Star Trek: New Frontier - 017 - Treason Read online

  Selar wasn’t being candid with him. The more he reflected upon their conversation, on her attitude, on all that she wasn’t saying rather than what she was saying, the more convinced he became. But he wasn’t pressing her on the subject. He wondered if he was making a mistake, treating her delicately because he believed she was still fragile over Xy’s situation.

  He wished that the Hermat’s own ship had been of some use to them, but the logs had been wiped clean. Not only was there no record of anything s/he might have recorded that could have helped them, but the navigational records were also empty. The ship might as well have popped out of nowhere for all the information they were able to glean.

  Calhoun intensely disliked not having all the information at hand that he felt he needed. It limited his ability to make wise decisions, and it annoyed him tremendously that he felt Selar was putting him in this situation.

  “What the hell are you not telling me, Doctor?” he said.

  iii.

  Selar wanted to scream. She wanted to howl her frustration. She wanted to sob over her mortification because she had lied, damn it—she had lied to her commanding officer. Vulcans simply did not do that. She did not do that.

  As she strode through the corridors, no one would have been able to discern simply from looking at her that her mind was in turmoil. Her self-control remained inviolate. Yet she felt as if she were viewing the world through a haze of red.

  She had lied to her commanding officer.

  And such a thing was inconceivable to a Vulcan.

  What is happening to me? Why do I not tell him of my discovery about Rulan?

  Because he might take hir away. He might recommend bringing hir to a Starbase, or might turn hir over to Starfleet. For as long as I treat Rulan as my patient, and hir condition as recovering from standard radiation poisoning, he will likely leave the Hermat in my care. But if I tell him the truth, and he informs Starfleet, they may order us to turn the Hermat over for further study. S/he will be taken from my possession. I cannot allow that. S/he may hold the key to helping Xy. If only I could dissect hir. Take hir apart, break hir down molecule by molecule. The instruments at my disposal can only tell me so much. They can provide me with details of hir current condition, but cannot tell me how s/he got that way. But if I dissect hir, I could certainly determine the origins of hir state.

  S/he needs to be dead, though.

  That could easily be arranged…

  Selar suddenly realized she was standing outside the quarantine section. She didn’t remember arriving there. One minute she had been in the corridor, and the next, she was in sickbay. It was the same abrupt jump from moment to moment that one would typically associate with a dream. Was she dreaming? Was that it?

  Her hands were flat against the partition. She was staring intently at Rulan, and her recent thought returned to her: That could easily be arranged…

  I am losing my mind…

  But it would not be that difficult to arrange…

  What is happening to me?

  Xy has so much left to accomplish. This is some random Hermat. Hir life would be sacrificed to a greater good…

  Stop it. Stop this sort of thinking right now. This is not you. This is insane…

  You do not know what is you anymore. The only “you” that matters is the you who is willing to save your son. You will do anything for him. You know this to be true. Nothing else—

  “Mother?”

  Selar whirled. For a fraction of a second, her face mirrored the internal battle she was undergoing. Her mask slipped. Then, just as quickly, when she saw Xy looking into her eyes, she replaced her mask and was once again the picture of detachment. “Yes, Xy. What? Is this about Robin Lefler? She is well, as is her son. Anything else?”

  “I have been talking to Dad…”

  “You refer to him as ‘Dad’ and to me as ‘Mother.’ I find that interesting. Now if you will excuse me—”

  “There are things he’s concerned about. You, for starters—”

  “I do not have time for this.”

  “Mother, if you would just—”

  “I do not—!”

  The explosion of noise from Selar stopped everyone dead. Medtechs had been going about their business but they froze in place as if their feet had been transformed into tree roots.

  She pulled herself together immediately. “I do not,” she said again, this time with her customary calm but nonetheless with an edge to her voice, “have time…for this. I have a patient to attend to, and engaging in an endless debate about your father’s incessant feelings and constant reassurances that s/he is a decent and loving individual is a waste of my time. I value my time highly. As should you.”

  With that, she stepped through the force seal that provided the entrance to the quarantine section. It was keyed to her DNA imprint, enabling her to pass through unhindered. Since she was the CMO and in charge of the case to boot, no one else could enter the quarantine area without her permission.

  This was something that Xy should have remembered, but did not. He was swiftly reminded, however, as he attempted to follow her, only to be repulsed by the field. It was not on the level of the brig’s force field, designed to keep irate prisoners confined if ever they attempted to slam their full body weight against it or even open fire upon it with phasers. But Xy was rather slender, and was still thrown backward several feet. He nearly fell, but righted himself with the catlike quickness he had inherited from his father. Selar did not bother to glance his way. Instead, her attention focused on her instruments, her back to her son, she said, “Have more care next time, lest you hurt yourself severely.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” said Xy, straightening his uniform shirt and trying to recapture a bit of his battered dignity. “I will take that advice to heart.”

  “See that you do.”

  Xy left the sickbay. Selar listened to his receding footsteps, wanting to call to him, to explain to him all that was going through her mind, to even hold up a shred of hope for his condition.

