSC Excalabris.
It's a pleasure to be aboard your ship, Captain. You'll have to excuse the
others; they don't speak your brand of English."
He merely nodded, seeking out McDonald and arching a brow at her
before returning his attention to the charming creature before him.
"Luciano Mantovanni; pleased to meet you, Commander. Is there
some other way we can be of assistance?"
There is.
The Sicilian looked beyond the now scowling elf to find the
serpentine reptilian sitting up, her head turned in his direction. He could
feel her imperious gaze through the slim visor. If this was what Hatshepsut had
experienced, it was a wonder she'd slept at all. He could almost feel those
cold scales scraping across the gateway to his mind.
He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
"Merada."
Her lips twisted in a matronizing smirk and she nodded.
I won't apologize for anything I've
done. It was necessary. I feel you would do no less for your crew.
Mantovanni's eyes narrowed, her cold touch probing at his thoughts
with sadistic, confident pleasure; seeking his vulnerable spots, in what she
seemed to regard as a preliminary test of strength.
"Perhaps," he answered carefully, keeping all evidence
of the internal contest from his expression, "but I don't think you know
me well enough to predict my actions after a fifteen second conversation."
Despite your best efforts, he thought. "You could consider making
amends in some manner for the trespass, even if it was one you deemed
necessary."
Merada's lip twisted viciously.
No permanent damage was done. Lives were
saved. That is justification enough for any trespass. I have already declared that I won't apologize—and I am
not in the habit of repeating myself.
Parish placed a restraining hand on Mantovanni's arm before
directing a pleading gaze at Merada.
"We can do this some other time, can't we? You need to rest,
Merada; and I, for one, am starving. You should be focusing on LiiKath, not
picking a fight with our rescuers."
Merada's gaze swung to the panther creature and she nodded slowly,
laying back down.
We'll continue this discussion later,
human, until I'm satisfied as to your response. It was a statement of certainty; a silent declaration that she
would lay bare his thoughts despite his best efforts—when it amused her to
finally do so.
Mantovanni raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in reply.
He then gestured to Aldus and McDonald, moving into her office so
their guests wouldn't overhear…
…for all the good it would do.
"Report."
"They've all recently suffered extensive injuries,"
McDonald said tiredly. "Most of them seem to have healed, but Parish has
three broken ribs, and Amaroth was suffering from a concussion, a punctured
lung, and multiple contusions."
She scowled. "They've both refused treatment. Merada nearly
drowned—or, more accurately, suffocated—and is extremely weak and malnourished;
I'd guess she hasn't eaten in weeks. The big one, Kin-tor-shi-en, appears to be
in the same state of privation. Lii'Kath—the last one we liberated over there,
just before you beamed us back—seems to be in a coma; we haven't been able to
revive her, or find a cause for her condition.
"Dr. Matsuoka is running tests in Bio-Research Lab One. For
some reason, they didn't seem to particularly like him… or any of the male
staff. Considering the teeth, claws and attitude, we both thought it best if he
conducted scans and research from a distance."
McDonald sighed, then concluded, "We're still running
tests on all of them, but they need rest."
Mantovanni nodded, frowning, trying to piece together what had
happened to them with entirely too little information. The strange
transmission, seemingly a distress call; the ship's damage, which looked to be
the result of an attack; the crew's poor condition and uncooperative nature.
And, of course, Merada.
What had happened?
"Sir," Aldus began, "I recommend continuous
surveillance and security escorts. They've already proven they can invade our
minds and transport us by unknown means when it serves their purposes. We don't
know what else they're capable of, but I believe them to be extremely
dangerous."
From the next room, there was a reaction.
"De'an auckee!" the horned
woman yelled, her blazing eyes on Aldus and her taloned fingers curled in an
obvious challenge.
"Seileece!" Parish
snarled, before Mantovanni or his officers could respond. "Con mok ona
deser uke mar sei O'nca'tii?"
There was that word again, from the garbled distress call.
O'nca'tii.
Mantovanni stepped out of McDonald's office and confronted Parish.
"What are the O'nca'tii?"
For the first time, one of the newcomers seemed actually afraid.
"Pray you never have occasion to find out," she answered
cryptically.
"That's not an acceptable response," Aldus snapped.
A thunderous rumble drew the disputing parties' attention to the
red beast—who promptly dropped its massive antlered head to look at its
midsection.
Parish smiled, patting her own abdomen. "We're a little
empty. And wet."
Mantovanni, a Sicilian to the core, couldn't allow guests—no
matter their nature—to remain hungry on his ship.
"Lieutenant Aldus," he ordered, "see that our
guests'… nutritional needs are met. I'll follow you to the All Ranks
Mess in short order."
The Roman nodded and gestured to the doors.
"This way, ma'am."
Parish gave him a radiant smile and crooked a finger at the beast,
who lumbered forward on all fours like an obedient pup.
Mantovanni shook his head as it passed him. If that was a pup, he
refused to speculate on what the parents looked like.
Amaroth stalked after them with a scowl, hissing at the captain
with bared fangs before the doors closed.
"That one will be trouble," McDonald mumbled, as she
resumed her duties.
Mantovanni turned to give Merada a last glance—and found her gaze
already on him, a too-pleased smile on her scaled face.
Trouble indeed.
He left sickbay wondering how soon he'd regret letting the aliens
aboard Liberty.
In Merada's case, he already did.
***
Jaena had encountered food synthesizers before, but Kin-tor-shi-en
was horrified at the concept. He stared listlessly at what looked and smelled
like raw meat, poking it unhappily with a bony finger.
She grinned at him and shrugged.
It'll have to do. Just pretend you killed it.
She took an encouraging bite out of the fictitious sandwich before
her, and was stunned. She really couldn't tell the difference between it and
the real thing.
What was the word they'd used? Replicator?
The achievement was nothing short of astonishing—she'd never
tasted reconstituted food that was this good.
She then nudged the platter a little closer to Kin's face. He
finally relented, tore off a chunk and swallowed.
The great creature seemed even more surprised then she had—and
enthusiastically began jamming the meat into his maw.
Jaena smiled for the captain, who was watching Kin-tor-shi-en eat
with an inscrutable expression.
"Your crew has performed smoothly, sir. You're to be commended."
His eyes flicked from the grisly spectacle to her face.
"I'm relieved the accommodations meet with your
approval," he replied dryly. "Your companion chose not to join
us?"
Jaena stifled a laugh. "She actually passed out. It's been
years since Amaroth's seen a real bed. And pulling that pyrokinetic stunt so
soon after getting out... she's very tired." Jaena pushed the remainder of
the sandwich at Kin-tor-shi-en. It wasn't entirely the sustenance she required.
"To begin, then. As you've no doubt been informed, we're not…
entirely human. Kin-tor-shi-en being the exception, we are Vlet'th,
gen-based parasites inhabiting a host body."
She had his complete attention now.
"Racially, Amaroth is Wyrmian; perhaps only half, though I couldn't
tell you what the other parent was… and she's not much for normal conversation.
I'm not even going to tell you what she had to say about your secgun
Aldus."
Jaena reached out to thump the slick chitin of her feasting
companion.
"Kin-tor-shi-en here is an Arnalakanaii… Kainey for short…
probably too hard to explain. Among his people, he might be what you'd consider
shock troops.
"As for myself, I too am a halfling… I've never seen the
homeworld of my kin, but my mother used to tell me how beautiful Lissec
is."
Jaena shrugged before folding her arms.
"LiiKath? I simply don't know enough about her to give you
any information you might find useful. I can only tell you that she can be very
bad news.
"You've no doubt noted the visor and respirator she and
Merada wear. They're silencers: genetically engineered infiltrators for
Shei's army. Their augmentation allows them to function in a variety of
atmospheres.
"I'm telling you this, captain, because you have a
responsibility to your crew. Any one of us could... cause some major
headaches... with minimum effort. I'm not threatening you…" her voice
trailed off as his expression hardened.
"Aren't you?"
Jaena shivered at the ice now in those shadowed eyes. She was
beginning to think that, at least in one case, the four of them had somewhat
underestimated the resolve of their hosts.
She took a deep breath and started again.
"I... I'm just trying to warn you that if Merada decides our
survival is in some way threatened by you humans..."
Those dark eyes of his burned even colder now, from simply hard to
truly dangerous. She sensed that a confrontation was brewing; one that would
almost certainly do none of them—especially, in her mind, the Liberty
crew—any good at all.
"Captain... please, I don't mean it how it must sound.
You have to understand, she'll make us do anything she deems necessary. And she
can."
Mantovanni raised an eyebrow. It was obvious that the
peregrinations of the young officer's narrative were becoming a little much for
him.
Jaena's looked almost ashamed, as she declared quietly, "She
can make us… force us… control our minds if she had to. She stands first
among us, though I wasn't part of her crew. I am Vlet'th, like the others, and
she decides. In that respect she owns our blood... owns me." She
made an effort to smile, but didn't pull it off very well.
"She already dislikes you—intensely." And that, if
you're not careful, Captain, could be fatal, she left unsaid.
"I'm crushed," the
Sicilian answered drolly.
She blinked in astonishment. Didn't he understand? She was trying
to warn him that he was out of his league with Merada, and he didn't seem to
care. He didn't seem like the typically dull alpha male that thought he
could handle anything. Perhaps she'd overestimated him.
"Commander Parish, I'll ask you once to state it clearly… is
my starship in danger?"
Jaena frowned, leaning back in her chair. "I… I'd be lying if
I said no. You... can't imagine what we went through on the O'nca'tii
ship." She lifted her left arm, frowning at the shiny gray metal beginning
just below her elbow, flexing its fingers with a mechanic whirring. "They
took my arm off... just to see how it worked. They transplanted limbs,
cut us open, gave us viruses, poison, anything that occurred to them... because
they're scientists! De'an auckeet!!"
She pushed out of her chair, taking a few angry steps, stopping
before the wall and glaring as if her gaze could cut through it.
