Star Trek - NF - 11 - Restoration Read online

  "Perhaps she should," agreed Temo. But then one of the broth-ers took a couple of steps to the right, squarely blocking the door. "Then again, perhaps she shouldn't."

  Something changed in the air; something electrical seemed to shift polarity. Calhoun was now up behind his cell door, his face absolutely inscrutable. "Majister," he said softly, "perhaps you'd better-"

  "I'm not looking for advice from a beater of women, Calhoun," the Majister told him curtly. He shifted his focus back to Temo and the other two. "Your dedication to family and your high ethics are duly noted," he deadpanned. "However, my first duty is to the law and to the citizens of this city. The law says that your brother is going to have to wait for the Circuit Judiciary. And that's what he's going to do. Now, I suggest that you gentlemen accept that reality, turn around, and depart. If you want to discuss it fur-ther... then let the Maestress go on her way, and we can con-tinue--" Temo gave no warning whatsoever. One moment his hand was

  hanging relaxed at his side, and the next, the plaser was in his hand.

  Even as he moved for his own weapon, the Majister knew that he was too slow and too late. Temo fired once, and once was all it took. The plaser bolt slammed Fairax squarely in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him smashing against the cell in which Calhoun was imprisoned. He hit it hard and then slid to the ground, a massive scorch mark across his chest. His head lolled to the right, and his hand slumped away from the butt of his plaser. He had never even managed to get it clear of the holster.

  The Maestress did not let out a shriek, as another might have done. Instead, regardless of her own safety, she pointed straight at Temo and snarled, "You... murderer!"

  Ignoring her, Temo said to one of his brothers, "Get him out," and nodded toward Kusack. The brother strode forward, pulling his plaser as he went. The third continued to block the door.

  With one quick screech of a plaser bolt, the door lock was blasted away. Kusack let out a whoop of triumph and shoved (he door open. "Qinos!" he said joyfully, clapping the brother who'd just freed him on the shoulder. "Shadrak! And Temo..." His arms were open as he approached the brother who'd led them, "How can I thank you for-"

  Temo slapped him, hard. Kusack staggered, putting a hand to his face. "Wha-what did you-?"

  "Idiot. Letting yourself get dragged into gaol by this piece of..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Instead, somewhat annoyed, he kicked the unmoving body of the Majister, "What in hell were you thinking?"

  "I was drunk... he... he tricked me, snuck up on me..I was-"

  Temo slapped Kusack again, and then steadied himself. "You know what, Kus' ? I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear any-thing about this entire misbegotten incident anymore."

  "Well, you're going to!" It was the Maestress who had spoken,

  "This will not end here! I swear, you're going to pay for what you've done! You're going to pay!"

  "Why haven't we killed her?" growled Qinos.

  And that was when Calhoun spoke up. "Let me," he said.

  Their attention swiveled to him. "Who is this?" Temo asked of Kusack. "For that matter... what is this?"

  "His name's Calhoun."

  "What'd the Majister call him? Oh, yes... beater of women." Temo's lips twitched upward. "Now, there was a ringing endorse-ment."

  "He kept telling the Majister that he wasn't in his right mind when he beat 'em," Kusack offered.

  Calhoun gave him a contemptuous look. "And you told your brothers you were drunk when the Majister arrested you. We all make excuses"

  "And why do you want to kill her?" asked Temo. He was wear-ing a broad-brimmed hat, and he nudged it back slightly on his forehead as he studied Calhoun.

  "She insulted me. She said I was ugly."

  "You are."

  "I'll kill you next," Calhoun told him.

  This prompted Temo to let out a bark-like laugh. "I like this one. Push the woman over toward him so he can kill her." He reached to a scabbard that hung on the back of his belt and extracted a knife. While he did that, Shadrak grabbed the Maestress by the arms and pinned them back. This prompted her to let out an infuriated yelp. He started shoving her toward Calhoun as if she had no weight.

  But when Temo preferred the knife to Calhoun, he shook his head "She's not worth staining perfectly good steel for. Bare hands will do."

  "I am impressed," Temo said approvingly.

  "Let me out to do it."

  This, however, prompted caution. "I think not," he said slowly. Upon hearing that, Calhoun shrugged and moved to the back

  part of the cell. "Then forget it. I've no interest in having her

  corpse lying here and me stuck in this cell so that I can be imme-diately executed for her murder... and, who knows, perhaps they'll try to stick the Majister's death on me as well."

  "Why should we let you out?" demanded Temo.

  "Why shouldn't you?" Calhoun spread his hands. "I have no weapon. You're three armed men. Four, if you give your brother a weapon. Look... never mind. If you're that afraid of me..."

  "Who said we were afraid of you?" Temo demanded.

  Calhoun said nothing, but simply shrugged.

  Temo looked suspiciously toward the Majister's plaser, but saw that it was securely in his holster. So Calhoun hadn't removed it and hidden it on his person as some sort of ambush.

  "You're monsters! All of you, monsters!" Maestress Cawfiel said in thundering moral outrage.

  This was more than enough for Temo. He aimed his plaser at the lock of the cell door that held Calhoun and fired once. The lock was instantly blown out, and the door swung open.