  Instead she said nothing. Not even when that same thought wandered through her mind…

  It would not be hard to arrange hir death. Not hard at all…

  New Thallon

  The day was shaping up to be a good one for Robin Lefler.

  It had been a week since the birth of Cwansi and she was already up and around. The vastness of the responsibility that lay before her of being a single mother was still a vague enough concept; she wasn’t dwelling on it excessively. Instead she was far more interested in caring for her son.

  She was feeling a little more secure in her position than she had been when she was in the throes of childbirth. She had met with Cawng Li, the captain of the guards, who had assured her that the guards of the House of Cwan would guarantee the safety of her and her son. “The heir is the heir,” Cawng Li had informed her stiffly. “No one outside of the House of Cwan has any business raising him. Our Lord Cwan chose you as his wife, and we would be dishonoring his memory if we cooperated with those who would try to take the child for their own.”

  Then he had bowed deeply to her, as if she were royalty, at which point she had to remind herself that—to them—that was exactly what she was. Although the New Thallonian Protectorate had been designed to have a more equitable distribution of power than the monarchy that had once characterized the Thallonian Empire, most Thallonians still saw Si Cwan as royalty, his murder as regicide, and his widow and heir as the last, best hope of a return to Thallonian glory. At this point, who was she to disagree? Especially when it would provide a cocoon of safety in which she could raise her child.

  The bottom line was that although it was still in some respects an alien world to Robin, New Thallon was Cwansi’s best opportunity to be raised in an environment that was true to his roots. That would have been important to Si Cwan and thus it was important to her as well. Plus she had a stubborn streak of her own. She knew there were still people who resented her as an off-worlder and would
like nothing better than to see her depart as soon as possible, preferably with her tail tucked firmly between her legs. But the Protectorate had meant a great deal to Si Cwan, and Robin was determined to see his vision through, no matter how much some might oppose her.

  The great wild card in all of this was Kalinda.

  Si Cwan’s sister seemed to flit in and out of sanity on an almost random basis. Sometimes she would be perfectly lucid, chatting with Robin, doting on her nephew, and being the Kalinda of old. Other times she would speak to thin air in a distracted manner, and still others she would practically collapse upon herself, curling up into a tight muttering ball. Those were the most disconcerting times, not only because she was practically unapproachable physically, but also because she sounded as if she were attempting to speak with more than one voice. Robin had no idea what to make of it. Nor did any medical practitioners appear to know how to approach the problem. Psychiatry was simply not a common discipline among Si Cwan’s people, and whenever Robin tried to explain what it entailed, she received blank looks from such good-hearted but ultimately helpless Thallonians.

  Today, however, was shaping up to be one of Kalinda’s better days. She had seemed both clear-eyed and chipper, fully aware of not only Robin and the baby but also her whereabouts. That was all positive. It gave Robin hope that perhaps Kalinda would eventually leave those fetal periods behind and be fully restored to her normal, ebullient self. Indeed, perhaps her withdrawals were the only way she had of dealing with the loss of Si Cwan, and time—as it tended to do—would heal the wound.

  Today Kalinda’s mood was matched by the weather, and it seemed the right day for Robin to introduce her son to the world outside the manor. She did not undertake the outing precipitously; an honor guard of ten warriors, headed up by Cawng Li himself, ringed her and Kalinda as they moved out across the great lawn behind the manor.

  For a child of only a week’s age, Cwansi had displayed an almost supernatural calm. He rarely cried, and when he did it wasn’t venting but instead was carefully controlled in order to get his mother’s attention. Once he had it, he seemed content to allow Robin time to determine what he required. She couldn’t help but observe that he was rather imperious for a newborn: If his skin tone hadn’t indicated who his father was, his attitude certainly did.

  At Cawng Li’s insistence, Robin rode in a hoverchair. The thronelike device glided slowly along the ground on an antigrav cushion, and a simple cyberlink running along the seat of the chair tapped into her nervous system and made the chair thought-responsive. It had made Robin laugh and declare that she was now officially flying by the seat of her pants. That had prompted confused looks from Cawng Li and the other guards, and her attempts to explain the Terran colloquialism had not gone particularly well. “Lefler’s Law Number Forty-two: Any joke that has to be explained isn’t worth explaining,” she told Cawng Li.

  “Is there any particular reason that’s number forty-two?” he asked.

  “Yes, and it’s a funny one, but I would have to explain it, so…” She shrugged and that was the end of that.

  Robin made certain to keep the chair moving slowly enough that Kalinda could stroll along next to her. Kalinda was basking in the glory of the day. She spread her arms wide and, her face tilted toward the sun, did not actually stroll next to Robin so much as pirouette in small circles. Occasionally Robin had to cause the chair to skitter to one side to avoid Kalinda’s bumping into her. The Thallonian guards were supposed to be keeping their attention focused on their surroundings, but every so often one or another of them would sneak a glance at Kalinda and exchange an amused smile with another.

  “Nice day, isn’t it, Kalinda,” Robin said to kick off the conversation.

  Kalinda didn’t seem to hear her at first, but then she said, “Everything about it is nice, yes. How is my nephew enjoying it?”

  “He’s sleeping.” Her infant son was cradled in her arms, his eyes closed and his little chest rising and falling rhythmically.