"You don't want to know the things they did, or how many died
for their damn curiosity. Bastard O'nca'tii! Any race they encounter, they
study, make us labrats, keep us in damned stasis so we can't die on them, so
they can continue their tests." Jaena spun about, pointing an angry finger
at Kin-tor-shi-en, pausing in his meal to blink over at her.
"I've seen it on some of their faces, your crew, thinking
he's a monster... they don't know what real monsters are."
Jaena swore, closing her eyes, forcing calm, pushing away the
images that threatened. "The O'nca'tii mother ship was… damaged. Even one
of their ships can't handle an entire task force… and not everyone takes kindly
to their…" she hesitated.
"…research projects?" Mantovanni supplied.
She nodded grimly.
"When they tried to use their jumpshift-drive to escape, the
damage from the nukes must have caused it to malfunction… or function too
well… I don't know. We ended up here, though, and the damage was such that the
O'nca'tii had to focus all their attention on repairs.
"The experiments were left to their own devices.
"Merada had a vessel—Vancairin—in one of their larger
storage holds, but… the spheres were too strong to break. Despite the
containment, despite the drugs, she reached out with her mind to Kin, whose
sphere had been broken in the attack. He was wandering their ship aimlessly,
killing anything that threatened him." She looked at Mantovanni, daring
him to condemn such actions.
"It's the role of a soldier to kill the enemy," he
acknowledged. "Go on."
She relaxed visibly, and
continued.
"They reached an agreement: He'd follow Merada's 'instructions',
retrieve the spheres which most mattered to her and put them in her ship. In
exchange, she'd take him with us when she left." Jaena seemed poised to
continue the narrative, but something held her back.
Instead, she finished, somewhat anticlimactically, with, "And
the rest you essentially know."
"And this O'nca'tii ship is still undergoing repair somewhere
in the sector?"
This time she faced him squarely.
"You'd better hope so."
***
Irriantia watched, clicking delightedly, as the slender woman
stood swaying near an ODN access he'd modified to her specifications.
From the underside of her wrist protruded a tentacle of
luminescent energy, the tip of which was inserted into the conduit. Two things
were apparent to the inquisitive dolphin: One, there was a significant
absorption of energy occurring.
Two, the process wasn't altogether unpleasant.
The young engineer turned to his display, adjusting the spectrum
of readings—and trying not to feel like a voyeur.
Fascinating. Simply marvelous.
"Thank you," she sighed breathlessly.
Irriantia turned. "My pleasure." Though, evidently,
more yours, considering your reaction, he thought. "May I see
your arm?"
Commander Parish laughed and held it before him. The small orifice
opened like an iris, and he could see energy pulsing within. It obviously
wasn't a natural aperture; when it closed again, there was no evidence of
injury, as if it had healed almost instantaneously.
"Vlet'th are primarily energy-based," Parish almost
purred. "Their hosts still require more conventional sustenance but they
remain… dissonant from that physicality—which is why they require raw
electricity to sustain them. Your stunners, no doubt, would give us a meal
rather than cause any damage. Even so sophisticated a weapon as a laser would
be of little use."
Irriantia gave no reply, with either word or thought…
… just as his captain had instructed.
***
"Charming creature. Wonderful anatomy. I must see Dr.
McDonald's data on her companions."
Mantovanni indulged his chief engineer momentarily, as he waxed
enthusiastic about Jaena's wondrous abilities. The dolphin was a true
explorer—and, on occasion, blind to more pragmatic, and perilous,
considerations.
The captain had noted, upon entering engineering, that one of the
security officers surreptitiously trailing after Parish was the Vulcan, Ensign
T'Vaar, and had called her into Irriantia's office for an impromptu staff
meeting just after their guest's departure.
"What have you learned?"
Irriantia's enthusiasm remained in place. "Their
biotechnology, at least, is quite impressive; something with which the Borg
would be impressed. They'd be prime candidates for assimilation. Their ship is
organic in nature, but rapidly deteriorating.
We're having no luck in understanding many of the systems.
"From what I've been able to extrapolate, I guess that their
vessel itself is also in a symbiotic relationship with some form of parasite.
Our sensors are reading similar energy wavelengths to those we're monitoring on
Jaena and the others.
"Perhaps feeding it would slow the deterioration, recharge
some of her systems."
T'Vaar spoke at last.
"I would recommend caution, Captain. Despite Commander
Irriantia's laudable intentions, we should consider whether we particularly desire
that vessel to regain its strength—at least before we more fully understand
its capabilities."
"However," Irriantia countered, flippers flexing in
minor agitation, "we can't simply starve the thing without reason because
it might turn out to be aggressive."
"Agreed." Mantovanni sighed infinitesimally, and then
continued. "Use your discretion, Commander. If you can help it, do
so… don't make an quasi-educated guess, and force feed it energy hoping for a
positive result. Take a cue from the Hippocratic Oath—'Do no harm'."
"Aye, sir," the dolphin replied.
"Sickbay to Captain Mantovanni."
He tapped his comm badge. "Go ahead."
McDonald sounded strangely drowsy. "Merada wishes to make
it known it's time the two of you continue your conversation. She requires your
presence… immediately."
Liberty's captain was carefully
expressionless, but neither Irriantia not T'Vaar imagined it a true reflection
of his internal emotional state.
"I'll be along directly," he announced soberly.
His final instructions before leaving gave both his officers
pause…
…but they moved to obey immediately.
***
I sent them away, Merada explained, in response to Mantovanni's visible startlement
at Liberty's empty sickbay.
I felt we should speak alone.
For a human, he seemed to have a remarkable prepossession, and
countered with what was, to her, an immensely amusing observation.
"Did it occur to you that you might simply ask for
privacy, and McDonald and her staff would be happy to accommodate you?"
That occasioned a smile. One asks when one
hasn't the power to command.
Rather than continuing the fruitless exchange, Mantovanni
announced, with only a hint of sarcasm apparent, "You commanded I
attend you?"
That provoked a reaction; Merada sneered slightly, and shifted in
the biobed. And you are here.
He could feel her circling the private places of his mind… this
time, though, rather than simply searching for weak spots, she was sniping at
his defenses. The stakes of the game had just grown.
Again, the Sicilian set himself to give no visible reaction to her
assault. Evidently, she'd decided to test him alone—of the personnel aboard
besides him who could defend substantively from a sustained telepathic
intrustion—Irriantia, T'Vaar, a handful of others—none had reported anything
similar to what he was experiencing.
A laudable strategy, he thought.
Break the pack leader, and the rest slink away and obey.
If she couldn't read him, she could at least guess at his
thoughts.
You'll grow tired, eventually, little human…
I'll be waiting.
It was a consideration which troubled him even before she'd made
her intentions plain.
"Is that what you did with Jaena?" he inquired.
"She seems to love and fear you—and I bet that's just the way you like
it."
He could feel her lazy mental smile.
Jaena is a charming child, but of little
importance. I own her life, at the expense of my own, and she resents that.
Among Vlet'th, when a life is saved, the savior then possesses it as surely as
her own. She feels I should have saved myself rather than her; I am several
centuries her senior.
With enough hosts, a Vlet'th can exist a
considerable time. Yet even we fall prey to death eventually.
Merada glared at her left
fist; clenched, black, hard and cold. Her body was obviously no longer as
obedient to commands as she would prefer.
"One of the members of our Federation is a race called the
Trill… they too exist in a symbiotic relationship with a host, and can survive
for centuries… or even millennia, it's rumored."
That knowledge seemed to vex her. She snarled in aggravation, and
his mind was assailed by a burst of imagery. Rampant diseases, crystalline
matrices, battles fought… and always won.
Until the O'nca'tii.
"I'm still waiting for you or one of your people to make
clear precisely what they want from us, Merada. Perhaps we can help you."
It was an offer he didn't really want to make. Dealing with this arrogant
creature required every iota of self-control Sevek had taught him so long ago.
Still, he was a Starfleet officer, and his duty took priority over his desires.
Merada grinned at him.
The only danger you suffer from me,
human—for now—will come if my charges are not kept safe. LiiKath and I have an
errand, once she has sufficiently recovered from her last trip to the damnable
labs, and so you will be the keeper. I will know the instant they incur the
slightest damage, and I will see you suffer as you cannot imagine. I learned
much from the O'nca'tii, I assure you... I can be most... unpleasant.
He surprised her, though. He seemed neither impressed nor
angry—and despite a somewhat more concerted effort, his thoughts still remained
closed to her.
"Make your threats," he whispered icily, "since
they seem to amuse you. You've obviously decided on a particular path, and are
too proud to turn aside from it; I suppose that means we'll play this out. I
thank you, though, for taking your… requirements… directly to me. It was
prudent of you.
"I trust that our understanding will hold…" and his tone
finally acquired a hint of warning, "…because if Hatshepsut has so much as
a nightmare about fish, then this veneer of propriety you find so charming will
disappear… and we'll see if you're as good at carrying out threats as you are
at making them."
He turned and left, the doors swishing softly behind him.
Merada grinned, licking her fangs with relish. This was going to
be far more fun than she'd expected.
She reached out to stroke LiiKath's fur and smiled.
Wake soon, lovely. You're going to like
this human. He's entertaining.
***
Kin-tor-shi-en slunk through the humans' magical forest, following
the scent of an unusual being: This new creature required study. He pulled the
leaves of some pot-sprout aside and froze, spotting it licking a hindlimb near
a pond.
He crept forward.
Kin reached it without a sound, holding his tail still so that it
wouldn't rattle, and settled beside the beast with caution. It was tiny,
undeveloped, a little one of its species. He sniffed it and it hissed, turning
its small muzzle and baring ineffectual fangs. Kin-tor-shi-en, curious, picked
it up between two fingers and it yowled. He studied it from every angle,
turning it by the scruff, until its mewling became pitiful. He then set it back
down and it ran.
Strangely enough, it was real.
He still found it amazing that he was in a room no larger than a
small cargo bay. He'd run for what seemed like miles, and stalked a number of
opponents… some pathetically easy to track, and others possessing skills that
rivaled his own…
…and, until then, close to none of it had been real.
It could fool you, if you weren't cautious… the sights and sounds
were near perfect.