  Calhoun rose and walked slowly out of the cell. He cast an ap-preciative glance at the fried lock and nodded approvingly. "Very nice," he said. "Very nice work."

  "Shadrak," said Temo briskly, "give him the shrieking little har-ridan and let's be done with it."

  "And once I've killed her, what then? You let me go on my way?"

  "Why shouldn't we?" replied Temo. "As you yourself said... what do we have to be afraid of?"

  At that, Calhoun smiled. If Temo had been looking very closely, he would have seen that none of that smile was reflected in Calhoun's eyes. But he wasn't. Instead, he simply stood there as Shadrak brought the Maestress over to him. The Maestress, began to struggle, and Shadrak had to increase the pressure on her wrists to hold her steady.

  "You're gripping her all wrong," Calhoun told him. "There's a convenient way to immobilize someone. Here, I'll show you."

  He reached for Cawfiel's right arm... and then went right past

  it and gripped Shadrak's arm instead. The move was so quick, so subtle, that Shadrak didn't even realize it was happening.

  And suddenly, just like that, Calhoun had spun Shadrak around, twisted his arm back and frozen him in place. Amazingly, he had done so with only one hand; witb his free hand, he yanked Shadrak's plaser out of his holster.

  Temo had never bolstered his weapon, but it had all happened so fast that he'd been caught utterly flat-footed. His movement was instinctive, and he fired, but Shadrak was serving as a shield, and all he did was nail his brother in the chest. Shadrak let out a stunned shriek, and then his head slumped forward.

  Calhoun lashed out with his right leg and knocked the Maestress flat to the floor. For a heartbeat, she thought it was an attack, and then she realized: he was shoving her to the floor to get her out of harm's way. He swung the plaser around and, from behind his shield, fired. The first blast hit Qinos in the arm, and he staggered back, clutching at the wound and howling. The second barely missed the fast-moving Temo, and blew his hat clean off his head.

  "Go! Go!" screamed Temo, and he and Qinos backed up. Ku-sack started to follow, and Calhoun fired again. This blast nailed Kusack in the leg, and he went down, clutching at his upper thigh. Temo ducked under another blast, fired again, but couldn't get past the dead mass of meat that had been his brother. He snagged Qinos by the wrist, and they charged out the door.

&nbs
p; "Come back!" Kusack shouted pitifully, lying on the floor and clutching at his injured leg.

  "Shut up," Calhoun said sharply. Still wielding Shadrak's body in front of him, he went to the door and looked out Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw-namely, the two brothers bolting across the dirt streets of Narrin, trying to put as much distance be-tween him and themselves as possible. He turned back to Kusack and, gesturing with the plaser, said, "Get back in your cell." "I can't walk-!" "Neither can he," Calhoun said tightly, indicating the Majister's

  corpse. "And unless you want to follow his example, you'll get in the cell now. Now"

  Realizing that Calhoun wasn't exactly in the mood for discus-sion, Kusack dragged himself across the floor. As he hauled him-self into the cell, Calhoun allowed Shadrak's body to slide to the floor. Then he looked down at the Maestress, who was still on the floor and looking up at him in wonderment.

  "Get up," he said tersely, but made no effort to help her. The Maestress did so, dusting herself off and watching him cautiously. 'There's no lock on the cell door anymore," he continued. "I'll wait here and make sure he doesn't go anywhere. You go get

  help."

  "How do I-?" Then she caught the question before she com-pleted it. Obviously, she had no reason to think that he was going to do anything other than what he had said he was going to. He could have killed her. He could have walked out after he'd shot Shadrak. Instead, he was standing there and telling her to bring someone else. It seemed extremely unlikely that he was going anywhere.

  She had no idea why he was doing it. But she knew one thing beyond a doubt, one thing that was the only appropriate thing to say or do, given the circumstances.

  "Thank you," she said.

  He nodded slightly. "You're welcome," he replied. And then he sat on the edge of the desk. The last thing she saw of him as she ran for help was him immobile, seemingly almost bored... and perhaps just a bit sad... but, ultimately, comfortable in the sea of violence that surrounded him.

  It was at that moment that she knew; he was her man.

  SHELBY

  shelby tilted her head back, looking up and up as she squinted against the Makkusian sun. It glinted off the astounding sculpture that towered so high, and no matter how hard she tried and how much she craned her neck, she still couldn't begin to make out the top.

  "Most impressive... is it not?"

  The tall man stepped into view, blocking out the sun. He was close to seven feet tall, with long, flowing brown hair, and an air of peace that hung about him like a warm blanket. Indeed, being with him was so relaxing that, every so often, Shelby had to fight the urge to nod off.

  "Very impressive, Hauman," she admitted. Nearby, Toreen Au-gustine was nodding as well, even though it was not the first time she had seen it. Also with them was Lieutenant Glen Scott Wag-ner, newly promoted (due to the unexpected demise of Lieutenant Basner) to assistant chief of security. "And this entire struc-ture... this whole thing-"

  "Constructed from former weapons, yes," Hauman said. "Melted down, or pounded flat and reconfigured. A monument to the neutrality that has become the lifeblood-indeed, the true legacy-of Makkus."

