The Lost Era: Well of Souls: Star Trek (47 page)

Two high spots of color burned on Qadir’s fleshy cheeks. “A very interesting story,” he said, finally. “Too bad Talma’s dead, and we can’t have a little chat.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Garrett turned to go then stopped. She bent from the waist until her eyes were level with Qadir’s. “Look, I don’t care about you,” she said. “All I care about is my crew. So listen, very carefully. Stay away from Halak. Stay away from my crew.”

“Or?”

“You need me to spell it out?” When Qadir didn’t reply, Garrett nodded. “Good, I’m glad we understand each other.” She straightened. “Eyes and ears, Qadir, eyes and ears.

Someone will be watching. Someone will be listening. So will I. Don’t cross me.”

She walked away without another word.

They’d flown in silence for a few moments when Garrett said, “Mind if I ask you something? What really happened at Ryn III?”

Halak shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Arava, who was seated just behind Garrett, and a young boy whose hand she held. “Arava, why don’t you take Klar aft, get him something to eat? There’s a little replicator further back, and we’ve got another forty-five minutes before we get to the ship. He must be hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Klar. He had Arava’s dark eyes, but his jaw was square, like Halak’s. “Please, Uncle, can’t I stay up here with you?”

“Now, come on,” said Arava, unbuckling her harness. “You heard your uncle. He’s a busy man, a Starfleet officer, and that’s his captain there, wants to have a word with him. You’ll have plenty of time to spend with your uncle later on. Come on,” she gave the protesting boy a little push, “let’s go exploring.”

“It’s just a ship,” Klar said, “and it’s a
little
ship.”

Garrett watched them go then turned back to Halak. “Good-looking boy. He’s got her eyes.”

“And Baatin’s face.”

“Yours too. Do you think your sister-in-law knew what Talma was up to?”

“That Talma would kill Burke?” Halak frowned. “Absolutely not. The way she told it, Talma argued that she had more information to give Starfleet than Arava. Talma had worked for the Orion Syndicate and Baatin, and Arava trusted her. So I guess Arava convinced Burke that Talma would be a better witness. Plus, Arava had Klar to worry about. Anyway, the next thing Arava knew, Burke never returned and she didn’t hear from Talma. I don’t know why Qadir let Arava live. Maybe he was playing both sides against the middle—funneling useless information to the Syndicate, and vice versa.” Halak blew out, scrubbed his hands on his thighs. “I don’t think she has anything useful for Starfleet.”

“We’ll let SI decide that. Now, what about you? Ryn III? I want to know.”

Halak licked his lips, blew out again. He stared out of the main shuttle window, but Garrett could tell from the look in his eyes that he was staring at a memory.

“Everything happened the way I said,” Halak began. “Those scouts fired on us. We had to abandon ship. A desperate thing to do, but it was better than nothing ...”

“Ten hours,” said Strong, his face glistening with sweat. His breathing was labored, although he had more air than Halak and his supply wasn’t dwindling as quickly. But fear also ate oxygen. “It’s been ten hours.”

“Stop ... talking,” Halak panted. “Using up ... your ... air.” He gulped, his lungs trying to wring more oxygen from air that didn’t have it. The air inside his suit was thick, and he had a roaring headache. Carbon dioxide poisoning, he thought. Headaches, diaphoresis, dyspnea. But not unconsciousness, not the nice quiet exit one would get from carbon monoxide poisoning. They’d pass out eventually, but only after they’d had convulsions, vomiting. So maybe he’d choke on his vomit and suffocate that way. He wasn’t sure which was better.

Strong gave a weak laugh. “Doesn’t matter. Both of us going to end up like Thex.”

Halak didn’t have to strength to glance over at the lifeless body of the Andorian. Thex had died within an hour of their beam-out. They’d bled the Andorian’s air, Halak giving Strong most of it because of the damage to Strong’s suit.

“Still got time,” said Halak. He checked his automatic distress beacon, but the readout was blurry and he had to shake his head to clear it. “Maybe the
Barker
...”

“They’ll never hear it.” Strong spoke in a hopeless monotone. “Too far away.”

They hung in space, neither one of them speaking. Then Halak stirred. “Have to,” he worked at forming the words, “have to ask you something.”

Strong’s eyes had been closed, but now he pulled them open. “Chest hurts.”

“Carbon dioxide, and ... and you’re scared. But,
listen
,” said Halak. He moved, too abruptly, and had to fight back a wave of nausea.
No, no, please, God.
When the urge to vomit passed, he said, “Thex said there was a signal. Said it was coming from us. ’Member?”

Strong grunted. Halak took that as assent. “Why did you fire?”