The smells and the feel were another matter. No wonder it fooled
humans, and made them so happy—they were deaf, dumb, and blind anyway, so far
as he was concerned.
He was beginning to understand something—something that the
others, in their pride of strength and purpose, simply couldn't see.
Merada,need–, he began.
I don't have time to deal with you.
Bother someone else.
He tried again, more insistently.
Merada, need–
The mental hiss in his mind nearly deafened him.
Kin-tor-shi-en growled unhappily.
She would not listen.
He would let them find out themselves.
***
Jane McDonald followed the computer's directions through the
arboretum and finally spotted Jaena Parish, lying on her side in the grass.
Whatever the woman was wearing, it was hardly practical, showing
off far more of her skin than it concealed.
McDonald advanced on her quarry with caution.
"Don't worry Doc, come have a seat."
Jane frowned at the woman but did settle herself beside her, her
eyes venturing up again.
"I... needed some more information concerning LiiKath, and
Merada's choosing to be uncooperative."
Jaena actually smirked, her eyes twinkling. "Let me
tell you: You can't find anything wrong with her."
The doctor frowned again, rubbing the back of her neck in
frustration. She didn't like this, but knew it was necessary.
"I have very little to compare her unique biology with, so I
can't for certain say what is or isn't ailing her."
Parish laughed, a lilting purr that made Jane smile. "LiiKath
prides herself on being mysterious, even in what's wrong. Don't fret, it's
mostly... how to put it, she's been run through a telepathic ringer. The
majority of the damage is... mental. She's bonded to a woman, and the O'nca'tii
thought it was… interesting." Jaena closed her eyes, a look of pain
momentarily twisting her features.
"Don’t get me wrong… LiiKath's suffered nothing compared to
Kin-tor-shi-en."
Jane was horrified. She almost didn't want to know.
"What did they do to him?"
Jaena sniffed, her eyes moist, and shook her head. "The
damage isn't that bad, but his hearing's suffered, and his language centers,
memory, a few other things. They effectively broke him. If he ever goes home,
he won't last very long. His people don't have much tolerance for weakness.
"And he knows it."
McDonald nodded, though she didn't entirely understand. It was
foreign to her, that someone might be shunned, killed even, for a disability
they couldn't help.
"I'd like to see him in Sickbay; there may be…"
"You can't undo what the O'nca'tii have done; your technology
isn't advanced enough. It would take longer than your life to understand the
workings of so complex a brain."
The doctor inched a bit closer, searching Jaena's closed
features.
"What did they do to you?"
Parish laughed, a harsh ugly sound that grated Jane's
nerves.
"Nothing spectacular. Cut me open to play with my insides,
tried removing the V'let'th but put it back when they realized they couldn't
without killing us. They starved me, took off my arm, kicked me out into
vacuum, dipped me into acid, basically anything that occurred to them, same as
everyone else."
McDonald suppressed a shiver; her imagination conjured each
torment, parading the injuries that had shown on her numerous scans of Parish,
chronicling the horrors she and her companions had endured. And how many
others? How many victims had suffered for what these creatures labled
scientific inquiry?
Metallic fingers caressed her cheek, and she jumped—finding Jaena
grinning at her, a queer light in her cat's eyes.
"Calmly, Doctor. I don't bite...
"…unless invited."
Jane flushed, becoming uncomfortable as she realized just how
close she was sitting to the alien female. "I should be getting back to my
duties."
She moved to rise but Jaena caught her wrist, the metal fingers
cold but their grip gentle.
"I didn't mean to offend… you have soft skin, like Mar… like
a friend's. You move like she does, too."
Jane swallowed. Parish was easily the most open of the aliens and
the most obviously wounded by their experience. There was something strangely
childlike about her; and, despite her provocative attitude, an innocence that
had survived what she'd suffered, and McDonald wasn't going to discourage it.
The strange combination of strength, vulnerability and desire was
somehow… appealing.
No. It's merely awakened my instincts as a healer, McDonald told herself firmly.
Yes, that was it.
***
Amaroth and Merada held a counsel of war.
"Vancairin's sophistication is keeping those fools
guessing, but she can't possibly take us home; the damage is too extreme."
Merada merely nodded. She'd known it would be so. Those damnable
O'nca'tii had removed most of her beloved vessel's higher brain functions—no
doubt to "examine them in more detail"—and been unable to return them
correctly. Simple orders she could still manage, but the vibrant being the ship
had been was gone forever.
Lobotomized at the hands of…
The Felisian, Hatshepsut, entered Sickbay, and approached Merada's
bed with something akin to dread.
Merada merely smiled. Another petitioner in what had become, by
her decree, a throne room.
This one and I must have words.
She dismissed Amaroth with a gesture; the offended draconian hissed
at Hatshepsut before vanishing in a burst of red flame.
Merada waited for the ship's computer to sound another fire alarm.
This time, though, she was disappointed. Evidently it had been reprogrammed
(or, perhaps, had learned of its own accord) that the side-effect of her
teleportation was brief and of little threat.
That is, until she wishes it to be.
However brash, Amaroth was a warrior, and she saw humans as her
enemies.
"How are you feeling, Merada?"
Performing a scouting mission for your
captain, Felisian? I am well enough to do what must be done, despite any
interference or attempt to thwart my will. And you?
Hatshepsut presented a pleasant expression.
"I am myself… and sleeping much better."
The serpent-woman scowled.
I did what was needed. You presented an
opportunity, and I took it. Your mind is exceedingly open. Had it not been, I
couldn't have reached you.
Hatshepsut's ears drooped to half-mast.
"I'm beginning to think you're even more the reptile than you
appear. I miss that person in my dreams, the one that was so pleasant and
considerate. I wonder where she may be."
Insipid Felisian...
Long dead.
"That would sadden me... if I believed you. I find it
somewhat difficult to do so, though, having had you in my mind.
"Am I a ball of string
to be twisted, unraveled—or simply batted about at your will?"
I make no apologies.
The Caitian nodded, her tail twitching.
"That, for some time, has been abundantly clear. No
apologies, no regrets… alone and unapproachable in that imperial
arrogance—unless, of course, you can use someone for your
purposes."
The great serpent arched a brow, her smile slow and satisfied.
You're beginning to bore me with your
mewling. You may go.
"Very well; but first, I'll say what brought me here.
"The captain won't warn you, Merada—he doesn't consider it
tactically sound—but, in memory of our all too brief friendship, I
shall.
"Despite your powers, your arrogance and the potent… menagerie
you have at your disposal, you won't win a confrontation with Captain
Mantovanni. I've had you in my mind, Merada… I know of what you're capable, and
that you're not to be crossed."
The Caitian leaned forward. "Despite all that, if it comes
down to you and the captain, I'd bet on him… every time.
"Slither around that."
Merada laughed silently, mockingly.
This time, though, Hatshepsut didn't look back, and wasn't
daunted… her last thought as she left the sickbay was full of anguish and
regret.
Remember I warned you.
***
The door chimed, and Mantovanni glanced up with a frown.
"Come in."
He wasn't entirely surprised to see Parish standing in the
doorway. She was still wearing the rags
in which she'd come aboard, despite ample opportunity to change. Fortunately,
the lack of ensemble was perfectly counterbalanced by the fact that she was
barefoot.
"What can I do for you, Commander?"
"May I come in? It's important."
He nodded and she stepped inside.
She plopped down on the floor rather than in a chair and rubbed
the back of her neck.
"We'd like to request the use of a cargo bay so we can move
the few things those bastards left aboard Vancairin. She's in so much
pain. We feel it... feel her... behind our eyes. She hurts. We'd like to
unburden her as much as we can."
Mantovanni turned to look out at the great hulk sprawled across
the stars. It was visibly smaller than the first time he'd seen it, lying
broken on the view screen. The ship was, literally, dying before his eyes; its
systems breaking down, its external hull dissipating into the surrounding
space. Despite every innovation the formidable mind of Irriantia could
conceive, including specially calibrated meals of bioelectric energy generated
by the main deflector dish, Vaincairin was wasting away.
"Captain? The cargo bay?"
Mantovanni recalled what Hatshepsut had said to him just a few
hours ago, concerning Merada's comment about a scouting mission. Was the old
serpent attempting to return the favor?
He tapped his comm badge. "Mantovanni to Bridge."
"Benteen here."
"Our guests require some equipment to be moved from Vancairin
to Cargo Bay Five. Have Chief Mav see to it when he comes on duty."
"Aye, sir. How thoroughly should we search the material we're
transporting?"
"If we had any weapons to bring aboard," Jaena snapped
indignantly, "we'd have used them to escape the O'nca'tii years ago. But
poke and prod to your heart's content."
There was a moment's hesitation.
"I'm sorry, sir… I didn't know Commander Parish was there
with you."
The Sicilian's expression hardened infinitesimally.
"Don't apologize for doing your job, Erika. Mantovanni
out."
A moment later, he continued, "Unless there's anything else,
you may go, Commander."
Wordlessly, she withdrew from his quarters—but not before he noted
a hint of annoyance at having been summarily dismissed.
Mantovanni had yet to discover the reason for Merada's game, or
what part Parish played.
Besides scout and pawn, that is.
***
Hatshepsut entered her quarters and stretched lithely, moving for
the replicator to order a warm milk, when a sense of wrongness made her fur
stand on end.
There was something in the shadows—something slick and bony that
rattled like an offended cobra.
"Computer, lights."
Hatshepsut's quarters obligingly brightened…
…and Kin-tor-shi-en looked up at her with his long face,
cocking his crested head to the side as if puzzled.
The Caitian's ears flattened, and her eyes widened into saucers.
"How did you get in here? Where's your escort?"
He sidled a step closer, holding out a massive hand, the eight
fingers splayed... and wet.
That coppery smell…
Slowly, carefully, she moved a paw to her comm badge.
"Hatshepsut to Lieutenant Aldus; I have a situation in my
quarters."
"On my way, Counselor."
