New Frontier Page 4

  Now, though, the room graciously stayed put. M’k’n’zy padded over to a closet, pulled out fresh clothes, and dressed quickly. He didn’t feel the slightest twinge of pain or dizziness as he did so, and considered himself on that basis fully recovered.

  He stepped out into the hallway and startled D’ndai and the three other Xenexians who were holding a whispered conference. “Oh! You’re up!” said D’ndai.

  “How could I be anything but, considering the yammering going on out here,” M’k’n’zy replied good-naturedly. “What’s going on? What are you whispering about?”

  D’ndai and the others looked at each other momentarily, and then D’ndai turned to M’k’n’zy and said, “Danteri representatives are here.”

  “Excellent,” said M’k’n’zy. “You hold them down, I’ll hack their heads off.”

  “They’re here under flag of truce, M’k’n’zy.”

  M’k’n’zy gave him an incredulous look. “And you accepted it? Gods, D’ndai, why? They’ll think we’re soft!”

  “M’k’n’zy . . .”

  “If we showed up at their back door under a flag of truce, they’d invite us in, pull up a chair, and then execute us before we could say a word. I say we do them the same courtesy.”

  “M’k’n’zy, they have Federation people with them.”

  M’k’n’zy leaned against the door, weighing that piece of news. “The Federation?” he said. “The Federation?”

  D’ndai nodded, knowing what was going through M’k’n’zy’s mind.

  Their father had told them tales of the Federation in their youth. Stories passed on to him from his father, and his father before him. An agglomeration of worlds, with great men and women spanning the galaxy in vast ships that traversed the starways as casually as mere Xenexians would cross a street. Explorers, adventurers, the like of which had never been seen on Xenex except fleetingly. Every so often there would be reports that one or two or three Federation people had shown up somewhere on Xenex . . . had looked around, spoken to someone about matters that seemed to be of no consequence, and then vanished again. It was almost as if the Federation was . . . studying them for some reason. Sometimes it was difficult to decide whether certain such reported encounters were genuine, or the product of fanciful minds.

  But this . . . this was indisputable. And then a chilling thought struck M’k’n’zy. “They’re here on the Dentari side? Here to aid them in suppressing us?” A frightening notion indeed, because the stories of the Federation’s military prowess were many. They might very well have been based on conjecture and exaggeration, but if even a tenth of what they’d heard was accurate, they could be in extremely serious trouble.

  D’ndai shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. They claim they’re here to try and smooth matters over.”

  “Well . . . let them try,” said M’k’n’zy. “Shall we go speak to them?”

  “Are you sure you’re . . . ?”

  M’k’n’zy didn’t even let him get the question out, but instead said quickly, “Yes, I am fine, I assure you. Perfectly fine. Let’s go.”

  They headed down the short hallway to the conference room. The structure in which they were was, of necessity, rather small. Building materials were at a premium, nor was there any desire to make such an important building too big and, hence, an easy target. M’k’n’zy confidently strode into the conference room . . .

  . . . and he stopped dead.

  He recognized two of the three individuals he found waiting for him in the conference room. One was a member of the royal house of Danteri; his name was Bragonier. And the other . . .

  . . . the other was the bald man from the Pit.

  M’k’n’zy couldn’t believe it. He resisted the impulse to walk over and tap the man on the chest to see if he was, in fact, real. He looked straight at M’k’n’zy with that level, piercing gaze which M’k’n’zy had found so infuriating. Standing next to him was the only one in the group he didn’t recognize. He had thin brown hair, a square-jawed face, and wore a similar uniform to the bald man.

  Bragonier took them in with a baleful glare. When he spoke he did not address the Xenexians, but rather the men at his side. “Are the people of Xenex not exactly as I promised, Captain?”

  That word . . . captain. It so caught M’k’n’zy’s fancy that, for a moment, he blithely overlooked Bragonier’s snide tone of voice. But only for a moment. “We may not have your polish and breeding, Danteri,” said D’ndai with a mock bow, “but we also do not share your string of defeats. We accept the one as the price for the other.” At that moment M’k’n’zy wished that he had the sword with him. The one he had taken off Falkar. The sight of that would have likely sent Bragonier into total apoplexy.