  “He does that a lot.”

  “That’s fairly normal for babies, actually.”

  “Is it really?”

  “You’ve no experience with babies?”

  “Not living ones.”

  From anyone else, that would have sounded remarkably morbid. For Kalinda, it was actually normal. Robin wasn’t sure whether she should find that disturbing or should just be pleased that Kalinda was speaking to her in a standard interactive manner rather than to thin air.

  The group wasn’t all that far from the manor house, which some still referred to as the palace even though it was hardly palatial. Five hundred yards at most. Cawng Li had made it clear that he didn’t want to wander too far afield. “One cannot be too careful,” he had told her. “These are times that call for caution.”

  “Most times are,” Robin had observed, and Cawng Li had agreed.

  Now Cawng Li was continuing to appraise their environs. He looked as if he had vague suspicions, but nothing he could pinpoint. “Perhaps it would be best if we returned to the manor, Lady Cwan.”

  Robin was about to offer protest, but thought better of it. Cawng Li was simply trying to do his job of protecting her and her baby. She certainly had no intention of inhibiting him in that endeavor. “Kalinda,” she said. “Kally. We’re heading back home.”

  Kalinda had stopped moving. Her back was stiff and she seemed to be looking at something that was both right nearby them and yet also far off. For a moment Robin was concerned that her sister-in-law had picked this moment to retreat into her own little world again. “Kally?” she said tentatively.

  Then Kalinda spun to face her, and there was no panic in her eyes because Kalinda was, by and large, far too composed to allow such an extreme emotion to be reflected there. But there was vast concern, and an obvious fear that things were about to go horribly wrong.

  “Run,” she said. Before Robin had a chance to question the order, Kalinda repeated it, and louder this time. “Run!”

  Robin didn’t hesitate. “Get on!” she shouted at Kalinda, and even as she spoke, the chair thrust forward and banged into her. Kalinda fell over onto her, twisting her body to avoid crushing Cwansi. The baby awoke with a start and let out an annoyed yelp, not understanding why in the world his aunt was suddenly atop him. Robin called out to Cawng Li, we’re under attack!”

  Cawng Li did not question the pronouncement. “At arms!” he shouted to his men, and they started to draw into a tight circle.

  The blasts started raining down from overhead.

  Robin screamed, and Kalinda clutched onto her desperately as Robin’s mind urged the chair to speed back to the manor and what she hoped would be safety. Her guards fell back, firing skyward even though they couldn’t clearly see what was coming after them.

  Cwansi did not emit the slightest cry. Instead, for the first time since his birth, his eyes focused. He looked upward and they narrowed as if he understood that he was looking upon an enemy.

  Robin looked up as well and she saw it: a Boragi vessel. Fully armed, it was firing down upon Robin’s people, and she saw that the shots were staying well clear of her and the baby.

  Bastards…those unspeakable bastards…

  She had underestimated them. She had been certain that Tusari Gyn would spend at least some time nattering to the Council about how the child should be taken into their custody. She had been certain that Gyn could be outmaneuvered, delayed, or dealt with in some manner. Unfortunately, she had been distracted by the little matter of giving birth, and hadn’t accorded the problem as much attention as she should have.

  This was the result. Tusari Gyn had somehow managed to enlist the Boragi, who were typically more than happy to stand to one side and allow others to fight matters out, to intervene personally.

  “I’m sorry,” Kalinda said under her breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner.”

  Robin didn’t bother to question how Kalinda could have known at all, much less sooner than anyone else. She was too
busy focusing her attention on the chair. The chair wasn’t designed for combat situations. It was made to respond to the calm thoughts of its occupant. Her thoughts now were anything but calm, and the chair bucked and veered as pulse blasts erupted around her. If it had not been for her Starfleet training, it likely would have flipped over entirely. Instead she managed to focus herself and bring it back on track.

  Something went flying past her and thudded to the ground just to her right. It was Cawng Li. She couldn’t determine whether he was alive or dead, but he was motionless and unable to help, and that was all that was relevant.

  The ship that was descending toward them was an ambassador transport. As such, its presence had done nothing to trip the planetary defenses. What the hell is an ambassador transport doing with armament? The Boragi duplicity infuriated her. She wondered why they were even fleeing toward the manor; why did she think it was going to provide any shelter? It wasn’t indestructible or impenetrable, didn’t have any weaponry or force shielding of any kind. It wouldn’t really serve as any sort of haven. But it was the only thing she could think of to do.

  The ground in front of Robin erupted with such force that she was blown backward, the chair overturned. Kalinda tumbled out of the chair and Robin followed, clutching her infant son tightly so that he did not go flying from her arms. She hit the ground hard, flat on her back, and it knocked the air out of her. The world was spinning, the air alive with the sounds of explosions. She tasted something bitter in her mouth and realized it was tears.

  Cwansi still did not so much as whimper. Instead his gaze was upon her, regarding her with patient confidence, apparently certain that his mother would find a way out of this.

  She had a phaser on her hip, secreted below the folds of her loose-fitting tunic. She sat up, keeping her hand upon it but hidden, counting heavily on the element of surprise.