"Hatshepsut to Matsuoka, I…"
The great beast suddenly grabbed her arm, his fingers
bruising, the talons tearing her uniform, and very slowly shook his head,
rising to his full height and baring his fangs.
"Yes, Counselor?"
For a moment, she simply stared at the creature looming over her,
struggling to get her voice back.
The threat was more than implied.
"It... it's nothing. I'm sorry to bother you. Good
night."
The silence was almost loud, and in her mind's eye, she could see
the doctor debating.
"Good night, then."
Hatshepsut hoped she wasn't making a mistake.
"What is it?" she asked. If he'd killed anyone.... light
blazed and Hatshepsut fell, the world turning inside out…
…and then she was surrounded by pulsing walls, once again aboard
the organic starship Vancairin.
The heavy scent of blood nearly choked her and she coughed,
covering her sensitive nose with a paw and peering through the steam with
straining eyes.
The sleek draconian Amaroth was kneeling beside a gaping wound in
the 'floor', covered with blood and bits of flesh, working furiously with
equipment that must have been stolen from Liberty's Sickbay. Amaroth
lifted a shaking hand to wipe away sweat, leaving a bloody smear across her
scaly cheek, then reached for another instrument and continued a fight she was
all too obviously losing.
"Why didn't she say anything?" Hatshepsut asked in a
whisper.
Kin-tor-shi-en only stared at her.
Hatshepsut straightened her shoulders. "Go to Dr. McDonald.
We'll see what we can do." She knew Merada was behind the movements of the
great creature, that she was tapping into the comatose LiiKath's formidable
psionic powers and using them in concert with her own. It made her even more
irresistible, imperious…
…and dangerous.
Amaroth was covered in gore.
Light exploded with an angry voice.
"Put me down, you—oh
my." McDonald moved to the draconian's side as though launched, taking in
the situation at a glance and reaching for a PADD. She tapped furiously and
then handed it over her head to Kin-tor-shi-en.
"Take this to Dr. O'Shaunessey. Bring everything on that list
and the lieutenant as well—don't worry, the orders to accompany you are on the
PADD. You don't have to abduct him like you did me.
"Move."
He disappeared again.
Hatshepsut gave the doctor a questioning glance—and received a
worried frown in return—before McDonald dove in.
The feline stepped behind Amaroth and, cautiously, put a paw on
her shoulder. "It's all right now," she began in a soothing voice.
"Dr. McDonald will do everything she can. You've been doing a wonderful
job, everything you could, but let the doctor work now. Everything will be
fine."
The draconian merely shook off Hatshepsut's paw, reaching for a
tool even as McDonald did. For a tense moment, the Caitian didn't think Amaroth
would let go; but then she dropped her hand, slumping to the side, raising her
knees to her chest and hugging them as a child might. McDonald gave the woman a
sympathetic glance and Hatshepsut knelt down beside her, offering her presence
without being intrusive.
When Kintorr returned—with Carteris, two nurses and an armload of
equipment—Amaroth crawled out of their way on shaking arms, collapsing some
feet away and curling into a fetal position.
Again, Hatshepsut moved beside Amaroth, settling herself and
laying a paw on the twitching shoulder. She was shaking in what seemed to be a
combination of fury and anguish. The feline stroked the fine hair and, slowly,
the woman relaxed.
Hatshepsut purred softly, closing her eyes, thinking of her
mother, of gentle arms.
"It's all right to need… once in a while," she
whispered.
***
Jaena had an answer for everything.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to be impressed with any of them.
Aldus, who was, with difficulty, managing to control his "I
knew it" expression, began, "The charges are: Theft of medical
equipment…"
"Amaroth needed the supplies!"
He glared at the interruption, and then continued,
"…assaulting security officers…"
"Kin-tor-shi-en just knocked them out! They're weren't really
injured!"
"…abducting two senior officers and three members of the
medical support staff…"
"He needed their help!"
"There's more, sir," Aldus glanced significantly at
Mantovanni; the captain waved it off. As the Roman fell silent, however,
Benteen was more than willing to take his place.
"There are better ways to acquire help than kidnapping,"
she observed. "Asking, for one."
"He can't speak, damn it!" Parish snarled. She'd
been the person summoned to the captain's Ready Room by Aldus, despite her
being the only one of the five who'd had nothing to do with the "mission
of mercy" to Vancairin.
Benteen was relentless.
"You speak for him; you should have…"
Parish interrupted with a slashing gesture. "He didn't want
to wake me up."
Liberty's Chief of Operations looked furious. "Then your rest
is more important than the well being of this crew -"
Mantovanni arched a brow as Parish suddenly grasped Benteen by the
shoulders and kissed her full on the lips.
"Are you finished now?" she demanded.
Parish didn't get the response she'd been counting on… instead of
reacting angrily, and sputtering incoherently, Erika grew cold.
"Grabbing someone and kissing them without their consent is
assault, too," she sneered contemptuously. "I can't say I'm
surprised, though."
To his credit, Aldus brutally suppressed a laugh—only Mantovanni,
raised among expressionless Vulcans, even noticed the change in his demeanor.
The antipathy between the Roman and Benteen was well-known; however, he wasn't
about to undercut his superior's position—especially when he disliked their
guests even more.
Parish was taken aback, but undaunted.
"Sir," she began more calmly, "Kin-tor-shi-en and
Amaroth haven't done anything wrong. The supplies were returned, your ladies
haven't suffered a scratch, and the pair he knocked flat don't even have
headaches. Your prit's accusations are groundless."
The slightest of glances was enough to silence his officers before
either began another diatribe.
"Tell me, Commander Parish," he began quietly. "If
you were captain of a starship, and a group of powerful individuals you'd
rescued from a derelict came aboard your vessel and: One, bragged about their
capability to cause damage and/or destruction; Two, assaulted your officers
physically, psionically and with unwanted sexual overtures—yes, Dr. McDonald
told me about your little incident in the arboretum; Three, made it clear with
both their words and actions that they had nothing but contempt for you,
your civilization, your culture, social mores and technology; and Four, showed
no sign of endeavoring to compromise; what would you do?"
Parish's expression had gone hurtling from defiant, straight
through thoughtful and finally alighted firmly on ashamed during his
explication of the situation. It was obvious she'd never really examined it
from any perspective other than her own.
"Bridge to Captain Mantovanni. Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Vancairin has powered up
and is heading away; she's ignoring our hails."
He pushed out from behind his desk and gestured at the doors.
"Commander Parish, would you care to join us?" She
jerked a nod and stormed for the door.
He followed her and his officers onto the bridge and assumed the
center seat, his eyes on the view screen. Vancairin's stern was a
violent purple glow, inching her bulk towards whatever vector beckoned.
"Ready tractor beam," commanded Benteen. "Hail
them."
Aldus complied. "Channel open, ma'am."
The Sicilian eyed the screen.
"Vancairin, this is…"
Parish groaned and dropped her head into her hands. At first they
weren't sure if it were anguish or injury.
"She won't... listen to you…" the elfin girl whispered.
"It's Merada."
Mantovanni frowned. Obviously.
He didn't bother wondering how she'd gotten out of Sickbay; it
would have been ridiculously easy to tap into her charges' powers and return to
Vancairin.
He glanced to his right, and realized Jaena would be of no further
help; she'd slumped over in her seat—rendered unconscious somehow, via the
almost unholy link she had with her mistress.
Do not attempt to stop me, human. I
forbid it.
"Sir, their speed is increasing, but at an agonizingly slow
rate," noted Ensign King at conn. He scanned his readouts again, and
ventured, "I don’t believe the vessel can withstand a higher rate of
acceleration."
Not surprising, the captain
thought. It's almost dead already.
"Ahead slow," he decided. "Parallel course,
Ensign."
"What are your readings on Vancairin's power output,
Lieutenant Aldus?"
The Roman frowned.
"Decreasing rapidly, sir. The fact that she's accelerating
can only mean she's diverting power from other systems."
"In addition, her deterioration has increased… she's actually
losing mass at an easily measurable rate, now." Benteen half-turned in her
chair. "If we want to salvage the vessel for Federation science teams,
sir, I suggest a tractor beam; or, if necessary…" she hesitated, then
finished determinedly, "…more aggressive action."
"I concur with the commander's assessment," Aldus added.
"Recommendations noted," Mantovanni told them.
"Maintain status."
"Aye, sir."
Seconds later, Vancairin's
engines shut down before their eyes, and the once proud vessel slipped off her
course and began to drift.
"See if she's willing to talk now," he instructed.
Before Aldus could react, Mantovanni got his answer. The
'unconscious' Jaena suddenly burst to her feet, tossing the medic tending her
aside and turning on Mantovanni with a snarl. "That wasn't wise, human.
You should have done as you were told."
Three phasers—Aldus', Benteen's, and surprisingly,
Hatshepsut's—were pointed at Parish before she took a second step.
"Your paltry stunners can't hurt me; or Jaena, for
that matter."
The captain's tone remained remarkably free of anger.
"Release her, Merada. This serves no purpose."
'Parish' laughed hideously. "I dance not to your will. Vancairin
could have made it, without your interference…"
"What interference was that?" he countered quietly.
"Following at a discreet distance?"
Abruptly, Jaena's eyes rolled up and she fainted. Mantovanni
barely caught her before she hit the floor. He then headed for the turbolift,
the girl still cradled in his arms.
"Let Vancairin drift, Commander Benteen. I'll be in
Sickbay."
"Sir? Should we lock onto Merada and beam her back into her
bed?"
"Or, better yet, the brig?" Aldus muttered.
"No. Unless I miss my guess, she'll already be back where she
started before I get down there." He paused for a moment, then added,
"After all, there's no audience on Vancairin."
***
Merada lay propped up on a bio-bed. One of McDonald's pets hovered
over her with a buzzing device; the little minion made an unhappy noise and
then beelined for her superior, reporting in whispers what she'd noted in the
scan. McDonald promptly left Jaena's side and walked to the bedside, frowning
in that professional manner at something one of her tools was detecting.
The serpent-woman flexed stiffening fingers and ignored them as
best she could.
McDonald suddenly seized her left hand and began carefully
manipulating the crystal-encrusted flesh.