  But he needn’t have worried, for his brother’s words were more than enough to rile Bragonier, who began to rise from his seat. But the bald man standing next to him had a hand resting on Bragonier’s shoulder. It was a deceptively relaxed hold. For when Bragonier tried to stand, the bald man was able to keep him stationary with what appeared to be no effort at all. And Bragonier was powerfully built, which meant that the bald man was stronger than he looked. And he radiated confidence.

  “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Stargazer,” he said, and nodded in the direction of the man next to him. “This is Lieutenant Jack Crusher. We represent the United Federation of Planets . . . an alliance of starfaring worlds.”

  Crusher said, “We have been . . . surveying your world for some time, and have made tentative first contact in the past. We feel you are culturally prepared to understand and interact with the UFP and its representatives.”

  “In other words, we’ve risen up to your level,” D’ndai said without a trace of irony.

  Nonetheless the irony was there, and Picard stepped in. “No offense meant. The fact is . . . the Danteri have asked us to aid them in this . . . difficult situation.”

  “Aid how?” D’ndai asked.

  “To be perfectly candid,” the man identified as Crusher said, “the Danteri Empire represents a rather strategically situated group of worlds. The Federation has been in discussion with the Danteri about their possibly joining us.”

  “But the Danteri seemed skeptical that the Federation had anything to offer,” Picard now said. “However, they felt themselves stymied by the recent upheavals on this world. And their innate pride hampered their ability to discuss peace settlements with you in any sort of workable fashion.”

  “We could have,” Bragonier said with a flash of anger. “It’s not simply pride. It is them! They’re savages, Picard! Look at them!”

  Picard regarded them a moment. His interest seemed most fixed on M’k’n’zy, and M’k’n’zy met his level gaze unwaveringly. “I’ve seen worse,” Picard said after a moment. “And you would be . . . M’k’n’zy, I assume?” His pronunciation was hardly the best; he tripped over the gutturals in M’k’n’zy’s name.

  M’k’n’zy made no attempt to correct how his name was spoken. He merely nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. It was a surreal situation for him, to be standing and conversing with a being who, barely a week ago, had been little more than a figment of his imagination.

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Picard said. “The Danteri have little good to say about you. About any of you. But that is of no interest to me whatsoever.” His voice was sharp and no-nonsense. “I do not care who began what. I am not interested in a list of grievances. One thing and one thing only concerns me, and that is bringing you all together so that you can reach an accord. An understanding. A compromise, if you will, so the bloodshed will end.”

  There was silence for a long moment, and then M’k’n’zy finally spoke his first words to the in-the-flesh incarnation of Jean-Luc Picard.

  “Go to hell,” he said.

  Bragonier’s face purpled when he heard that. Crusher blinked in surprise, for he was somewhat unaccustomed to anyone, from lowliest yeoman to highest-ranking admiral, ad
dressing Captain Jean-Luc Picard in that manner.

  Picard, for his part, did not seem disconcerted in the slightest. Instead he said nothing; merely raised an eyebrow and waited, knowing that M’k’n’zy wouldn’t let it rest there. Knowing that M’k’n’zy would have more to say.

  And he did. “I know their idea of compromise,” he said flatly. “Promise us a limited presence on our world. Promise us a slow pull-out. Promise us that we’ll have self-government within six months. Promise us riches and personal fortune. And then yank it back at your convenience. Well, damn your promises and damn your lies. We want one thing and one thing only: the Danteri off our world for good. No contact. No overseeing. Forget we exist.”

  “I would gladly do so,” said Bragonier tersely.

  “Ohhh no you wouldn’t,” said M’k’n’zy. He leaned forward on the table, resting his knuckles on it. He was very aware of Picard’s watching him, appraising him. “I know your kind. You will never forget. And you will never rest until my brethren and I are eliminated, and my people are subjugated. Well, I am here to tell you that it will not happen. These are my people, and to concede to you, to compromise with you, will be a betrayal of their faith in us. We will give them Xenex for Xenexians. If that is what you have come to offer, then offer it. Anything less, and you can leave.”