“Told you. I thought they were pow ... powering up ...”

“No, no, the two readings, they’re not even close.” Halak had to stop a moment and gulp air. “You can’t mistake them.”

Then he said, without knowing that this is what he thought until the words were out of his mouth, “You’re with the Syndicate.”

“ ’S crazy,” Strong moved his head back and forth. “ ’S crazy.”

“No, no.” Halak was so dizzy that Strong’s face swam in his vision. “Those were Syndicate ships, not ... not Ryn scouts. You led them to us with a homing beacon ... that signal, that signal Thex saw.”

“S’crazy ...”

“Stop.” Halak grabbed at Strong’s shoulders. Strong’s hands scrabbled at Halak’s, but Halak hung on and gave him a weak shake. “Stop, we’re going to die out here ...”

“Get away.” Strong batted at Halak’s helmet, tried pushing him away, although the irony of it was, they were tethered together. “Get away.”

“No, no. I have to know ... I have to know wh ...
why
.” Then Halak ran out of breath, and he felt himself sinking under a wave of dizziness. “Coward,” he gasped, releasing Strong, “you ... you’re a
coward.
You’ve killed us, and you don’t have the guts ... the guts to own up ... up to what you’ve done.”

He heard Strong’s rasping breaths over his comchannel but nothing else. Halak felt a surge of anger and revulsion. He could accept death when it finally came, but to die like this, not knowing what he was dying
for
... Maybe it was good Strong had more air. Then Halak could die first, and then Strong could hang here and rot, for all Halak cared.

He fumbled at his comchannel and was about to switch off when Strong said, “Yes.”

Halak stopped, his fingers frozen above his comcontrols. “What?”

“I said yes. Yes, what you said. I ... did that. I did it.”

“Why?” Halak was too astonished now to feel anger. “Why, in God’s name?”

“Wasn’t the plan to ...
kill
anybody. Plan was to capture the shuttle.”

“Capture the shuttle?” Halak said. “That ... that was all?”

“Embarrass Starfleet.” Strong licked his lips, took a deep gulp of air. “But then ... they started firing and, see, I knew ... I knew they were going to kill us.”

“Because the results,” Halak panted, “they’d be the ... the same.”

“Same questions, if we’re dead as if we’re alive. Only killing us, no witnesses.”

“No
you
.” Halak dragged in air. “You were the ... dangerous one. Loose ... loose cannon. So you killed them first.”

“Backfired, huh?” Strong doubled over in a coughing fit.

Halak made no move to help. When Strong had caught his breath, Halak said, “Why?”

“Do it?” Strong rasped. “I don’t know. Stupid reasons. I wanted to be in charge ... charge of something. Turned down on promotion last month, so I knew it was a matter of time before I’d get the boot, probably leave Starfleet ...” Then, in a pitiful whine: “I ... I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

At that moment, Halak felt the dam of his self-control break.
Not get hurt, not get
hurt! A hundred awful scenarios crowded his vision: cracking Strong’s helmet, venting the man’s air, ripping open his suit ...

“Didn’t
mean
it?” Halak rasped, choked with rage and lack of air. “Thex is
dead!
You killed the men ... the men in those ships! And us, you’ve ... you’ve killed ... you’ve
killed
...”

Shaking with fury and dizziness, Halak spun away, not trusting himself any longer. Since they were weightless, the movement propelled him out in a whirling pirouette until his tether ran out and the line went taut. They hung there, twirling through space—Halak, Strong, and the lifeless Thex—each at the end of a tether, the grotesque points of a fractured star.

There was a sound then. At first, Halak thought that Strong was starting to cry; he heard the wheeze of air, a hitch in Strong’s breathing. Then the tether around Halak’s waist went limp and he turned in time to see Strong’s body hurtling toward him. For an instant, Halak was frozen in place. Then he threw up his hands to ward off the blow he thought inevitable, when he realized that Strong was coming at him much too fast, faster than he could possibly have managed by pulling on the tether and letting momentum do the rest.

That hissing sound. Halak’s eyes widened. Strong was purging his air.

“No,” Halak said. “Strong, stop!”

Too late, he saw the white jet of Strong’s air shooting out to hang in a fog of frozen water and gas, like a veil. Strong plowed into him, and then Halak saw Strong fumbling with the seals on his helmet.

“No, stop! Why are you doing this?” Halak shouted, knowing that the other man wouldn’t be able to hear in another moment because there would be no air to carry the sound of his voice, no air for him to breathe. Knowing what Strong’s face would look like in less than three seconds because that’s all the time it would take for Strong to pop his helmet. Watching as the seals opened, and Strong yanked off his helmet.