"Does this hurt?"
Merada scowled at her and refused to respond. Most humans had an
annoying habit of asking questions to which they already knew the answers; it
gave them some absurd sense of security.
Besides, she wasn't about to let them see just how badly weakened
she was.
McDonald went on cautiously. "I've noted this arm gives you
some trouble—stiffness, tremor, diminished range of motion, lessened strength.
You seem to be left-handed but rely almost entirely on the right." She was
bending and testing each finger, turning the wrist and elbow. "Does any of
this cause discomfort?
"Would you tell me if it did?"
Merada just grinned fiercely and refrained from flinching.
It wouldn't be long now.
The captain—interesting that I think of him that way, now,
she thought—entered, carrying the unconscious Jaena Parish in his arms.
Intriquing, too, how humans stand at one extreme or the other:
Either they're gibbering, worthless monkeys, like most of those in Raix; or
they're…
He'd moved to stand beside her after having placed his charge on
the neighboring bed.
Merada sighed and granted him her attention. Best to get it
over with. She arched a brow at him—having noted it was one of his favorite
expressions—and prepared herself for the opening salvo.
"So you're dying. How long do you have?"
How did he…?
Direct hit: The weight crushed down and Merada slumped on the bed,
settling wearily into the hard cushion. She shook her head minutely in disgust
at her weakness, but a large part of her was perversely relieved that she need
no longer hide it.
Coward.
She had become what she despised most.
The witch doctor told you, she accused, but knew that for a lie even as she put it
forth.
He shook his head.
"You told me, just now, with that asinine stunt. You
know you're already dead, so it doesn't bother you to throw your life
away."
Merada scowled.
You just wasted time. I might have made
it, and had my venge–… freed the others. Now, it may be too late.
The captain looked stern, and answered, "Listen to me, old
serpent. My patience is at an end. You don't have the strength to do that which
you've been plotting and scheming. Only a senile crone clings to a plan of
action that's no longer viable. While you are, indeed, a crone, I wouldn't
disrespect you by labeling you senile."
You do have a sense of humor.
"If you say so."
Merada nodded weakly. To have this human at her side when
she was young and beautiful would have been… enjoyable. It would have been
amusing to engage in that war of wills. Victory, after all, was only
sweet when there was a chance of defeat—and this man was the most worthy
opponent she'd ever known. A human, no less!
Promise me, you'll help them home.
Amaroth, Kin-tor-shi-en and LiiKath do not belong here. They would wither away.
Promise it, human, or I say nothing.
"I'll do everything I can for them, provided it doesn't
conflict with my duty as a Starfleet officer."
Merada stared at him for a minute, replaying the solemn words in
her mind, letting go the last barrier... because she had to. Her crew now
depended on this strangely compelling man and his starship.
She sighed unhappily. This was not what she had foreseen.
But it would have to do.
He could see both that she was finally ready to deal—and
that it would never have occurred unless she was far closer to death
than she'd previously estimated.
The O'nca'tii matriarch is a colony
vessel; massive, with bays full of ships they've taken. They study everything,
to better break and torment us. They let us know our craft are waiting for us,
just down such and such corridor—and that all we have to do to win our freedom
is get past them.
Mantovanni understood. For such a
woman as Merada, queenly and masterful, to have been contained in such a way
was a humiliation she'd brave any pain to avenge.
In that, he could truly empathize.
They take any ship they encounter, any
race they happen across. There are so few of them; they're a legend, a threat
told to make brats behave. Sadistic, twisted beasts; perverted and made
invulnerable by their science.
Merada closed her mind to the memories and slowly raised her left
hand, glaring at the slick crystalline exterior.
Even so, they would never have taken me but for this.
Its dormant state is a thick puddle, but
the instant it makes physical contact with anything even partially organic, it
solidifies, completely enveloping the object and eating it from within. There
is no cure, no treatment, no recovery; the process usually takes seconds. All
that remains is a hideous statue of death.
She smirked, a touch of bitterness apparent even so.
A very few of us, though, through
whatever quirk of our obscure genetics, are able to survive it for a few years,
while it crawls up our skin and infiltrates every cell of our bodies. I was
infected nine of your years ago... and there's not a system left uncorrupted. I
have a few weeks at most, but I don't believe it will be as long as that.
She granted the Human a genuine smile then.
So perhaps you can understand I would
rather die foolishly in a heroic act, than fade into an unrecognizable shell.
Mantovanni was silent for a long moment, and Merada tried again to
get past his defenses to his thoughts—gently, this time, though.
He was every bit the adamantine wall she had once been. She
admired that.
As always, he was aware of her attempt, and gave no reaction.
"I do understand," he finally replied. "I also
understand that your crew still needs you. A queen gives no explanations, makes
no excuses, concedes no points…
"…but she also shirks no responsibilities."
Well, that was a touch of salt to sting.
For the first time, she had no ready reply.
***
"Captain," Aldus announced, "long range sensors are
picking up a vessel approaching on an intercept course at warp four."
"Hail them," he instructed.
The Roman did so; and, a moment later, relayed, "No reply,
Captain. They're either ignoring us or not receiving."
Benteen then clipped, "Raise shields."
Parish noted it, curious as to what it meant; perhaps it was some
odd Federation terminology for deploying hull armor.
"Where did they come from, Ensign King?" Mantovanni
inquired, even as he motioned for Jaena to sit in the X-O's chair.
The young officer checked his readouts.
"From directly ahead, sir… she must be some sort of welcoming
committee."
"Confirmed, Captain," Benteen added from the Ops
station. "I'd also venture to speculate that the O'nca'tii ship is hiding
in the system bearing 012, mark 55… the crater impacts on the only planetary
body are more than large enough to hide even an enormous ship… and if they're
as damaged as we've been told, a bolt-hole may have been their first
thought."
Mantovanni nodded infinitesimally.
Jaena tugged at his sleeve.
"I have no idea how fast 'warp four' is," she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow, but answered, "Approximately 100 times
the speed of light."
Powers, no! she thought.
"She's dropping out of warp on an attack course," King
declared.
As the vessel reentered normal space and struck out towards them,
Mantovanni was reminded of nothing else but an Oberth-class starship…
…with a major attitude problem.
"That's the Vendalor…" Parish announced.
"It's an automated drone… the O'nca'tii captured it recently… no doubt
it's been reprogrammed to give you a warm reception." When his expression
showed no sign of concern, she grew slightly angry.
"I'd be worried, Captain… that little ship is armed
with high-intensity lasers, nuclear projectiles, and particle beam weaponry.
She's the fastest, best armed tactical drone StarFed can field, and more than a
match for many of our capital vessels. As you can see, she's amazingly
fast, too. Her supra-light drive is state-of-the-art."
"Still no response to our hail, sir." Aldus continued to
scan his readouts, and then appended, "Commander Parish's tactical
analysis… confirmed."
Jaena looked back; curious, then angry.
"How could you know that?" she demanded. "Knowledge of the armaments on a StarFed ship
is strictly…"
Her statement was interrupted as Vendalor announced its
presence more vehemently—by opening fire.
Liberty shivered once and again as the stubby
little starship commenced a strafing run over her dorsal, peppering its larger
foe with particle beam strikes as well as additional laser hits.
Aldus checked his data.
"Our shields are holding, sir. No damage."
"There's your response, Captain," Jaena informed
Mantovanni evenly; though, inwardly, she was marveling at these Feds' luck. A full
barrage from a Star Fed attack drone, and they'd sustained no damage to any
vital systems. Astonishing good fortune. "Someone knows we're
coming and doesn't like it."
She turned to the captain with purpose.
"I'm intimately familiar with the tech; I can help end this
before anyone gets hurt."
He nodded abruptly and gestured to the tactical station,
indicating with a glance that Aldus should make room.
The Roman looked none too pleased, but immediately complied.
Jaena flashed the captain a smile of gratitude and strode quickly
behind the station. While much of the display itself was gibberish, the
targeting system seemed at least… adequate.
"I assume you have lasers aboard this tub?" she inquired
saucily.
To his credit, the Roman maintained his temper.
"Something of the sort," he answered, gritting his
teeth.
"Good." She watched with growing concern as Vendalor banked
and swung around for another pass.
As it approached, Parish pointed to a spot on the small vessel's
underside.
"Hit her there, if your targeting systems can lock on to such
a small location at these speeds. It's a design flaw you can exploit if your
lasers are hot enough to penetrate her hull armor with one blast." Which
I consider highly unlikely, she added silently. "She'll roll
immediately to protect it on a near miss, so you'll only have one shot. If
you'd like me to take it…" she offered hopefully.
In response, Aldus' hands danced over the console. Even as he
prepared his phasers, he inquired, "Sir?"
Mantovanni reply was concise.
"Fire."
Even as Vendalor unleashed another series of attacks, Liberty
answered with brief eloquence. The Roman's strike punched through the
polymer sheathing designed to cushion the superstructure from weapons fire,
neatly penetrated the hull itself, and cauterized the section beneath the spot
to which Jaena had pointed.
In the span of two seconds, Vendalor had gone from spitting
fire to venting atmosphere.
Parish's jaw dropped open in astonishment.
Mantovanni shook his head.
"Don't", he told
her dryly, "call my ship a 'tub.'"
Three hours later, Jaena Parish known how grave an insult it had
been.
At Mantovanni's direction, Erika Benteen had, immediately after
their encounter with Vendalor, set her up at one of the bridge's rear
stations and demonstrated the use of their LCARS (Library Computer And
Retrieval System) access. Now that she'd actually taken the time to examine it
in detail—as much detail as was unclassified, that is—she knew she wouldn't
disparage Liberty's technology ever again.
And they claim they're not a
military organization, with such weapons? Gods…
She must have spoken aloud.
"Problem, Commander?" Benteen inquired evenly, her
expression rather severe. Parish knew her distraction was complete; the woman
had approached to stand over her shoulder, and she hadn't even noted it.
Jaena managed a chuckle. The prit was still upset about earlier.
"No, sweetie, just have a headache."