  “I am Bragonier of the royal house,” Bragonier informed him archly. “You cannot simply dismiss us as if—”

  “Get out,” M’k’n’zy replied, and he turned and walked out. From behind him, Bragonier blustered and shouted. But he did so to an empty room as the rest of the Xenexians followed M’k’n’zy out.

  They walked out into the hallway and started down it. And then, from behind them, Picard’s firm voice called out to them. They stopped and turned to face Picard. Although Picard addressed all of them, his focus was upon M’k’n’zy.

  “That was foolish,” said Picard. “And you do not strike me as someone who does foolish things.”

  “Look . . . Captain,” M’k’n’zy replied, “you’ve just gotten here. I know these people. They are arrogant and deceitful, and think us fools. If we immediately listen to what they have to say, we will have to tolerate more of their condescension. There can be no peace, no talks, no rational discourse, until they are willing to understand that we are not their subjects, their slaves, or their toys.”

  Picard’s hawklike gaze narrowed. “We will return tomorrow,” he said. “And I shall make certain that Bragonier is in a more . . . positive mood.”

  “Whatever,” M’k’n’zy said, sounding indifferent.

  Picard hesitated a moment, and then said, “M’k’n’zy . . . may we speak privately for a moment?”

  M’k’n’zy glanced at the others. D’ndai shrugged. M’k’n’zy headed to his room, with Picard following him. They entered and M’k’n’zy turned quickly. He never let his guard down for a moment, a trait that Picard noticed and appreciated. Picard took a step closer and told him, “These people listen to you, M’k’n’zy. They obey you. The capacity for leadership is one of the greatest gifts in the universe. But it brings with it a heavy burden. Never forget that.”

  “I have not . . .”

  “You are in danger of doing so,” Picard told him. “I can tell. You’re filled with rage over past grievances. It’s understandable. But that rage can blind you to what’s best for your people.”

  “My rage fuels me and helps me survive.”

  “Perhaps. But there’s more to life than survival. You must believe that yourself; otherwise you’d never have come this far or accomplished all you have.”

  Slowly, M’k’n’zy nodded. “Nothing is more important than the good of my people. All that I do . . . I do for them.”

  Picard smiled. “Save that for them. That’s the sentiment they want to hear. But you and I both know . . . you do it for you. No one else. You take charge, you lead, not because you want to . . . but because you have to. Because to do any less would be intolerable.”

  Remarkably, M’k’n’zy felt a bit sheepish. He looked down, his thick hair obscuring his face.

  “You’re an impressive young man, M’k’n’zy,” Picard said. “Rarely have I seen so many people of power speak a name with such a combination of anger and envy. You’ve accomplished a great deal . . . and you are only . . . what? Twenty-two?”

  “Nineteen summers.”

  Picard’s composure was rock-steady, but he was unable to hide the astonishment in his eyes. “Nineteen?”

  M’k’n’zy nodded.

  “And your goals are entirely centered around overcoming the Danteri hold and freeing your people.”

  “Nothing else matters,” M’k’n’zy said flatly.

  “And after you’ve accomplished that?”

  “’After?’” He pondered that, then shrugged. “ ’After’ isn’t important.”

  And in a slightly sad tone, Picard said, “ ’And he subdued countries of nations, and princes; and they became tributary to him. And after these things he fell down upon his bed, and knew that he should die.’” When M’k’n’zy looked at him in puzzlement, Picard said, “A problem faced by another talented young man, named Alexander. For people such as he . . . and you . . . and me . . . the prospect of no new worlds to conquer can end up being a devastating one. In other words . . . you should give serious thought to goals beyond the short term.”

  “Perhaps I shall continue to lead my people here.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Picard. “Will that satisfy you?”

  “I . . .” It was the first time that M’k’n’zy actually sounded at all confused. “I don’t know.”