  They walked for some time around the base of the tower, and they did so in silence. Hauman, the Makkusian leader, had been most friendly upon the arrival of the Exeter team, and had insisted on showing them around his capital city personally. Shelby had been struck not only by his lack of pretensions, but also his lack of retainers. Helpers, naysayers, yes-men, and all manner of types who seemed to exist throughout the galaxy-although their forms might vary from world to world-customarily accompanied heads of state. But Hauman seemed to have no interest in such of-ficial trappings.

  Nor, clearly, did he feel any need for bodyguards. He walked about in the city, nodding to citizens as he passed them, and they naturally returned the gesture. For someplace that was a capital city, she couldn't help but feel that it felt a bit... provincial. Not especially advanced for a potential member-world of the Federation. At least, that was the opinion Shelby had voiced during a prelanding conference, and Augustine had semicon-

  firmed it.

  "I wouldn't say they're not advanced, Captain," Augustine had said. "Their spaceflight capabilities are on a par with any member of the Federation, and although their weaponry wasn't quite equal to ours, it was formidable-"

  " 'Was'?"

  "They don't use it anymore. I think they still have ships, but they employ them solely for immediate onplanet needs or human-itarian missions. They don't even journey into space anymore. It's not just that they're disinterested; they're disinterested with a pas-sion. To them, science is a symbol of what went wrong on their world. They do not automatically rush headlong toward advance-ment, because they are painfully aware-from firsthand experi-ence-just what a double-edged sword advancement can be."

  Shelby was receiving confirmation of that attitude now, as Hau-man continued to lead them in a slow circle around the monu-ment. "Every one of the former weapons you see here, Captain" he said quietly, with almost hushed reverence, "was used to kill

  someone. Or to try and take a life. Here, it can do no harm. In-stead, it all contributes... to a work of art."

  Wagner was eyeing the monument skeptically, and Shelby couldn't blame him. It didn't look like any work of art to her, but rather like a... well, a big, tall metal thing, twisted in on itself in no discernible pattern, that just kept going up and up. Art, though, was definitely in the eye of the beholder, and she had no intention of possibly aggravating things by speaking ill of their remarkably beloved monument.

  Hauman looked up at it a while longer, then let out a deep sigh. "I just wish it didn't look so damned ugly."

  Shelby was instantly converted into a fan of Hauman. "It does look ugly, doesn't it?" she admitted.

  "Oh, unquestionably. At the very least, it's ostentatious beyond imagining. Still," and he surveyed it proudly, "at least it stands for something. Means something to everyone who looks upon it. It says that we can rise above a base compulsion to destruction."

  'That is certainly a message that the Federation shares, Hau-man," Shelby said readily. 'That is the linchpin upon which the UFP hinges, as a matter of fact. On that basis, I don't see why you wouldn't want to join-" "You don't understand, Captain." "No. I don't. So, if you would care to explain it to me...." Hauman looked at the monument, hands draped behind his back. He appeared wistful, even sad. "Captain... you are looking at a race that nearly depopulated itself. Our scientists were very, very imaginative when it came to the development of weapons of mass destruction. Weapons so horrific, we could have brought an end to ourselves, or to any that we might use them against. We have neighboring worlds, Captain, and they have no more desire for mutual destruction than we do ourselves. In short, we came to our senses... particularly thanks to the teachings of the Mage."

  "The Mage?" Shelby fired a questioning look at Augustine, but she shrugged. Obviously this was something she hadn't heard before.

  'The Mage," said Hauman with reverence. "She came to us generations ago... guided us, taught us. Helped us realize the error of our ways. One of the reasons we created the tower was as a testament to her."

  "Is this 'Mage' still around?"

  "Oh, no. No, she has long departed."

  For one insane moment, Shelby thought of Morgan Primus, the mother of Robin Lefler. Morgan was, to put it mildly, long-lived, and had such a shrouded background that, if there was anything odd going on that involved a woman, Morgan was the first suspect that came to Shelby's mind. "The Mage... what did she look like?"

  'Tall, willowy... a face that shone with the light of a thousand suns, hair like floating gossamer that-"

  "You've met her?" asked Wagner. He sounded somewhat suspi-cious.

  "Oh, no. Nor do any visual representations exist, for she al-lowed no likenesses of any kind to be made of her. But the poets have written of her extensively."

  Well, the physical description didn't sound a damned thing like M
organ, so Shelby was inclined to dismiss that notion before it became implanted too deeply in her imagination.

  "In any event," continued Hauman, "when we put aside our weapons and things of violence-in short, when we matured as a race-we came to realize that the only means through which we could avoid any temptation to take up such weapons again was to adopt a philosophy of strict neutrality."

  "And we're not asking you to set aside that philosophy" Shelby told him. "The Federation respects all philosophies. Again, that's part of our credo. There's far more the Federation could offer you besides the opportunities to 'take sides' in mat-ters of war. There's humanitarian aid, education, health pro-grams for-"

  "But war can sometimes come, whether you expect it or not, true?" Hauman very politely interrupted. When she nodded, he