She refocused on the screen before her and studied it again,
absently, she tapped the flat surface—and lost the material she'd been looking
at.
"Damn it!"
Wordlessly, Benteen reached over, touched gently at the console,
and brought the material back up.
Parish gave her a sheepish glance.
"Never used a system quite like this. The interface seems
too…"
"Primitive?" offered Benteen, still somewhat irritated.
Jaena laughed.
If only you knew.
"Not exactly," she answered, then grinned. "You
know, you'd be cute if you weren't so serious all the time, kitten."
The object of her "affection" looked ready to explode.
"But I'm sure you know that." Jaena winked at her.
Fists were clenched, teeth gritted, muscles tensed for battle, but
the pride refused to blow and so she turned about stiffly and moved as far away
from Jaena as the confines of the bridge, and decorum, would reasonably allow.
Behind her back, Jaena clenched her own fists together, and
stamped her foot in a rather brutal mockery of her infuriated counterpart. The
two secguns—security officers, she amended silently—who were her shadows
found the entire scene quite amusing. One couldn't quite smother a
chuckle, and tried to hide it with a cough.
Benteen glared at him, and the laughter died aborning.
Jaena could see the other smiling with his eyes. She knew neither
one them would have dared push the commander's lovely buttons. She shrugged and
resumed her purposeful meander through the database.
Strange that the captain is allowing us to gather information
so…then again, perhaps not. After reading this, I'm not as inclined to treat
them so cavalierly.
Despite their perceived seriousness of the incident aboard Vancairin,
Captain Mantovanni had confined none of them: Amaroth was at another of the
bridge stations, snorting in disbelief at what was being displayed. Jaena had
wanted someone else—besides Kin, of course—to see what she was seeing:
They needed to be aware of Liberty's capabilities, and plan accordingly.
"Impossible," the Wyrmian muttered; it was not the first
of her disbelieving verbalizations. As a matter of fact, she'd been adding to
the list for almost ten minutes.
"Unlikely."
"Pure fabrication."
"Obviously propaganda."
Parish smiled apologetically at Benteen.
"We used to keep her on a leash—and muzzled."
Erika's frown lightened a degree and a spark lit her eyes. She
offered, "I can have one replicated, if you think it will do any
good."
Amaroth could hear them; and wasn't amused.
She snarled, and turned away from the console, starting across the
bridge towards Benteen with what was fast becoming a murderous glare.
"How dare you insult me, you pathetic little ape!
I'll rip out your heart!"
Benteen smoothly drew her hand phaser, and motioned for Aldus and
the security guards to hold their ground.
"You need to acquire some manners of your own before you
start whining about others'," she replied coolly.
Parish nearly cringed: It would now take a real exertion to
prevent her companion from killing Liberty's ops officer. She gathered
herself for the effort.
The infuriated draconian leaped over the rail in an impressive
display of agility.
At the apex of her flight, Erika fired.
The effect was shocking to the two guests—figuratively for one,
literally for the other.
Amaroth jerked spasmodically—momentum arrested, nerves afire,
Vlet'th shrieking. Unceremoniously, she crashed to the floor, unconscious.
How in... that shouldn't have happened! Jaena stared in horror at the little weapon, no larger than half
her palm.
"But… it's energy-based... it shouldn't have done that,
overloaded her system..." she whispered.
Benteen managed not to look overly satisfied at what she'd just been
forced to do.
"Transport her to Sickbay," she ordered, pointing to the
inert form of Amaroth. "As for you…"
Parish's eyes widened slightly.
"…enjoy your reading."
***
"Amaroth is still in shock, and unconscious; she took quite a
jolt. I'm guessing the parasite tried to compensate for the phaser fire in its
usual manner—by feeding on it—and bit off a great deal more than it could chew…
sort of like to grabbing a live wire barehanded. According to my scans, she's a
little singed around the edges, but relatively unharmed."
When Mantovanni didn't reply, McDonald frowned.
"I would have imagined that you'd be thrilled to know the
damage a minor stun setting can inflict on them. If they do grow restless, we
can incapacitate them easily."
"It seems to have knocked some of the wind out of
Parish."
The doctor nodded, shaking her head sympathetically.
"It must have been quite a blow to see her companion fall
from what she'd previously labeled a snack."
Kin-tor-shi-en stuck his head in the door at that moment and
waggled his fingers, his maw of fangs huge with his version of a smile.
McDonald waved back at him and he slunk over to where Jaena sat, dropping at
her feet like an obedient pup. She actually stuck out her hand and patted his
antlers.
He certainly doesn't act like
a man-eating monstrosity.
She looked up to find herself the object of the captain's intense
regard.
"You can't afford to see them as they want to be seen,
Doctor: Kin-tor-shi-en a lumbering puppy; Amaroth, a brainless brawler; Parish
the charming, sexy and dutiful officer; Merada, first an insidious controlling
snake, and now a dying heroine. We mustn't underestimate them—especially
now that they know how badly they've underestimated us.
"In a way, I'm almost pleased Erika provoked them on the
bridge."
"Because it gave you an excuse to lock her up?" McDonald
ventured.
She'd stepped over the line of propriety, and immediately wished
she could recall the words; fortunately, he didn't seem to notice.
"Not an excuse, Commander… a reason. Choose
your words with a little more care, if you please. We despots are sensitive;
ask Merada." He surveyed the menagerie again.
"I want Amaroth to wake up in a holding cell. Initiate
transport to coordinates given you by Irriantia well before she regains
her senses."
Mantovanni glanced at the fawning Kin-tor-shi-en with a icy
expression.
"His bite is far worse than his bark. Do keep
that in mind, Doctor.
Jane watched him go with a sigh. He's right, but still...
Metal knuckles tapped on the window and Jane looked up to see
Jaena standing there, smirking at her with that knowing look in her eyes.
McDonald flushed scarlet and Jaena winked saucily, rapping on the window again.
No… they're not dangerous. Not at all.
***
Amaroth awoke to the inscrutable gaze of
Ensign T'Vaar, who observed her impassively…
…from outside the cell, of course.
The draconian rolled to her feet, and
sneered, "You cannot hold me here… and my first act when leaving will be
to kill your Commander Benteen for daring to taunt me."
As the infuriated woman approached the doorway, T'Vaar spoke with
quiet conviction.
"I believe you will find contact with the force-field nearly
as unpleasant an experience as a phaser stun, Amaroth. I recommend…"
With a snarled, "No more words!" she leaped for
the Vulcan's throat.
T'Vaar had not exaggerated. The intervening screen of energy
caught her; effortlessly, she was thrown back towards the center of her cell,
where she came to a less than dignified rest, the floor and her rump in
immediate proximity. She waggled her head, almost comically, and stood again—a
little unsteadily, at first.
"If you'd laughed, I'd have killed you, too."
"Threats are illogical, Amaroth. You may hurl yourself at the
barrier as many times as you wish. The result will be the same."
"Perhaps," the Wyrmian conceded. "However, I have other
means of egress."
With that, she smiled viciously, teleported…
…and found herself, at its conclusion, precisely where
she'd started.
"What trickery is this?!" she roared in frustration.
T'Vaar folded her arms. Intellectually, she was pleased Commander
Irriantia's analysis of their guests' teleportational capabilities had enabled
them to devise a defense against them. Emotionally, too, she was forced to
concede a certain… satisfaction at seeing the arrogant draconian
effectively contained.
"Unfeeling elven bitch! Answer me," Amaroth
demanded, "or I will kill you when I get out of here!"
T'Vaar raised an eyebrow in that infuriatingly Vulcan manner, and
replied, "As you wish… it is not 'trickery,' as you term it. It is a
multi-phasic force-field extending well into certain subspace domains, and
resulted from extensive observation of your companions and innovative,
assiduously applied engineering techniques. One has been placed around sickbay,
as well; your assumption of relative invulnerability, it seems, has proven
incorrect on more than one count.
"If you'll excuse me."
The Wyrmian wasn't entirely helpless, T'Vaar noted, as she
left the brig.
Amaroth's howling hurt her ears.
***
"The Vendalor's an ICSC scout. The O'nca'tii took her
three weeks ago, just before the battle in which we escaped. Her programming's
been tampered with by someone who sent her to attack you."
"That could mean one of two things," speculated Aldus.
It was an eclectic assemblage that had gathered in the Observation
Lounge for a pre-contact briefing and were currently considering the Roman's
opinion: The captain, Benteen, Irriantia and the aforementioned Marcus
represented the Liberty; Merada and Parish were there for their
otherdimensional guests.
Kin-tor-shi-en had taken up a vigil outside Amaroth's cell, but
had made no attempt to liberate her—yet. LiiKath, of course, remained where she
had the whole journey—silent and somnolent in Sickbay.
"Go on, Lieutenant," Benteen prodded gently.
He didn't even glance at her, but continued with, "The first
possibility is that they're so secure in their position they felt confident
enough sending out a single vessel to test… or, perhaps, toy with us.
The second is that they're desperate, and played the only card they had in an
attempt to destroy or delay us."
"To hear 'desperate' and 'O'nca'tii' in the same breath… it
seems almost inconceivable," breathed Parish. Merada, careful as always
with her true perspective, reacted not at all.
"It would have been foolish to send their only means
of defense after us in such a manner," Irriantia chirped.
"Or," Benteen pointed out, "just supremely
arrogant."
"They have no reason to believe you're any threat
whatsoever," Parish admitted. "Either way, the most prudent course of
action is to find them as quickly as possible, before they can complete
whatever repairs they have left."
"The assumption there, though," Irriantia observed, "is
that we want to find them at all. Perhaps it would be best to allow them to
withdraw, if such is their intention. You said yourselves that they'd no doubt
look to escape this space if they repaired their ship." The dolphin
floated serenely, his anti-grav unit humming gently in the background.
Parish's eyes narrowed.
"Then how in the name of the Powers would we get
home?"
Merada had made concessions; she hadn't given up the game, though.
The serpent-woman glanced at Mantovanni, waiting for him to pronounce judgment
on what had been presented.