“Why?” Halak shouted, watching as the horror unfolded.
“Why?”

He never got an answer.

Garrett let the silence go for a long moment. “Why do you think?”

Halak turned from his vision of the memory. “Captain, I’ve asked myself that every day since it happened. He could’ve killed me, but he didn’t, and I don’t know why. I guess Strong figured he was dead either way, or maybe there was some last vestige of pride in there, his wanting to make things right, I don’t know. Anyway, he knew that either we ran out of air, or the
Barker
got there, and I turned him in. Because I
would’ve
turned him in.”

“Why didn’t you tell the truth?”

“Orders, those damn orders. I wasn’t supposed to be making contact with the Syndicate, remember? SI played that line, hard. No matter who asks, or what happens, stick to the official story. So I did, figuring that SI would watch my ass. That’s why I didn’t say anything when Burke ... when Talma was here. I couldn’t, and I didn’t know what she knew, or how this would play out. And then there was Strong, his family. When all was said and done, I couldn’t see how the truth helped. What was the point? The man was already dead. So I let it go.”

Garrett nodded, and they fell into a silence that Halak broke.

“What will happen now?”

“I have to remand you back to Starfleet Command,” said Garrett, as evenly as she could. She kept her gaze fixed on some distant point in space. “There’s the issue about your lying about your past, and your initial report on Batra. You’ll have to answer for all that. At best, you’ll get off with a reprimand, maybe another transfer. At worst ...”

“I’ll be court-martialed.”

“Yes.”

“And what do you want, Captain?”

“I don’t know,” Garrett said truthfully. She looked over at Halak. Reached out and clapped a hand on his arm. “Let’s just see what happens, Commander. What is it Glemoor says? One step by one step.”

“Darya, I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Tyvan, as he hustled into his office and tossed a pile of datadisks onto his desk before dropping into his chair. “I just couldn’t tear myself away from medical. It’s good luck we put in for repairs at Starbase 12 because there’s a child trauma specialist here working with that Naxeran boy, Pahl. So I stayed on, watched her work a bit and time passed and ... why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s nice that even psychiatrists have problems. Anyway, it’s fine.”

“Then I’ll stop apologizing. You’re looking good, by the way.”

In the past, Bat-Levi would’ve felt self-conscious, as if Tyvan were trying to compensate in some oblique way for the very obvious fact that she didn’t
look
very good at all. But now Bat-Levi smiled. “Thanks. I
feel
good. I think I know why.”

“Oh?”

“It was having to come front and center. When the captain made me XO, I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about how I looked or what people thought every time I gave an order, or had to make a decision.”

“To put it bluntly, all eyes were on you.”

“And then some.” Bat-Levi exhaled a half-laugh. “It’s very strange how you said I wanted people to notice me but in a negative way. I was
so
angry with you, but you were right. I kept telling myself that I just wanted to be left alone, but the way I am ...” She made a helpless gesture. “I can’t help but attract notice.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yeah. I think it’s something like, as bad as you feel, I feel ten times worse. And I just dare you to make something of it.”

Tyvan folded his hands over his lap. “And now?”

The left side of Bat-Levi’s mouth tugged into a wry grimace. “There are a lot of times I’d still rather hide in a closet than get out there and be with people. But when push comes to shove, it seems that
here,
at least ...” She used her left hand—the one without nails—to gesture in an all-inclusive way. “On
this
ship, with
this
captain and
this
crew, it doesn’t matter what I look like. What matters is that I do my job, and if I fail or succeed, it will be because of the way and how well, or poorly I do that job. How I look has nothing to do with it.”

“And when did you come to this conclusion?”

“Honestly?” and then Bat-Levi laughed again. “That’s dumb. Like I’m going to lie, right? When I was on the bridge, and the captain asked me what the hell I was doing, and when Kodell pissed me off.”

“Kodell was provocative?”

“Sort of. Not overtly, but he nagged me, and that made me mad. In retrospect, I understand now that he was pushing me to take a chance ... hell, to do something downright dangerous.” Bat-Levi’s gaze skittered away, to a spot on the floor. “Kind of a dare, like, come on, it’s up to you, are you up for it, or not?”

“So you took the dare. Why?”

Because I like him, a lot.
Aware, suddenly, that she felt uncharacteristically warm, Bat-Levi shook her head, shrugged. Gave a small, embarrassed laugh. She directed her answer to the floor. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He might as well have said he’d caught her out. She knew she was blushing—
really
blushing—but this time she met those brown eyes square on. “There are some things I want to keep private for now, even—or maybe especially—from you. It’s not that I’m angry, but ... remember when you’re a kid and you discover something for the first time? Part of you is just busting with wanting to tell someone, but another private part wants to keep the secret either because you don’t quite believe it, or it just feels good to have something that’s totally yours and doesn’t belong to anyone else.”