  “Well . . . at the point which you do know . . . let me know.”

  He turned to go, but stopped a moment when M’k’n’zy demanded, “Why are you so interested in me?”

  Now it was Picard who shrugged. “A hunch,” he said. “Nothing more than that. But captains learn to play their hunches. It’s how they become captains.”

  “I see. So . . . if I had a hunch . . . that you were important to my future . . . that in itself might be indicative of something significant.”

  “Possibly,” said Picard.

  M’k’n’zy seemed lost in thought, and Picard once again headed toward the door.

  And then M’k’n’zy said, “Captain?”

  “Yes?”

  “You, uhm,” and M’k’n’zy cleared his throat slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to have brought a naked blond woman with you . . . ?”

  Picard stared at him uncomprehendingly. “I beg your pardon?”

  Waving him off, M’k’n’zy said, “Never mind.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, that was a rather curious question.”

  “Yes, well . . .” M’k’n’zy smiled slightly. “Call it a hunch, for what that’s worth.”

  Picard considered that, and then said, “Well . . . I didn’t say all hunches were good ones. A captain has to pick and choose.”

  “I’ll remember that,” said M’k’n’zy.

  He watched Picard walk out and thought for a time about what had transpired . . . certain that something important had happened here this day, but not entirely sure what. Then he looked over at his bed, thought about what Picard had said about dying in it . . . and exited the room as quickly as possible.

  I.

  SHE RAN THE TRICORDER for what seemed the fiftieth time over the sample she had taken of the Thai-Ionian soil. She was confused by the readings, and yet that confusion did not generate frustration, but rather excitement. She had not known what to expect when she had first arrived on Thallon to conduct her research . . . only that the rumors which had reached her ears had been most curious. Most curious indeed.

  Anyone watching would have found themselves spellbound by her exotic looks. Her face was somewhat triangular in its general structure, and her eyes were deep set and a piercing blue. She had thick black hair which was pinned up with a pin that bore the symbol known as the IDIC. Her ears were long, tapered, a
nd pointed.

  She had chosen what seemed to her a fairly deserted area, far away from the capital city of Thal. Nonetheless, despite her distance, she could still see the imperial palace at the edge of the horizon line. It was dusk, and the purple haze of the Thallonian sky provided a colorful contrast to the gleaming amber of the palace’s spires. One thing could definitely be said for the Thallonian ruling class, and that was that they had a thorough command of the word “ostentatious.”

  There was a fairly steady breeze blowing over the surface of her “dig.” A small, all-purpose tent, which collapsed neatly into her pack when not in use, was set up nearby, its sides fluttering in the breeze. She did not intend to stay overly long on Thallon, for she knew that an extended stay would be exceedingly unwise. For that matter, even an abbreviated stay wasn’t the single most bright thing she had ever done.

  She couldn’t resist, though. The things she’d heard about Thallon were so intriguing that she simply had to sneak onto the home world of the Thallonian Empire and see for herself. She had been most crafty in arriving there. Her one-person craft, equipped with state-of-the-art sensory deflectors, had enabled her to slip onto Thallon undetected. Now all she had to do was finish her work and get off before she was . . .

  The ground was rumbling beneath her feet. Only for a moment did she think it was a quake. Then she realized the true source of the disruption: mounted riders, obviously astride beasts sufficiently heavy to set the ground trembling when they moved. And from the rapidly increasing intensity of the vibrations, it was painfully obvious to her that they were heading her way.

  She had been so preoccupied with her studies that she hadn’t noticed it earlier. This was disastrously sloppy on her part; with her accelerated hearing, she should have heard intruders long before she felt them. However, mentally chastising herself wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

  Her pack was usually quite organized, with pouches and containers carefully chosen for every single item she might be carrying with her. And if she’d had the time—any time at all—she would have maintained that organization. But she had no time at all, so she quickly gathered her materials together, stuffing everything into her pack with no heed or care. She could have left it all behind, but she had no desire to abandon the scientific data she had gathered. One had to prioritize, after all.