It was quick—and precisely what she'd expected.
"We have no choice. Liberty is the only starship in
this sector… not only have the O'nca'tii been accused of atrocities…"
"Accused?! Are you calling us liars, now?" Jaena
half-rose from her chair.
Mantovanni had never liked being interrupted, and had less
tolerance for it than most. His glare was very like a blow; it forced her back
into her seat, and silence, immediately.
He then continued as if he'd not been cut off.
"…but there's also a question of possible survivors still
aboard their ship. We have a responsibility to attempt a rescue, if such is
necessary."
Nobly put, Captain. Merada's mental "voice" held a touch of mockery; just
enough to imply that this was the happenstance she'd planned for all
along.
The captain, if displeased, gave no sign. He turned again for the
stars, his back rail straight. Merada almost smiled. If he ever relented, he
would make some flit a good rock.
"Aldus, Irriantia: Stations, please. Commander Benteen, stay
for a moment."
He turned to the next matter immediately after the other two had
gone.
"Concerning Amaroth…" he began.
"She can't be caged like that," Parish
immediately protested, again interrupting Liberty's commander.
This time it was Merada who intervened.
Am I too old and feeble to safeguard my
charges, Jaena?
"Merada, I…"
Then BE SILENT!
The psychic echo of Merada's castigation resounded through the
minds of everyone present. Benteen clutched at her head, wincing; Jaena,
though, nearly cried out.
Wisely, she gave no reply.
When Merada turned back to Mantovanni, though, there was something
in her eyes—a hint of desperation, perhaps—he'd never seen before.
For some reason, it seemed to touch him.
"You two are dismissed," he told Parish and Benteen.
"Go now."
The Sicilian, as he came around the table towards her, made a
silent wager that Merada would remain on her feet until they were gone.
He won, barely—and caught her as she collapsed with no time to
spare.
***
"The captain sent me here."
Amaroth looked up at Aldus with hooded eyes. Again, as before, her
gaze strayed to the gladius he wore at his side, and despite her situation, she
smiled grimly.
"Can you use the weapon, or is it merely," and she
sneered, "a decoration?"
He actually smiled briefly.
"None who have crossed swords with me in battle are still
alive. Take that as you will."
She inclined her head in acknowledgment of a soldier's pride.
"Unlike the rest of the mewling rats aboard this ship, I
sensed that you were a true warrior."
The Roman's expression never wavered. "I assure you, there are
others." He caught her eye again, and held it.
"Merada has fallen into a coma."
Amaroth howled in anguish, once; and then grew dangerously silent.
He could see her gathering strength; for what purpose, he wasn't sure.
When the flame burst forth from her body and struck the
force-field, he stepped back in reflexive fear.
The energy screen flared as she poured her determination to be
free into a single burst of incandescent force. She found herself on her knees,
unable to stand, but still she continued her efforts.
When at last her power flagged, though, the field had held.
"Bravely done," Aldus told her. "No epic heroine
could have given more."
The draconian knew he wasn't mocking her. Still, she growled at
him and crawled towards the doorway again.
"The captain's message is this: 'With Merada unconscious, the
leadership of your people falls to you. If you can give your sworn word on
whatever you hold sacred that you will do no harm—by actions either direct or
indirect—to my crew, my ship or myself, then I'll have you released from your
cell.'"
Marcus stepped nearer to the screen.
"What say you?"
Amaroth, too, approached it again, until their faces were but
inches apart.
"I will not take charity from your captain."
Aldus grinned.
"He told me to add, if you said something of that sort,"
pausing as Amaroth snarled at the captain's anticipation of her response,
"to ask whether your personal honor was more important than the dictates
of your mistress. Merada commanded you to lead if she could not;
you won't be doing much leading from inside our brig."
"What if I command Kin-tor-shi-en to slay you and release me
himself?" she asked, a vicious grin playing across her features. The
massive beast had curled into a jagged lump upon entering the brig, and hadn't
moved since.
"I handled that bit of Security myself, Amaroth. If my
bio-signs cease, Chief Mav will beam him into the cell adjoining yours.
However, it's my guess that he has no intention of helping you, when
it's clear you can help yourself by simply swallowing your pride a
bit."
Kin-tor-shi-en never moved.
"It's your choice, warrior," he concluded.
After a full minute of howling—and a stream of curses that
impressed even the ears of a jaded Roman noble—Amaroth did what she knew she
must.
***
"Entering system L-45, Captain," Benteen announced. She
then snapped, "Battle stations."
The transition from Yellow Alert to Red wasn't a difficult one,
and a few seconds later, she informed Mantovanni, "All sections show
green; shields up, weapons ready."
Despite everyone's concerns, the O'nca'tii hadn't been hard to
find.
The debris field surrounding their massive vessel was nearly
larger than Liberty could effectively scan, and comprised the remnants
of over 30 craft which varied in size, configuration and, no doubt, capability.
At its center, like a bloated spider, was the O'nca'tii matriarch; the cause of
all the chaos. Hatshepsut could only stare at its immensity, finding the clean
curves ugly, like ancient medical instruments. The enormous ark—half again as
large as a Borg cube—was every inch sterile and cold, and the horrors that had
taken place aboard seemed to have infected the surrounding space with a silence
unnatural even for the deep emptiness. Hatshepsut glanced at Amaroth and
Parish; the two of them wore haunted expressions.
Aldus began his analysis.
"The ship is still heavily damaged, Captain; running on
minimal power. I'm detecting indistinct lifesigns... perhaps one or two
individuals. No visible activity, only the mother ship and perhaps one other
are what I would consider even minimally operational."
"It must be a ploy," guessed Parish.
The Sicilian considered that. "Perhaps. Hail them."
A moment later, he announced firmly, "O'nca'tii vessel, this
is the Federation starship Liberty. You are ordered: Heave to and
prepare for boarding."
The draconian snorted in derision, and rasped, "The O'nca'tii
are laughing at you, human."
"You're assuming
they're alive to laugh, Amaroth," Mantovanni countered quietly.
"There doesn't seem to be much around here that is.
"I'm beginning to think that these people, rather than
escaping when they had the chance, fell on each other as soon as they got
out…"
"…like jackals over a still-warm carcass," whispered
Benteen.
Aldus' board beeped.
"Sensors indicate a vessel emerging from one of the smaller
craters pockmarking the planetary surface—and now one of the larger ships in
the debris field seems to be powering up as well."
When the captain turned his chair to regard him, the Roman
finished, "We're being hailed by both."
"The closer one, on viewer."
The screen came to life a second later, and a dark elfin face
appeared, female and unfriendly.
"Cease your approach, humans; we'll handle this."
As fast as that channel was cut, it was fast replaced by another
face, this one drawn in pain and fear.
"We surrender, Federation ship; repeat, Ciredon
surrenders!" The smaller vessel veered off, only to find itself a moment
later under a vigorous pursuit.
The larger, as yet unnamed
ship slashed towards the intended victim, discharging its forward lasers, and
reducing its retreat from a sprint to a crawl. When, in a manner of seconds, the
smaller foe had been reduced to helpless immobility, it launched a projectile
that quickly homed in on its target.
"Nuclear device," Aldus reported.
"Second-generation magneto-guidance and thrust; approximately 12-megaton
yield." After a split-second delay he added, "Impact in nine seconds…
phasers locked."
Mantovanni nodded, and Liberty struck the deadly missile
from existence.
In
seconds, the channel was open and the forbidding face was back.
"How dare you interfere
with a Sidian kill!" she raged. "I suggest you withdraw, or we'll
be forced to destroy you as well!"
The captain frowned slightly. These "Sidians"—Jaena's
people, if he recalled correctly—were a haughty lot. Instead of reacting in
kind, he settled for clearing his throat, and carefully chose his words.
"You're within space belonging to the United Federation of
Planets, Commander...?" he left the sentence unfinished, hoping she'd
provide the information.
Eyes black as space narrowed, and the woman growled low in her
throat.
"Vika Fareth, second of Sabre
Oslina. You've interfered enough, human; this kill is ours, and we shall
have it. Begone!"
"Well, Commander Fareth, as I've already mentioned, this is Federation
territory, and we have jurisdiction here. I'd regret having to enforce
it…"
"…but make no mistake, I will."
"They're turning to fire on us," Aldus warned, a
second before a brace of particle beams struck Liberty's shields. She
trembled; but, as before, weathered it easily.
"I never would've predicted that response,"
Hatshepsut purred sarcastically.
"Indeed; you're all usually so even-tempered," Ensign
King observed in turn.
Jaena colored pink in embarrassment; Amaroth red, in barely
contained fury.
Help came from, for them, an unexpected source.
"Stop that, both of you," Benteen commanded
firmly. "You're Starfleet officers; I'd better never hear such
unprofessional commentary like that again, from either of you."
Again, Jaena found herself gaping in wonder. These humans—well,
the intriguing Commander Benteen, at least—had surprised her again with their
capacity for graciousness.
"I believe I can disable their weapons systems with a single
strike, sir," Aldus informed the captain pointedly. Though, unlike
Hatshepsut, he wasn't one for teasing, he was very much enjoying the change
of circumstance and understanding that had left Liberty with the
advantage; and wasn't about to let it go unnoticed by these women who'd
mocked both the captain he served, and the ship he loved.
Mantovanni again gave his consent.
"By all means, Lieutenant."
Similar to what had happened with the overmatched Vendalor,
Sabre Oslina found herself suddenly toothless—though, unfortunately, not
voiceless.
After about fifteen seconds of colorful curses and imaginative
threats, the Sicilian made a quick slashing motion, and Aldus cut the channel.
"Wow… does her mother know she talks like that?" Benteen
wondered aloud.
"Her mother," Amaroth replied, in all seriousness,
"probably taught her those words."
"There will be no more surprises,
sir," Aldus asserted. "Sabre Oslina and Ciredon are the
only functioning vessels besides ours in the system—and they'll both be under
repair for some time."
"I can only confirm one life
sign on the O'nca'tii mother ship," Benteen added. "The readings are
strangely diffuse… I'm just not certain what else is over there."