“A delicious secret.”

Relieved, she nodded. “So we’ll just leave it at that about Kodell, okay?”

“Fair enough.” Tyvan laced his fingers over his middle, slouched down, and put out his long, slender legs. “And what about the captain? What happened with her?”

Bat-Levi smiled at the memory. “She got on the horn, told me to back off.”

“And you didn’t.”

“I knew I was right. No, that’s not quite true. I
thought
I was right, and the rest of the bridge crew—even Castillo, who probably thought I was certifiable—they did what I said.”

“Well, you could say they’re just professionals doing their jobs.”

“Which they wouldn’t if they didn’t have faith,” said Bat-Levi, “especially if the XO didn’t have faith in herself. You’re on the bridge, you can tell these things. So I was right there, up front where Kodell essentially told me I had to be. We make it, we don’t—it’s my call. No place to hide, no one else to blame and ...”

Bat-Levi halted then. A wave of sadness washed over her, and she half-expected Tyvan to ask her what she was thinking, but he let the silence go. Bat-Levi shifted, crossed her right leg over her left, kept her eyes averted. (Another part of her mind remarked on the fact that Tyvan hadn’t commented on the obvious, but she ignored it for the time being. Maybe he’d notice, maybe he wouldn’t.)

Then Bat-Levi said, as if she hadn’t fallen silent, “And then I realized that I didn’t make Joshua’s choices for him. He’d made them. I told him not to go down into the pod, but he did it anyway and it was the wrong decision to make, and he died.”

Now her eyes sought Tyvan’s. Held. “Just like the captain and me. She argued, and then she got behind me, and I did what I thought was right. Kodell told me I had to make a decision, and I did. It was my decision, not his. Mine. If I made a mistake, there wouldn’t be anyone to blame but me. Oh, the captain might blame herself for putting me in charge, but she had faith that I’d make the right decisions. I just had to have faith in me.”

Tyvan gave her a frank look. “There’s only one thing I take issue with. You said Joshua made the
wrong
decision, but it’s like I’ve always said. We have choices, but sometimes we don’t like the ones we have. So Joshua made a decision, Darya. You’ll never know if it was the wrong one because you’ll never know the alternative. Perhaps, in the end, his choice was best for you.”

Bat-Levi was silent. What could she say when she knew he was right? In the quiet, she heard the tick-tock of the pendulum clock, and she suddenly realized something.

“It’s been five sessions,” she said. “You’re supposed to make a recommendation now, aren’t you? About my being on probation?”

“I already have. In fact, I’ve given it to the captain, though I doubt she’s had much time to read it.”

She felt an unpleasant jolt of surprise and then wariness. My God, she’d been absolutely
awful
to the man for the majority of their time together: a basket case, she thought grimly, and then considered that would be an expression she ought to quiz Glemoor about, if she got the chance. She watched as Tyvan twisted around in his chair, rummaged around a pile of datadisks, and then tweezed out one between his thumb and forefinger.

He offered it to Bat-Levi. “Would you like to read it?”

Her anxiety fluttered in her throat, like a trapped bird. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

“All right. I’ve recommended no further treatment or evaluation, and I’ve recommended that you stay on.”

Shock made Bat-Levi’s mouth drop. “But, but I missed sessions, I
yelled
...”

Tyvan held up a hand. “First of all, we’ve been kind of busy. Second, you made a choice. You took responsibility, and you told me where to get off. Good for you. I don’t need you to agree with me, Darya. I’m glad you feel better, but I don’t
need
you to feel better, nor do I need you to have an operation, fix your scars, get a new face, pony up for the latest prostheses, or do anything you don’t want to do. All I want is for you to know
what
you’re doing, and
why,
and the rest is up to you, because it’s your life, Darya, not mine.”

She sat a moment, absorbing this. “So I don’t have to come back?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“Well,” she said. “I might, from time to time. Things come up. But you know something?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, I talk to you. In my head,” she added hastily. “I mean, I’m not nuts, I don’t hear voices. But sometimes, lately, I hear you making comments and, sometimes,” she gave him a lopsided smile, “I just tell you where to go.”

“Does this bother you?”

“It should, but it doesn’t. I’ve been arguing so much with myself for so long, it’s kind of nice to have someone new in there.”

Tyvan gave a delighted laugh. “I’ll probably go away eventually, when my opinion stops mattering so much.”