"Hmmmm… I'd be intrigued to take a
look aboard her…"
A low, triumphant chuckle from Amaroth
startled them.
"As you wish," she whispered
viciously…
…and it a burst of flame, they
disappeared.
***
"I could kill you so easily, now."
These were Amaroth's first words, even as they reappeared in a
silently antiseptic hallway, on what the captain knew must be the O'nca'tii
mother ship.
Rather than going for his sidearm, he raised an eyebrow.
"With a blast of fire? Almost certainly." He turned away
and began to walk down the corridor.
Before he rounded the corner, though, he added, "Hand-to-hand?
Don't make me laugh... I'd turn you into an alligator bag."
The draconian stood there, rigid with indignation: The human had
taken what she'd intended to be a simple affirmation of her superior power, and
once again used it against her. It would
be a simple matter, she knew, to destroy him… but it would mean going against
both her word and the strictures Merada had set down.
Besides, the nobler part of her (which always
managed to speak precisely when she wanted it to remain silent) argued, you
perverted the spirit of your release bringing him here. Is it any wonder the
Powers didn't reward you for your dishonor?
"Then what should I do?" she muttered.
When the idea came to her, she smiled.
She could almost hear Merada whispering in her ear.
"Mantovanni to Liberty."
Benteen began, "Sir, we were just about…"
"…to do nothing, Commander. I'm in no immediate
danger. Stand by. Continue your sensor sweeps of the O'nca'tii vessel, and
inform me immediately if there's any change in status."
"Yes, sir… Lieutenant Aldus will
be standing by with a security team, and a contingent of marines."
I feel better already, the captain
thought drolly. What he told her was,
"Very well. Mantovanni out."
Amaroth had, for the moment, left him to his own devices. Considering her power and inclination, she
could be just about anywhere by now.
He didn't have a tricorder; the five senses would suffice for the
moment, though.
He shook his head and sighed, taking a moment to reacquire his
center. It was then, as he gave his perceptions their due, that he realized he
wasn't alone.
"You need to pay more attention," a harsh female voice
admonished from the shadows, and stepped into view.
He examined her stance: She had some skill with a blade, that much
was obvious—but she also possessed the customary dismissive arrogance he'd seen
in all these people. She was still fifteen feet away, and acting as if mere possession
of the sword had decided the encounter in her favor.
It might be, if battle were actually joined, the last mistake
she'd ever make.
Another one who thinks a phaser is a toy.
"When you're through braying, and decide to attack, I'll still
be right here—assuming you haven't bored me to death by then."
Predictably, the woman took an angry step forward, into the light.
As she closed the distance, though, she suddenly stopped, and peered closely at
him.
"You're Starfleet," she declared in a hope-filled
whisper. "My God, I know you… from the holovids. Captain
Mantovanni!"
The Sicilian arched a brow but nodded.
"Commanding the USS Liberty."
She dropped the sword to the floor, shaking with what seemed
almost delirious laughter—and then coughed hoarsely, lifting a smoke-smudged
face with a beautifully crooked smile. "Lieutenant Treise Kolfinna Rika,
late of the USS Mercer."
Then came the thunderbolt.
"I've been on this ship six years."
Mantovanni absorbed that astounding statement.
There was only one appropriate reply.
"Welcome home, Lieutenant."
Before either could react, Amaroth's fires claimed them both
again.
When they reappeared on the bridge, there was a moment's
hesitation; no one—not even Parish—had expected that the fierce, vengeful
draconian would return the captain unharmed.
And with a survivor, to boot.
Amaroth didn't wait for recriminations. With another burst of flame, she claimed
Parish from her seat, and was gone again.
"Multiphasic subspace force-fields around Sickbay and all
vulnerable areas remain intact, sir," reported Benteen, even as
Mantovanni, with a hurried gesture, assured them all he was fine.
"Where has she gone this time?" wondered King.
They didn't have long to wait.
"We're being hailed; it's the O'nca'tii vessel, sir,"
Aldus reported.
The captain settled back into the center seat, motioning for
Hatshepsut to escort Lieutenant Rika to Sickbay, and snapped, "On
screen."
It was, sure enough, Amaroth and Parish.
One looked apologetic; the other, smugly triumphant.
"We claim this abandoned
vessel in accordance with interstellar salvage laws."
"Oh, really?" Mantovanni replied dryly.
"It is Merada's property now. Those O'nca'tii bastards
destroyed Vancairin… even now it is almost dead. She claims their vessel as
recompense. And since there are no O'nca'tii left alive to gainsay us…"
"There is, however, the matter of the Starfleet officer who
was the last living creature aboard until you saw fit to transport her
away," the captain pointed out mildly.
"Being master of your own vessel is one thing, Captain; I
should have been more cautious aboard her.
I'd welcome your attempt to take this one from us. Here we have the advantage."
Her expression told him that she relished the idea of a conflict…
she desperately wanted to kill him, and this, she thought, would allow her to
do so without impugning her honor.
"On behalf of the Federation," he answered, "I
acknowledge your legal claim to the O'nca'tii mother ship… provisionally."
Before Amaroth could reject his statement, Parish leaped in with,
"What are your provisions?"
"I'll speak to your mistress about that. The important
matters will be settled between the two of us. Liberty out."
The draconian gaped, shocked and indignant at his dismissal of
her.
Aldus cut the channel… and then chuckled.
"You stole most of the sweetness from Amaroth's triumph, sir;
I can almost hear her howling."
The Sicilian remained expressionless.
However, his tone held a hint of something almost devil-may-care.
"So can I, Lieutenant. So can I."
***
"Four officers, including Lieutenant Rika, and their
shuttlecraft vanished without trace on a survey mission; the Mercer
conducted an extensive search but the disappearance was never explained."
He grimaced. "Now we know: It was this O'nca'tii vessel, passing
through our dimensional realm at random six years ago.
"She survived all that time in a hellish environment,"
he noted. "The other three officers were all dead within six weeks."
Your species is either incredibly weak
or remarkable resilient, Captain. There
doesn't seem to be any middle ground with you. I'm uncertain as to how she
survived the battle which ensued after we'd gone.
"Simple. She stayed out of everyone's way… a telepath so
inclined can make herself quite a difficult target. One by one or in groups,
the voices must have departed or gone silent, until she was alone—and a little
crazed.
"You could have told me the truth, Merada—that you knew there
were Starfleet personnel on the O'nca'tii ship."
She shrugged eloquently.
It was an ace in reserve.
"Habits die hard, old serpent," Mantovanni chided. It
had become a term of odd affection between them. "What about your
condition?"
Your doctor has informed me that, while
I was under her care, she and her minions injected me with a colony of
creatures called nanites. They are mechanical in nature; these particular ones
are programmed to consume the crystalline substance that overwhelms my system.
It seems almost miraculous…I can
actually feel my hand for the first time in almost five years. I…
Suddenly, Merada hissed in mock severity.
I can't have you thinking I've softened
into sentiment, human.
"No fear of that." He withdrew what he'd hidden behind
his back and held it out to her.
A gift? she
quivered in pleasure. There wasn't a woman anywhere in the cosmos—human,
serpent or other—that didn't like getting presents.
It was a book, with an accompanying audio-chip.
Rikki Tikki Tavi. Another lesson for me, Captain?
"I'll let you draw your own conclusions, Merada," he
finally replied. "It's an old story… written when you were young…"
…and beautiful? she added dangerously.
Suddenly, at long last, he gave her access to his mind.
Not a fully realized view, but she could at last peer through the
portal, into what she considered the outer courtyard.
There she saw a snake, shedding its skin to become young again…
and a whispered phrase she somehow knew was far older than she.
"'…and the serpent,'" she heard, "'was the
cleverest creature in the garden…'"
"For all your subtle allure," he added, as that all too
brief, precious gateway was again closed, "I'll be quite relieved
to have you out of mine."
There was, she nestled with satisfaction, no greater compliment he
could give.
And I, she
said, will go home, overjoyed to leave you behind.
As he faded from her sight, Merada laughed one last time, from
hearing him mutter, "That's gift enough for me."
***
There was perhaps only one exception to the collective sigh of
relief that sounded when the O'nca'tii vessel filled with the other craft that
had survived the disastrous events of the past few weeks, disappeared into what
looked like a bleeding wound in space.
"Did you do as I requested, Irriantia?"
"Aye, sir," the dolphin replied. "Merada was most
cooperative. Charming woman."
Mantovanni and Hatshepsut exchanged glances that said, "It
must be wonderful to be a dolphin."
"Report."
His chief engineer bobbed his head.
"We have a complete download from the O'nca'tii databanks,
including technical specifications on the ship itself, and the others we
encountered. She reiterated her promise to disperse the crews without allowing
violence to again break out, if she could prevent it… and I'll bet she can. The
nanites Dr. McDonald used will disintegrate in her bloodstream after having
performed their task… they won't be able to glean any information from
them.
"In addition, I was able to insert that worm you instructed
me to write directly into their mainframe."
Hatshepsut's trill rose an octave in curiosity.
"Let's just say that they won't find their way back here
again, Counselor," the Sicilian informed her, "unless there's another
accident which precisely duplicates the one that brought them here
originally... and, considering quantum unpredictability, that's pretty much
impossible. Any frame of reference they had is now gone. We could find them
if we had to… but they won't being dropping in on us unannounced.
"It's better this way—at least for now. Both dimensions are
safer."
The captain was, at times, a ruthless pragmatist. Despite the
uneasiness with which his bit of sabotage left her, she realized it was
probably for the best.
"Merada looked better than I'd ever seen her, at least
outside of my dreams," she purred.
Matnovanni smiled, ever so slightly.
"I can say with a fair degree of reliability that the serpent
you met there lives again—at least for a while.
"Something troubling you, Counselor?" he inquired after
a moment of silence.
Hatshepsut shook her head slowly.
"No, Captain. I merely wonder, after everything, what new
lives they'll create for themselves when they get home."
Mantovanni merely nodded, his gaze now focused inward.
She wondered what voice he was hearing…
…but knew better than to ask.