“Probably.” She paused, head cocked. “Does becoming obsolete bother you?”

“No. I’m not a crutch. My job is to become obsolete.”

They shared a brief moment of comfortable silence. Then Bat-Levi smiled, rose, and moved for the door.

“Okay then, thanks. But I’d better get dressed. The captain will have our hides if we’re late.” She hesitated then said, “By the way, you haven’t said anything.”

Tyvan’s brow furrowed. “About?”

In reply, Bat-Levi extended and flexed her left arm. Did it again, twice. Then she saw the confusion on Tyvan’s face clear.

“Wait,” he said. “Your servos. There’s no noise.”

Bat-Levi laughed hugely. “The ship’s not the only thing that needed repairs.”

“My God,” McCoy complained peevishly, “you’re as twitchy as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rockers.”

“Mac,” Stern flung over her shoulder as she palmed open her closet, “I told you before. I have to get moving, or I’m going to be
late
.”

“Making me dizzy, what you flirting back and forth like a bumblebee.”

“Then use audio next time, you don’t like the view,” said Stern, pawing first through her collection of uniforms, and then an array of more casual slacks and a few skirts. She made disgusted sounds. “Now where I did put that thing?”

“You could be better organized.”

“I’m a doctor,” she grumbled, “not a chambermaid. I could’ve sworn I put ... ah!” Stern yanked out her dress tunic then dove back for her dress slacks. “Now if I can just find my boots ...”

“My God, woman.” McCoy craned his neck as if he could see around the corner of the viewscreen, which he couldn’t. “Are you getting
disrobed?”

“Listen to you.” Stern’s fingers fumbled with her belt
buckle. “It’s not as if you haven’t seen this sort of thing before.”

“Only in an official capacity. But if you’re offering, come over here where ...”

Stern stripped off her uniform tunic. “Watch it, Mac.”

“I’m not the one doing a striptease. Anyway, I thought you’d be interested.”

“I
am.
You just pick the damnedest times, that’s all.”

“Then why not hop on over, and we can visit? You owe me bourbon.”

“Mac, I’m at a starbase about a gazillion light years away. It’s not as if I’m next door. I’ll get back to Earth soon enough and then we can visit, have a couple drinks.”

“Don’t forget, you owe me an R and R. I aim to collect.”

“I haven’t, and you will.”

“Promises, promises.” McCoy still sounded miffed. “When are you shipping out?”

“Tomorrow.” Stern stepped first her right then “her left foot into her dress uniform trousers and pulled. “Repairs are just about done. All we’re waiting on is that transfer shuttle.”

McCoy
mmm
ed. “By the way, I heard a rumor that someone on your ship slipped a subcu transponder into that Halak fellow.”

Now it was Stern’s turn to
mmm.
She did so as she pulled her hair free of her standard ponytail and began pulling a brush through. Her hair crackled with static electricity and she made a mental note to talk to environmental engineering about adjusting the humidity in her quarters. Too damn dry. “That’s what they say.”

“You wouldn’t happen ...”

“Mac,” Stern paused, brush in hand, “open channel.”

“Ah. Well, I hope our little talk about vitamins was helpful.”

Stern grinned at her mirror image. “Very. So what were you so hot to tell me?”

“Oh, nothing much. Only that the data your captain for
warded on to the folks here at Command? From that old tomb site? Looks mighty old. More than ancient: We’re talking thousands of years.”

“Wait a minute.” Stern turned until she was looking at McCoy, properly. “You’re a doctor, not a xenoarchaeologist. Why are you even involved with this?”

McCoy held up a hand. “Hold your horses; it’ll all come clear. Like I said, this place was old. We’re talking either pre-Hebitian, or the Hebitians are a hell of a lot older than even the Cardassians know.”

“Or claim.” Turning back to her holomirror, Stern touched the controls. The mirror shimmered, and then she was looking at the back of her head. She gathered her hair together in her left hand while her right stirred through an array of elastics. “They’re not exactly forthcoming. So you’re saying that the natives were Hebitians?”

“No, and we’re not entirely sure we’re talking Hebitian either, but that’s the working hypothesis. Anyway, this is where it gets pretty interesting. It looks like the natives were an entirely different species. Tomb drawings show two distinct types of people: the ones that were descendents of those Night Kings, and everybody else. So probably there was an indigenous population on the planet, but one that was very primitive by Hebitian standards. Now there’s always been a suspicion that at least some of the Hebitians were telepaths. Even the Cardassian legends talk about that a little. But I don’t think that, on the basis of what you and your captain saw, we can say that every Hebitian telepath was all sweetness and light.”